How easy it is to make judgments and form conclusions about matters we don't fully understand or about customs to which we can't relate. It's no secret that people do this all the time, and it might even seem trivial to discuss it at this point. As it happens, the importance of openness has been quite the reoccurring theme in many of my blog entries. I have been able to appreciate my time abroad in a very dynamic and genuine way almost entirely because my opinions concerning Indonesia, America, and the world have been constantly changing. Being open to changes like this, as opposed to rejecting them, will inevitably lead to some confusion, but ultimately it's the only way to get to the bottom of things.
The idea of cognitive dissonance suggests that our behavior and our daily routines must be in line with our beliefs and our set of values. Otherwise, how could we possibly maintain our sanity? But, what is it that generally changes when a conflict arises between what we do and what we believe? Our routines and our environment are considerably more difficult to manipulate than what we simply daydream about on a regular basis, so when a problem occurs, the easiest thing to change is, in fact, how we feel about what is going on around us. It's not just common; it's necessary. How could I possibly continue living in a house that I don't own, whose actual owner is apathetic, whose bathroom is infested with cockroaches, if I didn't change (at least slightly) how I feel about cockroaches? Do they bite? No. Do they stink? Not noticeably. Do they crawl on me when I'm sleeping? Not that I know of. I've personally just had to respect the fact that, although my random roommate assignment isn't going to blossom into a cohesive or even a healthy relationship, we'll still be able to tolerate each other until I move out (if I alter my own standard of living).
When we're forced to change our perceptions because of a futile situation, it's not so exciting, nor is the change even always admirable. It's when we reluctantly but voluntarily throw away an obsolete belief that we've acknowledged was hindering our development as an individual. When stated so plainly like this, it's easy to brush off my last statement as common knowledge, and I'll be the first to admit that I've probably had a bit too much time for self-reflection. However, after having lived for almost a year in the middle of a half-Muslim-half-Christian city, which is many times larger than Louisville, KY, I've often encountered people who not only refuse to change their actions based on their beliefs, they even refuse to change their beliefs based on their actions. I know people who simply refuse to acknowledge the reality which with they don't agree, and they continue to lead a life that, in many ways, is quite false. That might be kind of nihilistic, but it's apparently the only way for many of us to function together in plural societies currently, where a large number of people simply don't care to put forth the effort to understand one another.
On a daily basis this year, I've spent more time among more Christians than Muslims. And since I come from a predominantly Christian nation, I'm generally assumed to be able immediately identify with all the Indonesian Christians and “take their side” when it comes to discussing religious topics. Consequently, I have been subjected to a wide-range of critical and sometimes very nasty conversations, which unfairly pigeonhole the very people with whom I spent an entire year during the first half of my grant. I don't have any doubt that just as many scathing conversations about Christians commonly take place within any given Muslim community, but I wasn't exposed to it last year because, even if animosity toward westerners existed in Guyangan, everyone there saw how quickly I would have been alienated by such discussions.
The most common complaint I've heard this year in Medan is one that really strikes a chord with many of my fellow teachers at St. Yoseph, and it stems from nothing but an abysmal attempt to actually understand the other party's intentions. A great deal of Christians here feel very put off by the fact that it is “against Islam” to wish someone a merry Christmas during the holiday season because doing so would “acknowledge the validity of another religion.” After hearing this over and over again, and then after receiving probably 40 or 50 text messages and e-mails from my former students and teachers in Central Java on Christmas day, I could no longer be quiet about it. I finally asked a teacher if they had ever uttered the words, mohon maaf lahir dan batin, to a Muslim neighbor during his/her biggest holiday of the year, Idul Fitri. This Indonesian Islamic seasonal greeting is one that I learned literally within the first two months of living in Indonesia, and of course, my teacher's answer was, “No.”
It's certainly not my intent to pick on only Christianity because, from what I've observed in Medan and in Pati, I could just as easily pull examples from Islam or even Sikhism. It's just that I currently spend a great deal of my time at a Christian school, and this is what's most fresh on my mind. All I wish to express is the importance of understanding and admitting when our society and our own lives have become berkotak-kotak (arranged into impenetrable little boxes).
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Pipe Dreams of Becoming a Star
I guess I am officially now on the home stretch of a two-year adventure. However, if you had asked me no more than a few weeks ago, I might have told you that 2009 would mark only the beginning of my real career in Indonesia.
I haven't said much about it, but I am virtually a phone call away from a total lifestyle change. The acting profession is one of great desire and stiff competition. So unless one is content playing a supporting role in his/her local community theater, his childhood dreams of becoming an actor probably don't even cross his mind anymore, much less affect the way he makes decisions concerning his near or distant future. However, if that person happen to want to spend two years teaching English in a country where the average height is about five feet, six inches, and the most advertised product on television is skin-whitening lotion, then his chances of “making it big” would dramatically increase. It's not that I am particularly fond of taking advantage of this unique form of racism, in a country that has suffered a collective inferiority complex after 400 years of Dutch colonization, but it's difficult to ignore the screaming demand of becoming, perhaps, the only young white male in Indonesian show business.
It might sound crazy that I could even hint at the notion of becoming famous in a nation of 230 million people. But I want you to take a step back for a moment from what I've just said. Have you ever met an Indonesian person? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia and who's spent enough time there to learn the language? I've been living in Indonesia for quite some time now, and with all the traveling I've done and of all the people I've met, I have not yet encountered a single young, white male who speaks Indonesian at the level I'm currently at. I don't say this to toot my own horn. Before I ever even began the application process for a Fulbright scholarship, I was looking into The Peace Corps because my primary goal for living abroad was to become proficient in another language. I just happened to end up in probably the only country on earth with all the right chemistry to produce a superstar out of a regular guy who happens to know the local language.
Recently I have been following leads and looking under rocks for opportunities that could put me ahead in this unique field. I've never been completely serious about an acting career here, so much as I have been simply intrigued to find out if it were possible. But that didn't stop me from arranging a meeting with possibly the only successful, full-time American actor Indonesia has ever seen. Jason O'Donnel is quite a man. I've got his card right here. He's 39 years old; he's five feet, nine inches tall, and he weighs 150 pounds. Granted, he was glazed-over drunk when I met him, but I can confidently say he was one of the more annoying people I've ever met in my life. He spent most of the evening avoiding my questions, belittling my Indonesian, suggesting I know very little about the culture, and encouraging me to find work in another country. When I finally got his card (only because our mutual friend, who arranged the rendezvous, all but forced him to give it to me), he began to lecture me about “how show business works” in Indonesia. He discouraged me from contacting his manager, who's number is on the card, because of the fact that she would likely “demand that I sleep with her” before considering to help me find work. He continued to describe her physically, and I began to drift off into another conversation with a few other Fulbighters who had also come to the restaurant.
His threat level was at red, and I had only wished that he could have been honest with me about the realities of being one of the only westerners in the business here. But the fact that he was so protective and ultimately displeased that another white male dared to show interest in his beloved profession only served to raise my confidence even more. By that time I had already become Facebook friends with a few famous musicians, begun writing an article for a magazine who's owner was also one of the producers of Indonesia's biggest movie in 2008 (Laskar Pelangi), and had already been exchanging e-mails with an enthusiastic recruiter for a modeling agency. You might wonder how I've had time to teach this year!
Ultimately, I don't think that this career is going to work for me though. The program to which I have been accepted at Boston University is suited perfectly for me, and I've already taken a two year hiatus from my formal education. If I really do plow through my master's degree and finish it in a year and a half, as the program is designed to allow, I don't feel that I will have significantly lowered my chances to become a hit in Indonesia, should the desire continue to be fueled throughout my time in Boston. Going back to Indonesia to start an acting career in my mid 20s, however, doesn't seem very likely though if I remain diligent enough to earn a Master's of Education in International Development. Indonesia is huge, but I guess Jason might have been right. This island simply isn't big enough for the two of us.
I haven't said much about it, but I am virtually a phone call away from a total lifestyle change. The acting profession is one of great desire and stiff competition. So unless one is content playing a supporting role in his/her local community theater, his childhood dreams of becoming an actor probably don't even cross his mind anymore, much less affect the way he makes decisions concerning his near or distant future. However, if that person happen to want to spend two years teaching English in a country where the average height is about five feet, six inches, and the most advertised product on television is skin-whitening lotion, then his chances of “making it big” would dramatically increase. It's not that I am particularly fond of taking advantage of this unique form of racism, in a country that has suffered a collective inferiority complex after 400 years of Dutch colonization, but it's difficult to ignore the screaming demand of becoming, perhaps, the only young white male in Indonesian show business.
