Quo Vadis Democracy?

My mind was perplexed reading about Hillary Clinton’s 20 million USD of personal debt. Now there’s this call from Obama asking his party member to donate their hard earned cash for the already wealthy Clinton family.

Further reading about election, I found out that around 200 trillion IDR from the national budget would be used for 33 Governors and 473 Mayors and Regents Election.

That is an astronomical amount of money by any standard! We can build a lot of schools and hospitals in the entire archipelago for that bewitching sum.

Moreover, the number merely represents the formal cost of election. We can be sure there’s a lot more invisible outlay during the campaign process.

One easy example is; for any candidate to step forward, he or she would have to pocket endorsement from the local parliament and party. These are not free. One article mentions that the going rate is around 75 million IDR per endorsement. That means the candidate would have to provide capital in the range of 1 to 3 billion IDR.

There is no guarantee that after spending that money they would end up victorious. Consequently, they would do 'anything' to maximize their chance of winning.

It’s obvious that as soon as they win, first thing they would do is to make sure the capital they’ve spent will return some handsome profit. That’s not a good news for their constituent.

Usually people who benefit from this scheme are their inner circle. Now that’s why there are plenty of middlemen circling around government projects. Like any good vulture they are.

During our process to learn democracy, we also harbor potential conflict. Any sort of differences will be nurtured and escalated into a weapon for the candidates to win these gullible people’s support.

Almost no parties are able to lose gracefully. Maluku, West Java, and South Sulawesi are some of the cases proving this.

More often than not, the candidates are a collection of sleazy politicians and dodgy religious characters. Hence, for us it feels a lot like choosing the lesser evil.

I wonder what happens in other country. Is there any true democracy around?

From my understanding of American brand of democracy, their policies mostly influenced by lobbyists and wealthy industrialists (weapons and oil). People who back up the politicians financially in the first place.

The difference is most of its citizens are educated enough not too fight in the street during a campaign.

I understand that democracy in Indonesia is only young. I’m not suggesting that we should scrap the system altogether. However, any discourse about an alternative civil society in the end would prove whether democracy is the one and only proper way of nationhood.

After doing some research, we can divide the alternatives into two categories:

Anarchism; this includes Anarchist-communism, Anarcho-capitalism, Anarcho-primitivism, Libertarian socialism, etc.

Authoritarianism; are Autocracy, Aristocracy, Communist state, Corporatism, Despotism, Dictatorship, Monarchy, Theocracy, etc.

None of the above sounds too promising.

How about Pancasila’s type of Democracy, is there such a thing? This is the task for our bureaucrats and technocrats to ponder. When they have finished pondering, I’d hope they enlighten us little people. As, in my observation, very few of us live by the way of Pancasila these days.

Maybe democracy is indeed expensive and we all have to pay for it, at least for now.

In the mean time, we can always muse and blog.

Pomalaa

Two years ago out of boredom, I look up and tag some special places on Google-Earth. Surprisingly the data is still there and wikimapia.org. Seeing all these places from above is like seeing through a porthole into our past. Where did we grow up? What is it like now? How did it shape us as a person?

I was born in this very remote and dusty little town called Pomalaa, south east of Sulawesi. Primarily it is a ferro-nickel mining complex for Aneka Tambang, a state owned company. It’s a rather calm and peaceful little city with around 2000 families.

That’s my old house in the center of the picture. We had a spacious backyard, and we grew a lot of plants. Papaya, mango, rambutan, and bananas are among others. Naughty monkeys from the forest behind our house steal them fruits from time to time. They were pretty smart.

Elementary school was over at 2 pm. I usually shepherd my two goats around the neighborhood looking for leaves of Kembang Sepatu (hibiscus rosa-sinensis) for them to eat. My handsome and sprightly dog always kept me company, keeping those goats on track.

One night all of a sudden a giant snake from the dark forest ate those goats.

We were woken up over some noise from behind the yard. When my dad turned on the flashlight, we were all shocked to see a python the size of a trunk entwined and ruthlessly strangled the poor animals. It injected some sort of poison into the goat’s buttock like a scene in one scary movie.

Oddly, the snake wasn’t injured at all when dad use a regular machete to cut it over and over. Like it’s impervious. Only when our neighbor came with his Toraja machete they can wound and scare the snake away.

The goats were all fried, blackened and dead. It was quite sad really.

Many kinds of snakes had been frequently spotted in the area. Apparently, in the past the housing complex was one large swamp.

