Who owns these tourists? Who owns this temple?
Who owns these tourists? Who owns this temple?
By Degung Santikarma
UBUD, Bali (JP): At a village temple festival in Ubud, a group of rowdy American teenagers were shepherded into the inner complex of the temple by a harried, local tour guide. Their udeng (headdress) resembled an Axle Rose skullcap rather than a ceremonial cap. Having imbibed a little too much of the local spirits earlier that evening, a few of the more uninhibited of the guests were tempted to behave badly. They joined in the fun by doing their own version of the kris dance -- a tuak-inspired slamdance -- disrupting the ritual procession of kris trance dancers wielding their ceremonial blades in a feverish frenzy.
One of the village priests motioned for help in locating the tour guide in charge of the unruly headbangers. Wayan Kobar, the guide, hit by a fit of ritual overload, had escaped the scene and was gambling with the boys in the alley behind the temple. The temple priest, exhausted by the search for the wayward Wayan, finally called out in Balinese, "Who owns these tourists?"
Tourism "commodifies" a culture, and the natives strike back by making tourists a commodity. In this case, tourists are conceived of as little more than a flock of unruly ducks in need of minders. The natives are not necessarily as harmless or naive as they are portrayed. Some people argue that possession or ownership is alien to the Balinese, yet capitalism has penetrated even the most remote and pristine civilizations. Both Balinese and tourists are participating in a "mutual acknowledgement" that benefits both parties. Both parties are knowing participants in a game of usury.
On the southern peninsula, hundreds of tourists gather daily at the Ulu Watu temple for the spectacular and much photographed sunset over the dramatic cliffs. This temple belongs to the whole of Hindu society and has been attributed with magical and historical significance. Within Balinese mythology, this stunning sacred place is said to have launched a sakti priest, a priest with supernatural powers. The 15th century priest -- Ide Pedanda Sakti -- attained the ultimate spiritual liberation or Moksha, the conscious ascension from the earthly plane into the heavenly sphere, at the Ulu Watu temple.
Presently, this temple attracts millions of visitors a year. Within the course of day, the caretaker and ground keepers are often approached by awestruck tourists. The tourists explain they are curious about real estate values in the area, and are interested in the possibility of a retirement condo.
"Who owns this temple?" is the most confusing and confounding question for the caretakers to answer. There may be a corresponding parallel between the mythology and those who may wish to depart this world in the same spectacular fashion as Ide Pedanda Sakti. Esoteric liberation into Eternal Nirvana (often confused with Bali Nirwana resort) may only be approached by these resort developers who simulate the authentic spiritual state. With plush amenities, their luxury five-star hotels attract those thirsty for liberation, but will settle for an Olympic-size swimming pool and an 18-hole golf course staffed by local servants.
When considering sacred sites, Balinese are not inclined to think in terms of property or real estate values. This categorization of ownership is an alien, or introduced, concept. This introduced concept offers a narrowed perspective of possession and ownership of sacred land.
The druwe is a Balinese term that describes the collaboration between cosmic forces and earth-bound natives that care for a temple or sacred site. Communal property is cared for collectively; the druwe provides the stewardship. For example, the tree spirits, the monkeys at Ulu Watu and the snakes in Tanah Lot are included in the druwe. It includes, along with the mortal beings who look after it, all the spirit dwellers who take part in the upkeep of a temple. There are no boundaries between the tangible and intangible elements in this context; there is only interplay between the two. It is a collaborative venture that exists simultaneously within and beyond the realm of the senses.
The secular formulation of temples as public institutions is organized into two domains -- public and private. Any participant may bring offerings, pray and ask for blessings within the temple. This includes tourists or outsiders, but they can only participate as observers. These public participants make up the majority of temple visitors. The inner circle -- or private domain -- consists of temple priest, caretaker, and the puri or noble family. Genealogy usually determines inner circle members. The inner circle decides on financial affairs such as ceremonial costs and renovation expenses. Public and private domains collaborate to determine the level of ritual within the community.
Every temple has a Laba Pura, or communal land temple. In the hierarchical perspective, druwe belongs to the King in the tangible sense. Yet in the intangible sense, land belongs to the Pertiwi, the god/goddess of the land, because the King is the earthly embodiment of the god. His duties include acting as landlord and governing the landless. Historically, Laba Pura is not only about territory but also composed of genealogical and mythological influences. For example, just outside of Ubud, along the Sayan valley, the Tjokorda of Ubud claims this land comes under his authority. The land is inhabited by spirits that have existed within local folklore for generations, he says.
Ownership
Codification is the practice of transforming oral tradition to written laws for the purpose of legitimation. Yet, how is the concept of land stewardship transformed into land ownership? Much is lost in the literal translation. Balinese must reconsider their entire concept of the Laba Pura as it is transformed into a fully certified, saleable property. An important shift has taken place from the shared, collective framework that values anonymity towards a singular notion of sole proprietor and land holder. This transition creates fertile land for hypocrisy; private interests hold greater value for Balinese than the tradition of land stewardship.
To be able to purchase land, a developer requires land entitlement. Thus, the conflict takes hold and the inner circle wage war amongst themselves as to who has the right to offer land entitlement. The result is that no resolution is reached. Boundary-free land may be conceived of as a state asset and, in a press to lay claim to highly valued real estate, negotiations are made on behalf of the state. Discord and political infighting takes place, and the state enters to negotiate a harmonious resolution. This usually means the state absorbs the land in question. From the state's perspective, the case may be represented in such a way that it appears the people cannot manage their own internal affairs, and in a swift, patronizing maneuver, the state intervenes with the final word. All parties surrender to consensus. Thus, the land is wrested away from the local population, and the state's new acquisition is legitimate.
The question of ownership and possession is a cultural construction. Presently, conceptions about ownership and possession reduce people, places and things to consumer items traded on the free market. This process of objectification distorts and corrupts greater understanding for all parties involved. Maybe the temple priests' notion about the rowdy tourists is that they are owned by the mundane world -- the travel agents, the Balinese guides, the hotel managers. Within the culture-bound context, the same category can be applied -- tourist are conceived of as scattered ducklings without a minder.
In the traditional sense, the Ulu Watu temple belongs to the unseen forces and spirits. Codification allows temple land to be transcribed and deduced to reality on a piece of paper. The secular aspect of the temple overshadows the sacred dimension, and the written documentation serves only to conceal the true meaning and practice. The translation from the local practice into the international and national language often distorts the original meaning.
Meanwhile, the wayward Wayan Kobar -- on a winning streak at the cock fights -- heard his name called out from the inner walls of the temple. He collected himself and assumed his best Sapta Pesona tour guide demeanor.
Having been unceremoniously bounced from the temple ceremony, Kobar managed the impossible. He coaxed 26 tilting tourists out of the temple complex and into his air-conditioned mini bus. Next stop -- the Fire Walking dance in Bona.