It might sound crazy that I could even hint at the notion of becoming famous in a nation of 230 million people. But I want you to take a step back for a moment from what I've just said. Have you ever met an Indonesian person? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia and who's spent enough time there to learn the language? I've been living in Indonesia for quite some time now, and with all the traveling I've done and of all the people I've met, I have not yet encountered a single young, white male who speaks Indonesian at the level I'm currently at. I don't say this to toot my own horn. Before I ever even began the application process for a Fulbright scholarship, I was looking into The Peace Corps because my primary goal for living abroad was to become proficient in another language. I just happened to end up in probably the only country on earth with all the right chemistry to produce a superstar out of a regular guy who happens to know the local language.
Recently I have been following leads and looking under rocks for opportunities that could put me ahead in this unique field. I've never been completely serious about an acting career here, so much as I have been simply intrigued to find out if it were possible. But that didn't stop me from arranging a meeting with possibly the only successful, full-time American actor Indonesia has ever seen. Jason O'Donnel is quite a man. I've got his card right here. He's 39 years old; he's five feet, nine inches tall, and he weighs 150 pounds. Granted, he was glazed-over drunk when I met him, but I can confidently say he was one of the more annoying people I've ever met in my life. He spent most of the evening avoiding my questions, belittling my Indonesian, suggesting I know very little about the culture, and encouraging me to find work in another country. When I finally got his card (only because our mutual friend, who arranged the rendezvous, all but forced him to give it to me), he began to lecture me about “how show business works” in Indonesia. He discouraged me from contacting his manager, who's number is on the card, because of the fact that she would likely “demand that I sleep with her” before considering to help me find work. He continued to describe her physically, and I began to drift off into another conversation with a few other Fulbighters who had also come to the restaurant.
His threat level was at red, and I had only wished that he could have been honest with me about the realities of being one of the only westerners in the business here. But the fact that he was so protective and ultimately displeased that another white male dared to show interest in his beloved profession only served to raise my confidence even more. By that time I had already become Facebook friends with a few famous musicians, begun writing an article for a magazine who's owner was also one of the producers of Indonesia's biggest movie in 2008 (Laskar Pelangi), and had already been exchanging e-mails with an enthusiastic recruiter for a modeling agency. You might wonder how I've had time to teach this year!
Ultimately, I don't think that this career is going to work for me though. The program to which I have been accepted at Boston University is suited perfectly for me, and I've already taken a two year hiatus from my formal education. If I really do plow through my master's degree and finish it in a year and a half, as the program is designed to allow, I don't feel that I will have significantly lowered my chances to become a hit in Indonesia, should the desire continue to be fueled throughout my time in Boston. Going back to Indonesia to start an acting career in my mid 20s, however, doesn't seem very likely though if I remain diligent enough to earn a Master's of Education in International Development. Indonesia is huge, but I guess Jason might have been right. This island simply isn't big enough for the two of us.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
hmmmmm
Sorry about the formatting on the next post. Blogger really isn't giving me a lot of options.
A Hike from Hell that Lead to Heaven: Part 1
Domestic tourism among college students seems to be quite popular in North Sumatra. I've hooked up with a group of students, many of whom are from the English department at North Sumatra University, who always seem to have something going on. I anticipate that the second half of my stay in Medan will be even more action packed, with more indoor soccer and more adventure. I admire that such large groups of students get together fairly often to enjoy their country, and with all it has to offer, as well as inexpensive public transportation, why wouldn't they? Once I get back to the States, I'll be excited to start taking more advantage of the travel destinations around where I live. The U.S. has a great deal to offer in the way of beautiful nature spots, and I don't think that I've taken enough initiative to see them (at least certainly not the kind of initiative I see groups of college students taking here). Of course I've gone on yearly trips to Current River; I've been to Mammoth Cave a few times, but I'd like to make more day trips or weekend trips with groups of friends to sites I haven't been yet, even if they might seem plain or boring. The massive amount of fun i've been having exploring this country, has really sparked a curiosity in me to see what more my own home has to offer.
My New Year's trip with the group of students I mentioned above turned out to be one of the most memorable, exciting, dangerous, and pleasant trips I've ever been on. It was complete with just about every emotion I'm capable of feeling, and thanks to my wonderful new group of friends (who never worry about anything *see previous blog post*) any negative emotion I experienced was quickly blotted out by the constant smiles of eight other people. 
Our journey began on January 30th at the campus of North Sumatra University, where I was introduced to most of the group for the first time. Pipi, who invited me, has become a good friend over the last few months, and I had already played indoor soccer with Jarod and Reja, but the rest of the crew I hadn't yet met. We organized all our bags, rolled up the matresses, collected some money for a group transportation fund, and we set off on foot to Jamin Ginting Street, where many buses head straight to Berastagi. Berastagi is a beautiful city and a well-known tourist spot, about an hour and a half away from our destination, Gunung Sinabung, an active volcano and one of the highest peaks in North SumatraOn the bus ride to Berastagi, I sat next to Pipi and Noni – Noni whom I had only just met on campus. She studies English with Pipi and is quite fluent. Both girls are strong Muslims (Noni wears a head scarf), and both of them are extremely in tune with world events. We had some great conversation, and it was nice to sit down and just talk for a couple hours with some very sharp girls my age. This bus ride was a sure sign that a lot of entertaining chat and productive discussion was to come.
Our bus stopped at one of the larger traditional markets in Berastagi, where many different bus lines run through. It was already a familiar spot for me, so I knew we were about to stock up on the local fried goodies, gorengan, before we continued our journey. We had about 30 minutes to kill before we could board a smaller van, called an angkut, which would take us to the base of the mountain. So of course, the guitars began to emerge from their cases, and some of the guys played a few Indonesian tunes while we waited. A van arrived, and our group of nine adventurers crammed into the back and sat on wooden benches, which stretched lengthwise on both sides of the viehicle. An angkut is about the size of a standard mini-van in the US, so you can imagine how nine people plus the driver would be a tight squeeze. And hence, you can also imagine that when seven others from a different group started to push their way in, a futile situation began to arise. This is the tragedy of public transportation in Indonesia because there are so many people, not enough buses, and each driver wants as much fair as he can get. So, even though it was physically impossible to get seven more people inside, the driver was unquestionably determined to take everyone to their respective destinations. And certainly the latecomers were equally as eager to get back to their homes, rather than wait another half an hour for another bus, which was probably going to be just as full.
I had previously admired the iron bars on the outside of bigger busses in this country, which line the windows from front to back. I had assumed that they were to serve the purpose of roll bars. And that very well could have been their original intention. Roads here twist and turn up and down mountains, conditions vary, and so does the weather, so it's not really anything special to see four-wheeled vehicles oriented in every imaginable way in the grass on the side of the roadway. However, these metal bars, which were most likely initially intended for safety, have fallen victim to the ingenuity of Indonesian drivers, who plan to get the most bang for their gasoline buck. The more people who can fit inside, or outside, means that the driver's gratuities go up for each subsequent trip. The conductor, who collects money from each passenger usually has a permanent spot, hanging on the outside of the bus, as to not occupy a valuable seat. He climbs like Spiderman from the front of the bus to the back, collecting money and using the metal bars as it tears down mountain switchbacks at uncomfortable speeds, while other buses do the exact same from the opposite direction. So, if the conductor can seemingly accomplish this feet safely on the outside of the bus, why shouldn't this exposed but precious space also be used for passengers?
After forcing in three extra people into our mini van, of course, the four remaining commuters were ushered to the roof, in a uniquely Indonesian procedure I like to call, “risking your fucking life.”
Arriving at the campsite later that evening with everyone in one piece was the first major accomplishment of the trip, and I was happy we were able to begin relaxing after the day's journey. We got all our bags in order, which had been serving as cushions for the lucky travelers on top, and we began to set up the tent. Our evening's events were to be comprised of eating rice and veggies with the gas stove Reja had brought and then playing cards until we fell asleep. The tent was a three-room mansion, suitable for probably 20 people. Reja had acquired it after refugees from the 2004 tsunami began to migrate either back to their homes or seek new lives in Medan. He'd gotten the tent for the equivalent of about $40, four times less than the one-person bivy sack I had brought with me.