Apart from occasional horrors, my childhood in Pomalaa was quite fun. Us little kids, playing Tarzan, dives into the muddy river. Weeks went fishing in the sea with The Wajo people. In addition to many more adventures.

Anyway, it is nice to be able to observe the dusty little town grow. Now there is a lot of golf course opened around the housing complex. It seems that, the good people in Pomalaa found a new hobby in that ‘trendy’ sport.

Well, that is a little bits and pieces of the place where I grew up. Good job Google for the excellent application. Have you tagged your old houses? Here is the URL to do so.

Tangkuban Perahu - Sangkuriang's Forbidden Love

There was this gorgeous babe living in the Citarum’s riverbank. Dayang Sumbi was her name. She has a hobby of knitting beautiful stuff for her father, The Emperor.

One day her tool fell down and rolled outside the house. Out of laziness, she swore to the Almighty that whomever kind enough to bring her that precious tool back, she would give a fantastic reward.

The promise was to marry the person if it was a male. If it turns out it was a female, she'd make a sister out of her.

Anyway, as it happened, a male dog named Tumang came to her aid. She collapsed and fainted out of shock. However, as she is one proud chick with integrity, she kept her promise.

It was quite sketchy on how they consummate their marriages, but some months later a handsome baby boy was born, with five-finger and all. The odd couple decided to give the boy name Sangkuriang.

Sangkuriang grew up into this agile teenager and a pretty good hunter too. He and the dog hunt together all the time. At some point, they met this fat pig and decided to hunt her. It turns out that this fat pig was Sangkuriang’s grandmother and Tumang hesitated.

There’s a rumor circling around animal kingdom that the Emperor dated this pig for a while, back then. I know things are a little weird but please bear with me.

Because Tumang didn’t want to run the pig down, Sangkuriang saw red. Out of rage, he shot his arrow towards Tumang. The brave and loyal dog died instantly. He cut Tumang to pieces and brought back the poor canine for his mother to cook.

Upon learning that the menu of the day was her beloved hubby, Dayang Sumbi fainted again. As soon as she gained consciousness, she yelled at Sangkuriang and banished him, forever.

Sangkuriang limped out of the kingdom and walked all the way to the west. The teenager met many dark wizards and gained plenty of great magical power. He has changed into an awesome and dashing warrior.

Years of traveling around the globe brought him back to the kingdom near Citarum River. He was intrigued to hear about the story of the hottest lass in the village. He then met her and electricity sparked all over the place. The chemistry was apparent as they were instantly attracted to each other.

After some romantic date by the countryside, they decided to get hitched. It was gonna be the biggest wedding of the era.

When they’re about to do it, this woman, who turns out to be Dayang Sumbi, notice the birthmark on Sangkuriang’s neck. She screamed and kicked Sangkuriang out of the bed. A ‘No’ means ‘No’, said the bewildered woman.

Dazed, horny and confused Sangkuriang zip his pants and asked her what he should do to win her heart back. Seeing a way out this, Sumbi smile and said that it would be divine if they could make love inside a large boat roaming a huge lake.

However, the stipulation is both the lake and the boat has to be made in one night and one night only.

The adrenaline rushed towards Sangkuriang’s head and he dashed toward Citarum River. By his great magical power, he summoned thousands of minions to dam up the water stream forming an enormous lake. He summoned another thousand for good measure to build this large and strong wooden boat.

Confounded by the latest development Dayang Sumbi racked her brain for counter measure. The morning has yet to come and both the lake and boat is in near completion. Using her cunning feminine instinct, she decided to take matters into her own hand.

She and some of her sorority sisters made some racket and woke up the village roosters. They also put large orange sheets into the eastside made it look like the dawn has arrived. The roosters cock-a-doodle-doo and all hell broke loose. The thousands minions scrambled to their hidings and left the unfinished tasks in tatters.

Sangkuriang saw red again. Seething out of his lost, he kicked the large boat far away to the sky. With a loud bang it landed up side down.

Thousands of years have passed; the upturned boat was covered in thick layered dirt, trees have grown on top of it, forming a mountain. The locals now called it Gunung Tangkuban Perahu – The Mountain of Upturned Boat.

Whatever happened to Dayang Sumbi and Sangkuriang no one really knows. Some said that Sumbi runs to a cave and turned herself into a rare flower. While Sangkuriang, our very own Oedipus, walked and vanished into the west.

Of Music and Me

I’m a little embarrassed by the fact that my first dabble on music was of NKOTB. To be fair they have the right stuff to make a pimple-faced teenager like me hangin' tough amidst the awkwardness of puberty.

