BTW: Mariage sans
frontieres
Once upon a time, kiddies, we knew who we were. I was Sir, your Mom was Madam, you were Miss
and your brother Master. Now language is gender-free.
Miss is short for Mistress, an upright position in the 18th
century but now with a laid-back meaning in the 21st, so no wonder
you want to be labeled Ms.
Here’s another term that needs revising – ‘cross-cultural
marriage’ with its hint of annoyance. These are the complex-compound
relationships that sparkle with the challenge of delightful differences, so
every new day is a discovery of the other.
Capitalizing on this fantasy an Australian insurance company
ran a popular series of cheeky rom-com commercials showing the less than
ravishing Rhonda on holiday in Bali getting
seduced by dishy Ketut, a resort waiter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DL0T_zFaHwU
The big screen head-in-the-clouds version has a blond escapee
from cold climes swooning in the exotic tropics where love is endless. The
realities are more down to earth, or to be precise, the kitchen.
If one thinks bubur
(porridge) should be made with oats and the other insists on rice the
relationship will suffer indigestion.
The road to true love never runs smooth but in Indonesia the
potholes are more like craters. Time
management is a particular hazard, like leaving for a function on the far side
of town at 6pm when the invitation says that’s when the show starts.
For those bule
(aka londo) who think punctuality is
next to cleanliness and Godliness, slackness is a sin.
It also provides a true test; if the matrimonial deal is
real, one party will adapt and tolerate their beloved’s weird ways. Tiny tiffs can be overcome by chanting just
four words five times a day: ‘I’m right,
you’re wrong’. Or maybe: ‘You’re right,
I’m wrong.’
But who says the words? To be he or she, that is the
question asked by a Danish prince who also had in-laws behaving like outlaws.
In Indonesia
the newcomer doesn’t just couple with her or his betrothed – they also join the
extended family.
Approval is essential.
Civil ceremonies abroad lack pictures of batik-clad free loaders
parading across a plywood platform to shake hands, bow and kiss. If there are
no wedding photos for mother-in-law’s lounge walls positioned at visitors’
eyelines, doubt sneaks in like an unwanted guest.
In a country where PhDs can be bought, even marriage
certificates endorsed with government crests are considered forgeries.
The hidden message is that the daughter or son is kumpul kebo, living like a buffalo out
of wedlock. In Indonesia
that’s bovine behavior.
‘Inter-marriage’ sounds like a train and bus terminal. Such places are defined by connection. They’re also zones of chaos and confusion,
with individuals rushing in different directions, so maybe that image doesn’t
travel too well. Likewise: ‘Terminal’.
We need a term which implies continuation.
‘Inter-gender union’ has a clumsy post-modern Me Too feel,
while capitalists would fret about the connotations with organized labor. Yet this happens in the best marriages: One does the cooking, washing and cleaning,
while the other consumes, complains and befouls.
That person is usually the head of the household, the other
half, the one who wears the pants – though in our place they’re covered by a
skirt. We can smooth out our pressing problems
provided one wields the iron.
Harmony can be elusive. Glamor gets tarnished, fascination fades, the
mystique molds. The fail percentage is
rocketing. In some provinces almost half
new marriages end in divorce, according to the Ministry of Religious Affairs.
One of the highest rates is in East
Java. Pause to ponder: Oldies
say that until the mid 1970s people of different religions were getting hitched
with little or no condemnation by relatives and neighbors.
That changed with the 1974 Marriage Law. Interpretations abound, but the website of
the Australian Embassy in Jakarta
advises that ‘both parties must hold the same religion, if not, one party must
convert to the other religion.’
Forcing one member of the couple to renounce the faith they
were raised to love must hurt deeply and cause great resentment – hardly the
emotions on which to build a stable relationship. It also seems like an offence against human
rights.
Yet joining faiths provides an opportunity for both to learn
and develop the tolerance that every responsible leader promotes. She goes to the mosque on Friday and he sits
in church on Sunday. At home they eat,
pray and love together – and the kids take note.
There may be 300 different ethnic groups and six religions in
the archipelago but these don’t have to be divisive. In 1991 the Berlin Wall tumbled and East and
West started to live together. A germane
inspiration for the French title at the top of this column – Marriage Without
Borders. Duncan Graham
First published in The Jakarta Post 14 September 2019
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