January 31st was a day of total relaxation. Our plan was to climb the mountain at midnight before th new year, so that we could not only see the sunrise from the top the next morning, but also so that we could enjoy the festivities at the crowded campsite on the lake before setting off. I don't know if the gas stove was ever turned off that day. We were constantly cooking either rice, sardines, or veggies, or we were frying crunchy little cakes called kerupuk. It's a wonder how I didn't get more burned in the strong Indonesian sun, but it seemed like we played cards outside for hours, humiliating the loser by smearing ashes all over his or her face, and then making him run through the crowd to bang on a medal railing with a rock, only to draw hundreds of people's attention to his smudged appearance.Later that afternoon, the mood of the trip went in a slightly different direction. Not that this next fact was ever threatening, or even something I had so much as slightly considered, but there's no denying that I was unique amidst a group of Muslims – informed, curious, and skeptical of American involvement on a world scale. I have had countless conversations about politics, current events, Christianity, Islam, American culture, corruption in Indonesia, the Middle East, etc., but I'd never been as challenged as when talking with Pipi, Noni, David, and Jarod inside Reja's tent.
Since I have been here, I've not only become inexpressibly more informed about Muslim views concerning international politics, but I have become extremely sympathetic. At the same time, however, I have become just as much more patriotic toward my own country. I'm certainly more moderate in my views than when I left for Indonesia, and I can confidently admit that there are certain policies of Greorge Bush's with which I agree. I hate the way the war has been waged in the Middle East, but I am not in total disagreement that something had to be done. Especially Noni and Pipi were asking me deliberately pointed questions, ones to which I had no good answer, but I know that we were able to help eachother understand more about each other's points of view.
Having been here for only a year and a half, I could never say that I know it all, but I do know a lot more about what's going on in the Muslim world, and the most unfortunate problem is that there is very little effort toward creating a mutual understanding. The misunderstandings are as simple as watching only CNN, FOX News, and The BBC, or only watching Al Jazeera, TransTV, GlobalTV, and reading the Jakarta Post. Media just isn't helping relations. Different and exaggerated sides of the story are being told on both ends, and having sat and talked with this group of people, for only an hour, elevated us all to an entirely new level of understanding. I could never exaggerate the impact or the importance of experiences like these because it's clear that this is the only way we're ever going to get the real story. An hour long conversation, where both parties show equal interest in the other's stance can do more good than I can describe.
No feelings were ever hurt during the conversation, but although emotions were controlled, they were very high. When tears began to form in my eyes, so did awkwardly stated jokes with intentions to make light of the situation. The realization that we'd started to go too far was humbling and relieving. I pretty much live for interactions like that, and although I was being tested to my core, I brought up just as many challenging issues for them too. Having friends that I can trust but who also hold vastly different opinions has been one of the most amazing parts of my experience here, and it will be nice to let these friendships really grow over the next many months. I feel that I got very close to everyone from that discussion. I know that they also got closer to me too.
As it began to get dark, we all started falling out. Of course, the previous night none of us got enough sleep, and everyone thought it best to nap before our midnight journey, summiting one of North Sumatra's most challenging peaks. The guitar came out once again, and most of us were lulled to sleep by a couple of the guys' acoustic versions of Indonesian classics and pop songs.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
My Travel List Includes Mangos for You!
I guess this always seems to happen, right? Here I've gone another three or four weeks without posting anything. This past stretch of time has been different though. I've genuinely been suffering from writer's block. While I've no doubt been busy, I've also already sat down on numerous occasions to write a blog entry, but I hadn't gotten past the first paragraph, until today. And I guess I'm not to the second one yet, so maybe I shouldn't make any assumptions, but today I actually have an idea for where this entry might go. Recently, I've had no idea what I've wanted to write about at the time I sat down with my laptop, and that's been precisely the problem. As I mentioned in the last entry, my life is getting to be very normal – not in the sense that you might deem as normal, but at least my life is semi-standard on an Indonesian scale. Because of that, (from my perspective) fewer profound things have been occurring. This might just be a sign that I'll never be a journalist, columnist, or novelist; or maybe it's a sign that I should think more critically about what's going on around me, but nevertheless, as things have begun to fall into place (even if that means shoving a square block into a circle hole), it's become more difficult for me to express my feelings and recount my experiences in ways that I believe would be interesting for you. Even though I can acknowledge that many recent events here would be totally entertaining and unbelievable for you, to the point of being almost unconvincing, writing about them now has become a chore. I see odd things go down literally every day, and on top of this, I've already been seeing them for a year and a half.
Not just my daily life, but also my thinking has become inarguably more Indonesian, and I can illustrate that fact pretty easily. First, I have developed an inescapable urge to always acquire bags full of seemingly meaningless gifts for people when I travel. And second, I've gotten to the point where no matter what horrible things are happening around me, I tend to either not give it much thought (assuming it's something that's out of my hands) or just not be affected by the thoughts that I'm having. When practiced by Indonesians, both of these cultural aspects never stopped infuriating me last year. The endless requests for gifts from 30 or 40 villagers each time I traveled away from Guyangan drove me up the wall; but now, if I haven't supported various local economies through buying trinkets or fabrics from family owned shops or from vendors, I feel a deeply seated guilt that my trip has been almost wasted. I also hated it last year when I would find myself in situations where I had become irreversibly displeased by an outside event, and no one around me seemed to be at all bothered. The fact of the matter is that misery loves company, and I can't tell you how many times I wanted to complain to someone last year and have them at least relate to my frustration or hey, maybe even receive some moral support. You might remember my post last February about the flood in Juwana. People here handle their problems differently, and empathy is not real big on the list; if you're visibly upset about something, the first thing people wonder is, “what could possibly be that bad?” The only thing that seems to merit on overt display of negative emotion is when relationships with friends, family members, or significant others go wrong. However, that's a-whole-nother discussion.
For the sake of effective transitions, rather than getting into the topic for which this blog entry was named, let's go ahead and continue with our thoughts of uncontrollable events and of the displaying of negative emotions.
If I'm feeling particularly under-stimulated and have absolutely nothing to do at night, one of my favorite activities is to walk about 100 yards to the entrance of my complex and hang out with the security guards, who will inevitably be getting drunk on the local alcoholic beverage, tuak. One night last week, however, was a particularly eventful evening. I was chatting with the merry gang of rent-a-cops, when suddenly a band of motorcyclists stopped in front of my neighborhood and proceeded to beat the hell out of one another. It was happening uncomfortably close to where I was sitting, and immediately all the security guards ran to break up the fight. I slowly sat up, drink in hand, watching the events unfold from about ten yards. My local security force managed to calm them down substantially, but I think the turning point happened only when one of the belligerently drunk members of the motorcycle gang caught my eye. He stood out amongst the crowd for about 10 seconds because he was (other than me) the only stationary participant, standing confused with an ambiguous and possibly irritated or offended expression on his face. My false state of security and exclusion from this brawl was immediately broken with, “HEY! Mister!” At which point, most attention was placed on me. There were a couple smiles, and since the unfortunate fellow toward whom most of the aggression had been directed was already out of the picture (not dead, but he had jumped into a taxi), I wasn't as nervous as I should have been when two of the guys began to approach me with unclear intentions. Until that point, my experiences with strangers in nearly every situation imaginable had been positive, and so I planned on handling this situation just as I had handled every other situation in this country – with a huge and genuine, but totally unwarranted smile.
As I am still capable of writing this e-mail, you might have guessed that everything turned out fine. They weren't as friendly as sober Indonesians, but possibly much more so than a mob of thugs in the US, who had only recently tracked down a rouge member of their crew, forced him to pull over at roadside in the middle of the night, and then drunkenly beat him down until outside forces made them stop. They were a little put off by my dismissal of their invitation to come continue drinking with them, but when they asked if I had been scared during the incident, my response made the whole group laugh, and everyone went home. I just told the guy that if he had come one step closer to me, then I would have smeared the bodies of everyone involved all over the street.
So you see, if a group like that in this country can get passed their violently drunken rage in a matter of seconds, after having instigated a clearly premeditated and savage motorcycle assault, only to joke around with a foreigner, as if nothing had ever happened, it shouldn't be too hard to understand how I might have changed a bit over the last year and a half. With those kinds of constant influences, if I had ever worn my emotions on my sleeve, then they're not even hanging on by a thread anymore.
Emotions on my sleeve really only applies to negative ones though because I've definitely made up for it by adding even more cheer to the heavier side of an already unbalanced scale. I'm sure that most people in the US would find me unnecessarily and obnoxiously, maybe even threateningly, upbeat. Of course I exaggerate, but the pleasant aspects of this culture are the ones that I have always clung to, and I've put real effort into making the negatives become positive. Expected and thankless gift-giving is something that I have actually begun to embrace.