To compensate the lameness factor, I also forced my self to listen to some Sepultura and Metallica. Let’s just say parents and neighbors weren’t that impressed.

As I grew older, Bon Jovi and Guns n’ Roses starting to rule my airtime. The love was and will always be there for these two juggernauts of rock. Everlasting tracks like ‘Living on a Prayer’ and ‘November Rain’ are pure and simply the major ingredients that made life ever so exciting.

In fact, I got so hooked up with Bon Jovi back then. It’s the sole reason I flunked my Mechanical Technical class. I skipped the final exam with my partner in crime, and we ride all the way from Bandung to watch Bon Jovi’s concert in Ancol, Jakarta.

Pity the gods of rock n roll decided that we have to experience flat tire mid way. Baked banana and cheese was the only solace we found in the cold Puncak Bogor. Swell.

College years, Acapella and vocal groups were all the rage. Wooing girls in my class with pale imitation of Boyz II Men and sitting in circle with friends playing guitar to the tune of White Lion and Nirvana. Those were the days.

With the advent of mp3 format, music is getting cheaper and easier to obtain. Now I listen to everything. Well, all except probably dangdut.

A quick glance at my ipod, apparently the most frequent song I’ve played is Corinne Bailey Ray’s ‘Put Your Records On’ and surprisingly the soundtrack of Legends of The Fall by David Foster. Been listening a lot to Take That’s ‘Rule The World’ (haha yeah laugh away), Daughtry, and the breathtaking collaboration of U2 and Mary J Blige in ‘One’.

Let me be honest and admit there are times when I want to be a musician myself. Let the broomsticks and shower-pad be my witness. Every so often out of sheer madness, I think I can pull it off.

We had a rock band in college but only have the guts to perform on one small faculty occasion. It was a blur for me so I don’t remember much abut the performance. All I remember was we played GNR’s ‘Estranged’ and I think I missed some of the lines out of nervousness.

It was horrendously humiliating. Yet it’s worth it, if only to remind us to find another career path far beyond music.

Tana Toraja - The Land of Magic

Photo by Kal Muller

Back in my hometown, our neighbor is from Tana Toraja. Two of their eldest sons are about my age, so we sort of grew up together. They’ve been telling me stories and legend about the magical and mysterious Toraja. Stories that still fascinates me to present day.

How dead people walk themselves to their graves. Buffaloes that keep fighting long after they have been beheaded. Sending death to enemies via magic and enchantment. Their machete’s magical prowess, able to cut even the hardest of material. And many other tales. In all probability, none of it was true. Nevertheless, they have been imprinted in my mind arousing curiosity and interest.

In junior high, some friends and I visited this mystifying land. A trip that’s worth so much for all of us. We didn’t know it back then, but I can safely say now that Tana Toraja is without a doubt one of the most beautiful places this country have to offer.

We spent four days in a small dusty town called Rantepao, slept on top of a wooden floor in my friend’s old relative house. We were clueless back then. Thinking of it now, it’s such a shame digital camera was invented only recently.

The magnificent scenery with layered step of rice fields, buffaloes, river, and blue jagged valleys in the distant is very difficult to illustrate with words. When the sun starts to appear, everything was so delightful.

OK, I will not bore you much with description, because to be honest it was a while back and I have forgotten some of it. Here are some pointers though if you want to visit the place.

Tana Toraja is a region in South Sulawesi, Indonesia. The nearest town is Rantepao and to get there is not effortless. If you have arrived in Makassar (South Sulawesi capital city) with plane or ship, you will need to take one more trip using smaller plane. This will be a rather rough flight so better brace yourself.

If you decided to use buses instead, it will be around 8 to 9 hours including some meal stop. When I say buses, I meant some sort of MPV cars like Toyota Kijang and or Daihatsu Panther. This is also going to be rough, but plenty of good-looking scenery along the road.

For people who do not like the hassle, I suggest using one of those travel packages where all is included. That way you will not have to risk getting lost or loosing your cool. Please be a bit patient though because foreign language communication with us Indonesians could be rather tricky.

You can come to Toraja in any months of the year; the high season is July to August. However, it is better to come off season, as things are cheaper and lots of accommodation available. There are very few good hotels around but there are many budget inns. They usually use the name Wisma.

Toraja’s architecture just as any other Indonesian vernacular is a thing of marvel and worth another different post altogether.

Photo by Kal Muller

This may sound silly, but it’s better if you come when there’s a funeral going on. Toraja people make a festival out of every death. Some even make it into international coverage. Funerary rites will have this elaborated ritual called Ma’badong (Lament for the deceased) complete with buffalo fighting and ceremony to put effigies to a sacred hill.