Before I travel away from my home, for any number of days, I always refer to an ever-growing list that I've made with the “Notes” application of the “Office” program on my cell phone. It includes such things as: towel, power adapter, sunscreen, hand sanitizer, swimsuit, and dictionary, among many other items that I wouldn't want to forget based on the length of my trip. The most recent necessity I've added to the list, though, is not actually for me. “Gifts for locals” has become a must-bring. Of course, I had already been in the habit of buying memorabilia and other small presents for people back in Medan, but my style of travel these days has changed dramatically from how I had been traveling in the past. My new confidence and trust in a travel system that most might consider to be relying on random events, or simply a laziness to plan, has been working seamlessly and unprecedentedly successfully for about three months straight. I've been having more fun than ever, and this new addition to my travel list has become downright essential.
Here's the deal, no one has ever known me to be anything but shameless, so I guess I'll just tell you my travel arrangements like they are.
1) Choose an area, landmark, or city of interest in North Sumatra
2) Pack bags and ride there by motorcycle
3) Arrive at destination and ask villagers about local color and particularly interesting destinations
4) Wait to be approached by a group of girls
5) Explain to them why I chose to come here and my tentative plans
6) Take their suggestions, invite them along, or hone in on their plans
7) Spend the day making friends
8) Be invited to spend the night with one of their families
9) Meet the parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, and cousins (that's where the gifts come in)
10) Spend time in the kitchen, help to cook dinner, and depending on the age of the parents, fall in love with the oldest or youngest daughter
11) Somehow end up getting a massage from the grandmother, mother, or one of the daughters with traditional oils in the living room, while chatting with the family
12) Be offered a place to sleep in one of the brothers' rooms
13) Talk about European soccer clubs until we fall asleep
14) Wake up, eat breakfast, sometimes go to church, and spend time with the family until I have to leave
15) Head back home to Medan, having made friends for life
I don't mean to downplay or exaggerate any part of that list. It's just the truth.
Probably the most interesting occurrence of this rarely deviating pattern was on the island of Samosir. I had rented a bicycle, and had wanted to pedal along on a famous stretch of the island, which is lined with beautifully arranged rice fields, bordered by a wall of mountains that reach across the land and out of sight. Within 30 minutes, I was coaxed by a group of women, who were working in one of the rice patties, to come and join them. It would have been an unforgivable oversight to have shrugged off the opportunity to spend the day, joking around, knee deep in mud with a group of women aged 10 to 60, and I'm glad that my senses were with me that day. Granted, five hours of bending over, trudging through saturated earth, planting seeds was nothing less than grueling, but spirits were quite high, and I helped them finish the days work earlier than what they would have normally been able to do. After completing the task, we all walked about four miles back to their home, which was right on the water. Next we all went out onto the dock with soap and shampoo to take a bath in the lake. From there, you can just read from step 9, and the only difference was that I don't think I talked any soccer, nor did I go to church the next morning.
Yesterday for Christmas eve (by the way, MERRY CHRISTMAS!), I went through the same process because I wanted to see what a traditional Christmas celebration would be like in one of the more predominantly Christian areas of the country. I went to an elaborate Catholic mass, where everyone was sitting on the floor, cross-legged on mats, and a priest from The Netherlands, who was fluent in Bahasa Indonesia, gave the sermon. Of course, there was a nativity play by Indonesian children and singing performances by many members of the congregation. At that point, steps 1 through 9 had already been accomplished, but step 11 was omitted, and step 10 was moved in between 14 and 15.
Are you still taking me seriously? Maybe this is why I haven't been writing as much.
Not just my daily life, but also my thinking has become inarguably more Indonesian, and I can illustrate that fact pretty easily. First, I have developed an inescapable urge to always acquire bags full of seemingly meaningless gifts for people when I travel. And second, I've gotten to the point where no matter what horrible things are happening around me, I tend to either not give it much thought (assuming it's something that's out of my hands) or just not be affected by the thoughts that I'm having. When practiced by Indonesians, both of these cultural aspects never stopped infuriating me last year. The endless requests for gifts from 30 or 40 villagers each time I traveled away from Guyangan drove me up the wall; but now, if I haven't supported various local economies through buying trinkets or fabrics from family owned shops or from vendors, I feel a deeply seated guilt that my trip has been almost wasted. I also hated it last year when I would find myself in situations where I had become irreversibly displeased by an outside event, and no one around me seemed to be at all bothered. The fact of the matter is that misery loves company, and I can't tell you how many times I wanted to complain to someone last year and have them at least relate to my frustration or hey, maybe even receive some moral support. You might remember my post last February about the flood in Juwana. People here handle their problems differently, and empathy is not real big on the list; if you're visibly upset about something, the first thing people wonder is, “what could possibly be that bad?” The only thing that seems to merit on overt display of negative emotion is when relationships with friends, family members, or significant others go wrong. However, that's a-whole-nother discussion.
For the sake of effective transitions, rather than getting into the topic for which this blog entry was named, let's go ahead and continue with our thoughts of uncontrollable events and of the displaying of negative emotions.
If I'm feeling particularly under-stimulated and have absolutely nothing to do at night, one of my favorite activities is to walk about 100 yards to the entrance of my complex and hang out with the security guards, who will inevitably be getting drunk on the local alcoholic beverage, tuak. One night last week, however, was a particularly eventful evening. I was chatting with the merry gang of rent-a-cops, when suddenly a band of motorcyclists stopped in front of my neighborhood and proceeded to beat the hell out of one another. It was happening uncomfortably close to where I was sitting, and immediately all the security guards ran to break up the fight. I slowly sat up, drink in hand, watching the events unfold from about ten yards. My local security force managed to calm them down substantially, but I think the turning point happened only when one of the belligerently drunk members of the motorcycle gang caught my eye. He stood out amongst the crowd for about 10 seconds because he was (other than me) the only stationary participant, standing confused with an ambiguous and possibly irritated or offended expression on his face. My false state of security and exclusion from this brawl was immediately broken with, “HEY! Mister!” At which point, most attention was placed on me. There were a couple smiles, and since the unfortunate fellow toward whom most of the aggression had been directed was already out of the picture (not dead, but he had jumped into a taxi), I wasn't as nervous as I should have been when two of the guys began to approach me with unclear intentions. Until that point, my experiences with strangers in nearly every situation imaginable had been positive, and so I planned on handling this situation just as I had handled every other situation in this country – with a huge and genuine, but totally unwarranted smile.
As I am still capable of writing this e-mail, you might have guessed that everything turned out fine. They weren't as friendly as sober Indonesians, but possibly much more so than a mob of thugs in the US, who had only recently tracked down a rouge member of their crew, forced him to pull over at roadside in the middle of the night, and then drunkenly beat him down until outside forces made them stop. They were a little put off by my dismissal of their invitation to come continue drinking with them, but when they asked if I had been scared during the incident, my response made the whole group laugh, and everyone went home. I just told the guy that if he had come one step closer to me, then I would have smeared the bodies of everyone involved all over the street.
So you see, if a group like that in this country can get passed their violently drunken rage in a matter of seconds, after having instigated a clearly premeditated and savage motorcycle assault, only to joke around with a foreigner, as if nothing had ever happened, it shouldn't be too hard to understand how I might have changed a bit over the last year and a half. With those kinds of constant influences, if I had ever worn my emotions on my sleeve, then they're not even hanging on by a thread anymore.
Emotions on my sleeve really only applies to negative ones though because I've definitely made up for it by adding even more cheer to the heavier side of an already unbalanced scale. I'm sure that most people in the US would find me unnecessarily and obnoxiously, maybe even threateningly, upbeat. Of course I exaggerate, but the pleasant aspects of this culture are the ones that I have always clung to, and I've put real effort into making the negatives become positive. Expected and thankless gift-giving is something that I have actually begun to embrace.
Before I travel away from my home, for any number of days, I always refer to an ever-growing list that I've made with the “Notes” application of the “Office” program on my cell phone. It includes such things as: towel, power adapter, sunscreen, hand sanitizer, swimsuit, and dictionary, among many other items that I wouldn't want to forget based on the length of my trip. The most recent necessity I've added to the list, though, is not actually for me. “Gifts for locals” has become a must-bring. Of course, I had already been in the habit of buying memorabilia and other small presents for people back in Medan, but my style of travel these days has changed dramatically from how I had been traveling in the past. My new confidence and trust in a travel system that most might consider to be relying on random events, or simply a laziness to plan, has been working seamlessly and unprecedentedly successfully for about three months straight. I've been having more fun than ever, and this new addition to my travel list has become downright essential.
Here's the deal, no one has ever known me to be anything but shameless, so I guess I'll just tell you my travel arrangements like they are.
1) Choose an area, landmark, or city of interest in North Sumatra
2) Pack bags and ride there by motorcycle
3) Arrive at destination and ask villagers about local color and particularly interesting destinations
4) Wait to be approached by a group of girls
5) Explain to them why I chose to come here and my tentative plans
6) Take their suggestions, invite them along, or hone in on their plans
7) Spend the day making friends
8) Be invited to spend the night with one of their families
9) Meet the parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, and cousins (that's where the gifts come in)
10) Spend time in the kitchen, help to cook dinner, and depending on the age of the parents, fall in love with the oldest or youngest daughter
11) Somehow end up getting a massage from the grandmother, mother, or one of the daughters with traditional oils in the living room, while chatting with the family
12) Be offered a place to sleep in one of the brothers' rooms
13) Talk about European soccer clubs until we fall asleep
14) Wake up, eat breakfast, sometimes go to church, and spend time with the family until I have to leave
15) Head back home to Medan, having made friends for life
I don't mean to downplay or exaggerate any part of that list. It's just the truth.
Probably the most interesting occurrence of this rarely deviating pattern was on the island of Samosir. I had rented a bicycle, and had wanted to pedal along on a famous stretch of the island, which is lined with beautifully arranged rice fields, bordered by a wall of mountains that reach across the land and out of sight. Within 30 minutes, I was coaxed by a group of women, who were working in one of the rice patties, to come and join them. It would have been an unforgivable oversight to have shrugged off the opportunity to spend the day, joking around, knee deep in mud with a group of women aged 10 to 60, and I'm glad that my senses were with me that day. Granted, five hours of bending over, trudging through saturated earth, planting seeds was nothing less than grueling, but spirits were quite high, and I helped them finish the days work earlier than what they would have normally been able to do. After completing the task, we all walked about four miles back to their home, which was right on the water. Next we all went out onto the dock with soap and shampoo to take a bath in the lake. From there, you can just read from step 9, and the only difference was that I don't think I talked any soccer, nor did I go to church the next morning.
Yesterday for Christmas eve (by the way, MERRY CHRISTMAS!), I went through the same process because I wanted to see what a traditional Christmas celebration would be like in one of the more predominantly Christian areas of the country. I went to an elaborate Catholic mass, where everyone was sitting on the floor, cross-legged on mats, and a priest from The Netherlands, who was fluent in Bahasa Indonesia, gave the sermon. Of course, there was a nativity play by Indonesian children and singing performances by many members of the congregation. At that point, steps 1 through 9 had already been accomplished, but step 11 was omitted, and step 10 was moved in between 14 and 15.
Are you still taking me seriously? Maybe this is why I haven't been writing as much.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
English Club: a Work in Progress
I've been singing the same song for a while now, and that's the main reason why I haven't written as much in recent weeks. There's been one overwhelming and reoccurring thought on my mind for the better part of two months – how could things get any better? I'm completely ducking the financial crisis because of the fact that, while the U.S. economy is falling, the U.S. dollar is in extremely high demand, so our currency is quite strong around the world. In Indonesia, the dollar is worth 33% more than it was last year at this time. So while I haven't been doing as much inter-island traveling, I've been making up for it with many day trips on my motorcycle and just living it up in Indonesia's 3rd largest city. My teaching is going phenomenally well because I have been spending much more time on preparation. Last year when I was living on my school's campus, it might seem as if I should have been more productive. However, I've found that I can separate myself from my school any time I want this year, and consequently, I'm more motivated to make a difference while I'm there. I spent a lot of time with people in my village last year, but I also spent a lot more time in my room, trying to escape in the only place where privacy was possible. When I was in my house, the last thing I wanted to think about was lesson planning. I wasn't unhappy, but I needed more time to unwind.
I've now gotten over most of the hurdles that bothered me in my first year; I've reached the top of the mountain, and with a much broader perspective, I'm looking down at all I've accomplished thus far. I can Also see what is possible for me to achieve within the next 6 or 7 months with a clarity of vision I could have never hoped for this time last year, even when trying to plan a weekend vacation. The vast majority of cultural differences that bothered me last year don't even phase me anymore, and I know how to avoid situations that still make me cringe. The remainder of my time here is not even going to be a down-hill-battle, so much as rolling down a clover-covered hillside. There will inevitably be a few pebbles and bumps, but I just bought some band-aids at a local pharmacy. I've never felt more prepared to deal with the unpredictable and the unknown. There's no reason for me to feel overconfident about this either. This is currently my home; I speak the language, I have tons of friends my age, and I know the street names. When I was in college, I never found myself looking at the upcoming semester with skepticism or apprehension. I see no reason to be any more cautious than I was during my sophomore year of college.
The fact of the matter is that if I approach people in this culture in the way that they prefer (not the way that I would want to be treated... If there's anything I've learned, it's that in a global era, the Golden Rule is simply obsolete and quite frankly alienating), then I've basically got the key to people's hearts and ultimately the city. I'm not saying this to be funny, and I'm not saying it because I've been insincerely taking advantage of anyone, but the fact of the matter is that racism takes a different form in every culture, and the role I play in this country could never escape from the reality of how people see foreigners within their own borders. I don't use my status to get lower prices at the market or to get people to cancel their plans to do things for me, but I do use it to make connections everywhere I go and to create unique situations, where I know I will get an experience that would have never otherwise been possible.
Bule is the slang term for a westerner, and Bules are known for being rich, handsome, intelligent, successful, motivated, and arrogant (probably in that order). They are usually very high-profile, living in exclusive neighborhoods, driving (or being driven in) expensive cars, and shopping at costly grocery stores that most Indonesians would never enter. I'm a different kind of high-profile though, and arguably, I'm probably considerably more high-profile than the businessmen pulling tens of thousands of dollars a year. I go riding around on my motorcycle (which is low-end even by Indonesian standards) waving and stopping at street vendors, and yelling back “I love you too!” when a middle-aged man feels compelled to shout from his front porch the only thing he knows in English. Usually, I feel like I stand out more because I try to fit in. It's easy to ignore someone who you assume is probably going to ignore you. I often felt cornered by all the attention I got in Central Java, and although I tended to be one of the Fulbrighters who enjoyed playing up the constant flattery, I'm not ashamed to admit that this year has reached a whole new level.
I can see how many people from back home would scoff at my daily interactions with people, and if I were put into an American context, then yeah, I would probably look like a creep, or at least annoying. But, what is important to mention is that my primary concentration (and it will remain my number one focus as long as I'm living in another country) is to mirror everything from attitudes to tones of voice. I would never be the ham that I am in this country if people weren't begging for it. Women and men from North Sumatra are inconceivably flirtatious performers (and I thought Java was something). I like to see people smile, and when I show them that I am just as happy to be talking with them as they are to be talking with the only westerner they've ever met who can speak their language, and when I take the microphone at the karaoke shed across the street from my complex, there's really no where to go but up. I mean seriously, the other day a police officer asked me for my phone number as he pulled beside me while we were both driving on a busy street, and the armed guards at a military base close to my house almost drop their machine guns every time I pass by trying to wave at me.
See, this is why it's hard to write about my experiences here. I don't know how to express this stuff without giving off a blatant air of narcissism. You'll have to come and see for yourself, so you can get some perspective if you ever want me to get into the 75% of stories that I'm withholding!
All that being said, I'm not just going to stop being careful. This past week I had a painful reminder of why I should not let myself get too comfortable.
Monday's session of English club was, overall, the most successful meeting I'd had had to date with my students outside of class. I facilitated an activity where all students had to rank criteria and priorities that came from different topics and categories. For example, one category was “leisure activities,” which including swimming, dancing, reading, drinking, etc. They then had to rate each option based on criteria such as “educational,” “healthy,” “sociable,” etc. The students were engaged, speaking English without thinking, and laughing about their explanations. But, in the midst of all the fun, I misspoke – big.
One negative aspect of this culture that I don't want to pick up is the tendency people have here to generally lack what westerners would consider to be “tact.” Empathy isn't real big in this part of the world, and with all the strife, I can understand why. The fact of the matter is that people say what they think and don't see much of a reason to sensor their thoughts. Consequently, they normally have tremendous amounts of fun because, within a group of friends, no one is worrying about what other people think. They aren't easily offended. However, they are not immune, and I often see quarrels.