A magical place, indeed.

For more information about Toraja please read the following links:

• My-Indonesia.info
• New York Times
• TorajaNet

Misplaced Gallantry and Jakarta's Birthday

Fresh out of a semi military school, we were trained to be a bunch of gallant individual. You know the lot that opens the elevator doors for women, not staring at cleavages, and always give our seat to senior citizens, the handicapped, and women in particular pregnant ones.

Jakarta however has this power to change my set of fine etiquettes into one with a more sinister brand. Of course, I still behave rather impeccably in front of colleagues, clients, and particularly the in laws, regardless of the situation. Nevertheless, in public there has been an apparent decline of good manners.

Riding the bus for example, there has been countless time when I chase them bus to their starting point so it was empty. Found me a good chair, and when the bus started rolling there was a lady, sometimes pregnant sometimes the elderly kind, did not get a seat. Almost consistently without fail, no body gives them their place.

Now and again, I wonder why it has to be me most of time all the way from the back to sacrifice my sit and stand during the rough ride of Metro Mini or PPD buses.

Perfectly understandable, knowing that everybody must be very tired, after long and hard labor. I do not blame them at all. I blame the ineffectiveness of our transportation system.

From 2004 to early 2008, I did not use bus a lot. Mainly because we lived nearby the office and all our favorite malls. Pejompongan is such a strategic place, less than twenty thousand Rupiah (around USD 2) by old fare cab to almost every destination we desire.

Since March though, I would have to use the bus to get home. My office is in Mayapada Tower, Sudirman. I could just stand beside the road and pick 17 or 52 to Bekasi. People have already crammed inside like sardines. It is going to be a long ride, more or less 90 minutes in Jakarta’s humid and hot air with male sweats and stinks. It is heavenly.

To get a proper sit I could just wait until 9 pm when it is not that crowded anymore. Alternatively, I could walk a kilometer to Landmark building when the buses are empty.

This is where it gets tricky. After long walk, of course I get tired. I decided I deserve to sit comfortably for the rest of the taxing 90 minutes. Starting a few weeks ago, I have reduced the type of people I hand out my seat to. Not just any women, they would have to be old, unmistakably pregnant, a combination of both, or very pretty and looks frail.

Deep inside, I felt guilty definitely. I am sure time eventually will erode that guilt into oblivion.

For now to minimize them I usually pick a seat by the window or deep in the corner, and just looking outside to avoid the glance and stare of some women who happen to stand in the aisle. Occasionally though, I would have to give in, when the shame turn out to be irrepressible.

Now the annoyed glance and stare though ironically coming from the male passengers who just sit there casually. As if it’s my fault they feel uneasy for looking ignorant. Every so often, I picked up a hint of smile, probably sniggering; hey, we’ve got some gentleman among us.

I felt uneasy too and trying hard to look nonchalant.

This is what Jakarta and probably other metropolises could turn us into; we could feel uncomfortable for doing something good. It’s jolly good for sardonic value.

Uh Oh, Happy birthday Jakarta!

Of Bad Luck, Good Luck

I have always wondered how vast our earth is. A quick search on Google tells me that it's approximately 510,072,000 km². Boy, is that huge.

Imagine my surprise a couple of fine morning ago when I was just so unsuspecting, all smiling, riding on an ojek, a little birdie decided to drop its fecal matter right into my freshly ironed shirt.

We were probably traveling around 20 km/hours and then something squishy splashing into my chest. For that to happen the velocity of the bird and the trajectory of its flight must have been perfectly arranged for the excretory product to drop right into its doomed target.

I have to take a quick detour to change into new set of clothes.

I mean, for pete sake, this bird could have aimed at something else, the Tukeng Ojek helmet perhaps, or the large area of garbage dump around us. But no, it has to land on top of my good self.

Although my friends told me that based on local superstitions it's supposedly a sign of good luck, I spent the whole day feeling victimized.

Well I guess it could have been worse, landed on my face or hair, which means I have to take another shower and risk being late to the office.

Another good thing is, it prompt me to search how big our earth is and learning a thing or two about bird feces along with their synonyms. Although for once I shivered at the thought of bird flue that could come from it. Now if that were to be happened, tough luck indeed.

It's true that behind most silver lining there's a dark cloud.

Note:

• Ojek is a motorcycle taxi used in Indonesia for short distance travel
• Tukang Ojek is the driver of an Ojek