Let's say that, in Medan, the ratio of snide comments made to persons who get offended is 10:1. Let's say that it's 10:5 in the U.S. (I don't think this is an exaggeration. Imagine you had just met your high school sweetheart for the first time in 6 years and the first thing he or she said to you was, “Wow, you look so fat now,” would you not be offended? This kind of greeting is not only typical here; a comment about how your physical appearance has changed for the worse would be totally expected.) Anyway, the sheer volume of snide comments made here is mind-boggling, so even if people are five times more likely to be offended in America, I bet that there are still more arguments in Medan.
To tell you the truth, that sort of mindset has already begun to rub off on me, and I find myself rattling off just about anything that comes to mind on a pretty regular basis. It's received very well though, because not only do people appreciate honesty more than flattery, they have pretty dark senses of humor (and I guess you'd have to). What happened on Monday though was still an overt cultural blunder. And really, what am i saying? This was a blunder that would surely transcend cultural barriers. Nevertheless, I'll blame it on being in the habit of not thinking as critically about the things I say before I say them.
The category was “Ways of getting money.” Some of the included options were practices such as “hard work,””tax evasion,” “bank robbery,” and “marrying a rich wife/husband.” Students had to rank these things based on criteria such as “efficient,” “ethical,” “difficult,” and “reliable.” We had some entertaining conversation especially concerning which was most and least ethical. Some of the girls in the room had no problem saying blatantly that they planned on marrying rich, and a few of the guys laughed at the idea of actually paying their required taxes after they graduate.
It wasn't until the very last criterion of “reliability,” that the problem arose. The students' answers had been varying all afternoon on each subject, so it was common for them to seek my opinion. But, when they asked, “Mr. Ken, what do you think is the most reliable way of getting money in Indonesia,” I should have prefaced my answer with an explanation of the duties of the IRS before I said “tax evasion.” In my mind, I had already thought about the fact that, while tax evasion here doesn't ensure you a large sum of much money, it is a sure bet to get at least a little extra because there's virtually no government effort to regulate it, and almost everyone does it. Nearly all transactions are made with cash, and nobody has registered businesses. Neglecting your duties to pay taxes to the government is easy, common, and doesn't have any real consequences. The actual unemployment rate in indonesia is probably miles higher than the percentage of people who pay their taxes.
Nevertheless, my comment was a conversation wrecking-ball, and I immediately realized it. I had to work very hard to recover because it was not at all the answer any of them were expecting (and I shouldn't have said it). The students ended up not caring, and they were laughing in a couple minutes after I tried to explain what I meant. The teacher who was accompanying me, however, was not so easily persuaded that I had only misspoke. She had interpreted my comment as a product of the tendencies of westerners to project their superiority onto people in struggling countries. Any teacher should have answered “hard work” to a group of students, and my analysis of the situation should have been restricted to a time of established discussion – not during a light-hearted game. Thankfully my students, just being teenagers, didn't think twice, and I apologized personally to a couple of the really thoughtful ones, but Ms. Siregar later told me that my comment had brought her to tears later that day. I didn't even know it, but the next day was a huge nationalistic holiday for Indonesia. Tuesday was Hari Guru or Teacher's Day, and the celebrations at schools that accompany this holiday are massive. I hadn't realized that the extra after-school meetings and extracurriculars, which had been going on for weeks, were all in preparation for Teacher's Day, a holiday I saw on the calendar but never gave a second thought. Indonesians have a different kind of pride in their country than Americans, and because they show their love for their country in different ways (like with huge, frequent, lengthy, and organized ceremonies), Americans would probably consider them to be more nationalistic. The spirit of patriotism in Indonesia was high, and Ms. Siregar was quite disappointed in me that I had, in effect, told a group of students that stealing from your government is more promising than following your dreams.
The situation is neither here nor there at this point because I honestly felt terrible for saying it, and Ms. Siregar knew it, plus I made every effort to apologize and to make up for it. I had overstepped my bounds, so without being defensive, I silently endured some pretty pointed and harsh text messages. It's nice to be an adult and to know that when problems arise, most people are actually willing to work at making the situation better, as long as the offending party makes the first attempt to genuinely reconcile. I'm so happy that the days of high school grudges are over because I was losing sleep about this. All I could think about for a few days was an Eddie Izzard comedy sketch that mocked a British ambassador who gave an embarrassing speech in China a few years ago.
“Hello, I'm not too happy to be on the job, and I think you're all a bunch of bastards. I hate you personally. Bye...
“...did I do something wrong –
“what? Ohhh... the whole thing...”
I've now gotten over most of the hurdles that bothered me in my first year; I've reached the top of the mountain, and with a much broader perspective, I'm looking down at all I've accomplished thus far. I can Also see what is possible for me to achieve within the next 6 or 7 months with a clarity of vision I could have never hoped for this time last year, even when trying to plan a weekend vacation. The vast majority of cultural differences that bothered me last year don't even phase me anymore, and I know how to avoid situations that still make me cringe. The remainder of my time here is not even going to be a down-hill-battle, so much as rolling down a clover-covered hillside. There will inevitably be a few pebbles and bumps, but I just bought some band-aids at a local pharmacy. I've never felt more prepared to deal with the unpredictable and the unknown. There's no reason for me to feel overconfident about this either. This is currently my home; I speak the language, I have tons of friends my age, and I know the street names. When I was in college, I never found myself looking at the upcoming semester with skepticism or apprehension. I see no reason to be any more cautious than I was during my sophomore year of college.
The fact of the matter is that if I approach people in this culture in the way that they prefer (not the way that I would want to be treated... If there's anything I've learned, it's that in a global era, the Golden Rule is simply obsolete and quite frankly alienating), then I've basically got the key to people's hearts and ultimately the city. I'm not saying this to be funny, and I'm not saying it because I've been insincerely taking advantage of anyone, but the fact of the matter is that racism takes a different form in every culture, and the role I play in this country could never escape from the reality of how people see foreigners within their own borders. I don't use my status to get lower prices at the market or to get people to cancel their plans to do things for me, but I do use it to make connections everywhere I go and to create unique situations, where I know I will get an experience that would have never otherwise been possible.
Bule is the slang term for a westerner, and Bules are known for being rich, handsome, intelligent, successful, motivated, and arrogant (probably in that order). They are usually very high-profile, living in exclusive neighborhoods, driving (or being driven in) expensive cars, and shopping at costly grocery stores that most Indonesians would never enter. I'm a different kind of high-profile though, and arguably, I'm probably considerably more high-profile than the businessmen pulling tens of thousands of dollars a year. I go riding around on my motorcycle (which is low-end even by Indonesian standards) waving and stopping at street vendors, and yelling back “I love you too!” when a middle-aged man feels compelled to shout from his front porch the only thing he knows in English. Usually, I feel like I stand out more because I try to fit in. It's easy to ignore someone who you assume is probably going to ignore you. I often felt cornered by all the attention I got in Central Java, and although I tended to be one of the Fulbrighters who enjoyed playing up the constant flattery, I'm not ashamed to admit that this year has reached a whole new level.
I can see how many people from back home would scoff at my daily interactions with people, and if I were put into an American context, then yeah, I would probably look like a creep, or at least annoying. But, what is important to mention is that my primary concentration (and it will remain my number one focus as long as I'm living in another country) is to mirror everything from attitudes to tones of voice. I would never be the ham that I am in this country if people weren't begging for it. Women and men from North Sumatra are inconceivably flirtatious performers (and I thought Java was something). I like to see people smile, and when I show them that I am just as happy to be talking with them as they are to be talking with the only westerner they've ever met who can speak their language, and when I take the microphone at the karaoke shed across the street from my complex, there's really no where to go but up. I mean seriously, the other day a police officer asked me for my phone number as he pulled beside me while we were both driving on a busy street, and the armed guards at a military base close to my house almost drop their machine guns every time I pass by trying to wave at me.
See, this is why it's hard to write about my experiences here. I don't know how to express this stuff without giving off a blatant air of narcissism. You'll have to come and see for yourself, so you can get some perspective if you ever want me to get into the 75% of stories that I'm withholding!
All that being said, I'm not just going to stop being careful. This past week I had a painful reminder of why I should not let myself get too comfortable.
Monday's session of English club was, overall, the most successful meeting I'd had had to date with my students outside of class. I facilitated an activity where all students had to rank criteria and priorities that came from different topics and categories. For example, one category was “leisure activities,” which including swimming, dancing, reading, drinking, etc. They then had to rate each option based on criteria such as “educational,” “healthy,” “sociable,” etc. The students were engaged, speaking English without thinking, and laughing about their explanations. But, in the midst of all the fun, I misspoke – big.
One negative aspect of this culture that I don't want to pick up is the tendency people have here to generally lack what westerners would consider to be “tact.” Empathy isn't real big in this part of the world, and with all the strife, I can understand why. The fact of the matter is that people say what they think and don't see much of a reason to sensor their thoughts. Consequently, they normally have tremendous amounts of fun because, within a group of friends, no one is worrying about what other people think. They aren't easily offended. However, they are not immune, and I often see quarrels.
Let's say that, in Medan, the ratio of snide comments made to persons who get offended is 10:1. Let's say that it's 10:5 in the U.S. (I don't think this is an exaggeration. Imagine you had just met your high school sweetheart for the first time in 6 years and the first thing he or she said to you was, “Wow, you look so fat now,” would you not be offended? This kind of greeting is not only typical here; a comment about how your physical appearance has changed for the worse would be totally expected.) Anyway, the sheer volume of snide comments made here is mind-boggling, so even if people are five times more likely to be offended in America, I bet that there are still more arguments in Medan.
To tell you the truth, that sort of mindset has already begun to rub off on me, and I find myself rattling off just about anything that comes to mind on a pretty regular basis. It's received very well though, because not only do people appreciate honesty more than flattery, they have pretty dark senses of humor (and I guess you'd have to). What happened on Monday though was still an overt cultural blunder. And really, what am i saying? This was a blunder that would surely transcend cultural barriers. Nevertheless, I'll blame it on being in the habit of not thinking as critically about the things I say before I say them.
The category was “Ways of getting money.” Some of the included options were practices such as “hard work,””tax evasion,” “bank robbery,” and “marrying a rich wife/husband.” Students had to rank these things based on criteria such as “efficient,” “ethical,” “difficult,” and “reliable.” We had some entertaining conversation especially concerning which was most and least ethical. Some of the girls in the room had no problem saying blatantly that they planned on marrying rich, and a few of the guys laughed at the idea of actually paying their required taxes after they graduate.
It wasn't until the very last criterion of “reliability,” that the problem arose. The students' answers had been varying all afternoon on each subject, so it was common for them to seek my opinion. But, when they asked, “Mr. Ken, what do you think is the most reliable way of getting money in Indonesia,” I should have prefaced my answer with an explanation of the duties of the IRS before I said “tax evasion.” In my mind, I had already thought about the fact that, while tax evasion here doesn't ensure you a large sum of much money, it is a sure bet to get at least a little extra because there's virtually no government effort to regulate it, and almost everyone does it. Nearly all transactions are made with cash, and nobody has registered businesses. Neglecting your duties to pay taxes to the government is easy, common, and doesn't have any real consequences. The actual unemployment rate in indonesia is probably miles higher than the percentage of people who pay their taxes.
Nevertheless, my comment was a conversation wrecking-ball, and I immediately realized it. I had to work very hard to recover because it was not at all the answer any of them were expecting (and I shouldn't have said it). The students ended up not caring, and they were laughing in a couple minutes after I tried to explain what I meant. The teacher who was accompanying me, however, was not so easily persuaded that I had only misspoke. She had interpreted my comment as a product of the tendencies of westerners to project their superiority onto people in struggling countries. Any teacher should have answered “hard work” to a group of students, and my analysis of the situation should have been restricted to a time of established discussion – not during a light-hearted game. Thankfully my students, just being teenagers, didn't think twice, and I apologized personally to a couple of the really thoughtful ones, but Ms. Siregar later told me that my comment had brought her to tears later that day. I didn't even know it, but the next day was a huge nationalistic holiday for Indonesia. Tuesday was Hari Guru or Teacher's Day, and the celebrations at schools that accompany this holiday are massive. I hadn't realized that the extra after-school meetings and extracurriculars, which had been going on for weeks, were all in preparation for Teacher's Day, a holiday I saw on the calendar but never gave a second thought. Indonesians have a different kind of pride in their country than Americans, and because they show their love for their country in different ways (like with huge, frequent, lengthy, and organized ceremonies), Americans would probably consider them to be more nationalistic. The spirit of patriotism in Indonesia was high, and Ms. Siregar was quite disappointed in me that I had, in effect, told a group of students that stealing from your government is more promising than following your dreams.
The situation is neither here nor there at this point because I honestly felt terrible for saying it, and Ms. Siregar knew it, plus I made every effort to apologize and to make up for it. I had overstepped my bounds, so without being defensive, I silently endured some pretty pointed and harsh text messages. It's nice to be an adult and to know that when problems arise, most people are actually willing to work at making the situation better, as long as the offending party makes the first attempt to genuinely reconcile. I'm so happy that the days of high school grudges are over because I was losing sleep about this. All I could think about for a few days was an Eddie Izzard comedy sketch that mocked a British ambassador who gave an embarrassing speech in China a few years ago.
“Hello, I'm not too happy to be on the job, and I think you're all a bunch of bastards. I hate you personally. Bye...
“...did I do something wrong –
“what? Ohhh... the whole thing...”
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Election Time
Every four years, the beginning of November will leave a number of people twinkling with anticipation and just as many soured with disappointment. Many hoped their choices this past week would help to propel our nation in a new direction, and others felt that remaining in cruise-control would ensure better gas milage. Both sides had their arguments; both felt strongly; it was a left vs. right battle. One could maintain that there was, in fact, very little difference between last Tuesday's election and any other recent election (it's clear that an unvoiced but very loud half of our country felt this way). However, despite the lingering political apathy and the disheartened right-wingers, I'm positive the modest minority of our citizens who voted for Barack Obama were onto something.
My November 4th began just like any other day of the week in North Sumatra. I woke up at 6:00 a.m., ate a rice-based breakfast, rode my motorcycle down the palm tree-lined street that leads to my school, and began to teach my 10th graders a lesson on conditional clauses. The only way this morning was different for me was because my friend, Jonthon, another Fulbrighter, had come to visit. There has been a decent amount of buzz going around the school about the US presidential elections and specifically about Obama, but it's been no more intense here than it has anywhere else in Indonesia for the past year. Most have been excitedly watching from a distance, as Obama emerged victorious primary after primary. Jonthon helped to add a new dynamic to my classes and made some fresh new jokes, but everything proceeded very much as normal.
It wasn't until after English Club, at about 5:00 p.m., that things started to heat up. That was, after all, 5:00 a.m. in the U.S. I double-checked with my headmaster to make certain that my plans to miss school the next day were still no problem, and Jon and I went back to my house to begin compiling all of our politically oriented periodicals from the past two months. I studied my map of Medan, and we both set off on my mo-ped. Equipped with a bulging, wobbly, mountain-climbers backpack full of reading material and electronics, we began our trek to the only place I could think of where we could watch CNN International and simultaneously get updates from other sources with free, high-speed, wireless internet – Medan's branch of the international chain of hotels, Novotel.
Lucky for us, it was grill night at the Novotel restaurant. For $5 we had free rain over the buffet, which contained everything from shrimp and squid to steak and pork chops. All we had to do was bring the raw meat to the man with the fire, and he eagerly used whatever spices and sauces we figured might taste good. I was in heaven. Unfortunately, however, Jonthon happens to be a vegetarian. Not to fear though. As we happened to have noticed some bell peppers on display at the salad bar, I urged Jon to insist that they grill him up some veggies. They weren't on the menu, and technically, they weren't even part of the salad bar, but if there's one thing I've found about this country, it's that when it comes to food, people will bend over backwards every time to please you. I would feel guilty to take advantage of something like this on a daily basis, but given the circumstances, and the fact that Jon had come all the way from his small village in West Sulawesi, I wanted to make sure he could fully enjoy some of the splendor that city life offers.
A night of downloading all three presidential debates on Youtube was followed by a morning of watching them on my laptop back in the dinning room. By that time, the polls had begun to close in the US, and results were starting to pour in. Jonthon and I decided that we needed to take a break for breakfast and come back a couple hours later, so we could more greatly appreciate the progress. While enjoying a range of rare dairy products offered at this fine international establishment, we were being constantly accompanied by a rotating group of Novotel staff members. They talked excitedly about the election, as if it were their own, and they attentively watched our internet recordings of the debates, as if they had any idea about what the English-speaking candidates were saying.
As a U.S. citizen working overseas, some of the most powerful footage for me after Obama's victory were the images of entire crowds in other nations celebrating the success our new president elect. Hotel Novotel Medan was no exception. High fives were getting passed around as fast as it took people to make eye-contact with one another, and wait staff, as well as managers, were neglecting the bulk of their duties. How does it make sense that these people, who might seem so far removed from the realm of international politics, could get excited over a president who lives on the complete opposite side of the globe? Do they even know what they're happy about? I've found that most of them do, but it's not so obvious.
As Americans it's easy to get caught up in our own lives, enter and leave work every day, study for our exams, take care of our families, and never realize the impact that our choices, ideals, and beliefs have on the lives of other people (and for that matter, our own). We are constantly shaping the face of democracy without even knowing it. We're proud of our American Dream, but it's clear that few of us understand exactly what that is. For us, our country is our home; it is the place where we grew up and the place where we will likely settle down. We have been brought up with a culturally unique, constant, and ingrained encouragement to strive against all odds and to “be whatever you want to be.” We have the riches and resources to make these dreams a reality, and because of that, there's hardly any reason to give these privileges a thought in our day-to-day lives. This is what we have, and this is what we live; it's comfortable, and it doesn't leave a whole lot to be desired. For most U.S. citizens, the American Dream has unfortunately become an American routine. People in other nations see our success, but they don't fully understand how we've come to achieve it, nor how we sustain it. That, however, doesn't keep them from being impressed. Indonesians want to like America, albeit they have many reasons not to, but they are a struggling new democracy; they want and need an ideological example.
Those whom I've talked to in Indonesia generally don't have any idea about what's going on with foreign policy; their lives demand that they know even less than the average politically naïve westerner. They generally don't have a clue about the global financial crisis, how it was caused, or even about it's implications. They know that there's a problem, and they know it started in the West, but they don't care one way or the other about how McCain or Obama plan to tackle the problem. They do, however, see how poorly things have been handled in the Middle East for the last many years; they know about Guantanamo Bay, and recently they've see white, elderly, political everyman, John McCain juxtaposed with a dark-skinned guy, who's father came from Africa, and who has drastically different opinions about how the U.S. should conduct itself abroad. Many of them see Obama as a symbol for how democracy can work at it's best, and how even though he's a member of a minority, the American people came together, over their differences, and chose the only real option for the presidency.
A constant struggle with corruption, poverty, a rise in religious fundamentalism, unemployment, failed educational reforms, and poor healthcare, has led many Indonesians to become understandably skeptical as to whether or not democracy is any better than Suharto's autocratic and many times cruel regime, which ended only ten years ago. Many remember a sense of security under Suharto that isn't as present today, even though the over-all state of their country has undeniably improved. Indonesians are longing for a boost in patriotic spirit and self belief that could help them realize their own potential as the 4th most populated country on earth. Personally, my spirits have been boosted to have a pragmatic leader who's not afraid to listen to his opponents, but the rest of the world (at least my friends in Indonesia) is excited to see that the American Dream is not a myth and that, while it may take many years, they have every opportunity to continue fighting for the same standards within their own nations.
My November 4th began just like any other day of the week in North Sumatra. I woke up at 6:00 a.m., ate a rice-based breakfast, rode my motorcycle down the palm tree-lined street that leads to my school, and began to teach my 10th graders a lesson on conditional clauses. The only way this morning was different for me was because my friend, Jonthon, another Fulbrighter, had come to visit. There has been a decent amount of buzz going around the school about the US presidential elections and specifically about Obama, but it's been no more intense here than it has anywhere else in Indonesia for the past year. Most have been excitedly watching from a distance, as Obama emerged victorious primary after primary. Jonthon helped to add a new dynamic to my classes and made some fresh new jokes, but everything proceeded very much as normal.
It wasn't until after English Club, at about 5:00 p.m., that things started to heat up. That was, after all, 5:00 a.m. in the U.S. I double-checked with my headmaster to make certain that my plans to miss school the next day were still no problem, and Jon and I went back to my house to begin compiling all of our politically oriented periodicals from the past two months. I studied my map of Medan, and we both set off on my mo-ped. Equipped with a bulging, wobbly, mountain-climbers backpack full of reading material and electronics, we began our trek to the only place I could think of where we could watch CNN International and simultaneously get updates from other sources with free, high-speed, wireless internet – Medan's branch of the international chain of hotels, Novotel.
Lucky for us, it was grill night at the Novotel restaurant. For $5 we had free rain over the buffet, which contained everything from shrimp and squid to steak and pork chops. All we had to do was bring the raw meat to the man with the fire, and he eagerly used whatever spices and sauces we figured might taste good. I was in heaven. Unfortunately, however, Jonthon happens to be a vegetarian. Not to fear though. As we happened to have noticed some bell peppers on display at the salad bar, I urged Jon to insist that they grill him up some veggies. They weren't on the menu, and technically, they weren't even part of the salad bar, but if there's one thing I've found about this country, it's that when it comes to food, people will bend over backwards every time to please you. I would feel guilty to take advantage of something like this on a daily basis, but given the circumstances, and the fact that Jon had come all the way from his small village in West Sulawesi, I wanted to make sure he could fully enjoy some of the splendor that city life offers.
A night of downloading all three presidential debates on Youtube was followed by a morning of watching them on my laptop back in the dinning room. By that time, the polls had begun to close in the US, and results were starting to pour in. Jonthon and I decided that we needed to take a break for breakfast and come back a couple hours later, so we could more greatly appreciate the progress. While enjoying a range of rare dairy products offered at this fine international establishment, we were being constantly accompanied by a rotating group of Novotel staff members. They talked excitedly about the election, as if it were their own, and they attentively watched our internet recordings of the debates, as if they had any idea about what the English-speaking candidates were saying.
As a U.S. citizen working overseas, some of the most powerful footage for me after Obama's victory were the images of entire crowds in other nations celebrating the success our new president elect. Hotel Novotel Medan was no exception. High fives were getting passed around as fast as it took people to make eye-contact with one another, and wait staff, as well as managers, were neglecting the bulk of their duties. How does it make sense that these people, who might seem so far removed from the realm of international politics, could get excited over a president who lives on the complete opposite side of the globe? Do they even know what they're happy about? I've found that most of them do, but it's not so obvious.
As Americans it's easy to get caught up in our own lives, enter and leave work every day, study for our exams, take care of our families, and never realize the impact that our choices, ideals, and beliefs have on the lives of other people (and for that matter, our own). We are constantly shaping the face of democracy without even knowing it. We're proud of our American Dream, but it's clear that few of us understand exactly what that is. For us, our country is our home; it is the place where we grew up and the place where we will likely settle down. We have been brought up with a culturally unique, constant, and ingrained encouragement to strive against all odds and to “be whatever you want to be.” We have the riches and resources to make these dreams a reality, and because of that, there's hardly any reason to give these privileges a thought in our day-to-day lives. This is what we have, and this is what we live; it's comfortable, and it doesn't leave a whole lot to be desired. For most U.S. citizens, the American Dream has unfortunately become an American routine. People in other nations see our success, but they don't fully understand how we've come to achieve it, nor how we sustain it. That, however, doesn't keep them from being impressed. Indonesians want to like America, albeit they have many reasons not to, but they are a struggling new democracy; they want and need an ideological example.
Those whom I've talked to in Indonesia generally don't have any idea about what's going on with foreign policy; their lives demand that they know even less than the average politically naïve westerner. They generally don't have a clue about the global financial crisis, how it was caused, or even about it's implications. They know that there's a problem, and they know it started in the West, but they don't care one way or the other about how McCain or Obama plan to tackle the problem. They do, however, see how poorly things have been handled in the Middle East for the last many years; they know about Guantanamo Bay, and recently they've see white, elderly, political everyman, John McCain juxtaposed with a dark-skinned guy, who's father came from Africa, and who has drastically different opinions about how the U.S. should conduct itself abroad. Many of them see Obama as a symbol for how democracy can work at it's best, and how even though he's a member of a minority, the American people came together, over their differences, and chose the only real option for the presidency.
A constant struggle with corruption, poverty, a rise in religious fundamentalism, unemployment, failed educational reforms, and poor healthcare, has led many Indonesians to become understandably skeptical as to whether or not democracy is any better than Suharto's autocratic and many times cruel regime, which ended only ten years ago. Many remember a sense of security under Suharto that isn't as present today, even though the over-all state of their country has undeniably improved. Indonesians are longing for a boost in patriotic spirit and self belief that could help them realize their own potential as the 4th most populated country on earth. Personally, my spirits have been boosted to have a pragmatic leader who's not afraid to listen to his opponents, but the rest of the world (at least my friends in Indonesia) is excited to see that the American Dream is not a myth and that, while it may take many years, they have every opportunity to continue fighting for the same standards within their own nations.
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