Wake in fright but fear not; Ramadan’s here
Credit: Anadolu Agency
It’s 1444 on the Islamic calendar and the holy month of Ramadan is well advanced with four weeks of fasting, prayer, introspection and goodwill. All commendable - though in the land next door the noise spoils the values.
Unlike WA which has jarrah street poles or SA with Stobies, Indonesia uses hollow metal pipes to carry power and phone lines. These double as alarms.
Bash jarrah and it responds with a low timbre, not out of place in nature. But a steel stanchion whacked with an iron bar at 3 am is industrial din - the security guard’s reminder to rise, bathe and feast before the sun crests the mountains.
No problem when all agree to be woken to their responsibilities. But in our soundscape live folk of other faiths and ‘KTP (ID card) Muslims’. The Aussie equivalent of ‘wedding and wake Christians’ and too cowardly to protest - like your correspondent.
In 2015 Jusuf Kalla announced a team to check sound levels from the 800,000 mosques across the world’s most populous Islamic nation. As vice president, he could get away with suggesting a loud-speaker war was being waged and faith-powered boom no boon to developing a modern nation.
But then Sumatra householder Meiliana, 44, muttered to a neighbour about the local mosque’s five-times-daily calls to prayer. Her whispered whinge was amplified and distorted through social media. Riots erupted and 14 Buddhist temples were ransacked in Tanjung Balai.
The ethnic Chinese was charged with blasphemy for allegedly saying: ‘Lower the volume of the mosque. It’s too loud and hurts my ears.’ That landed her in jail for a year with six months on parole.
The story echoed around the Western world damaging Indonesia’s image of tolerance. VP Kalla’s initiative was never heard again.
Indonesia is constitutionally secular but allows followers of six religions to practice openly - Islam, Catholicism, Protestantism (aka ‘Christians’) Hinduism, Buddhism and Confucianism.
In central East Java, where this column is being keyboarded, the Catholic church bell in the heart of Malang city tolls for thee at 6 am - but no worries. By then all are awake and the kids heading to school for a 7 am start.
Although less than three per cent of the population follows the Church of Rome, it runs hospitals, universities and schools that accept students of all faiths. So they hold a credit balance in the community should strife flare, an insurance not always enjoyed by the other God-botherers who tend to insularity.
A few fast food outlets stay open during the day for non-Muslims and those deemed exempt. These include the unwell of both sexes, women breastfeeding, menstruating or pregnant; their numbers are surprising. The windows are curtained so the righteous aren’t tempted, and passers-by can’t see who’s cheating.
Once the sun has tumbled out of sight - which it does rapidly in the tropics - sirens sound like an air-raid warning all-clear.
Then the bukber (collective break fasts) get going. This is a chance for families to flaunt their wealth, angering President Joko ‘Jokowi' Widodo.
He’s issued a prohibition against civil servants serving lavish meals and provoking envy; the gap between the richest and the rest has grown faster this century - much under his watch - than elsewhere in Southeast Asia according to an Oxfam report:
Indonesia is now ‘the sixth country of greatest wealth inequality in the world … the four richest men in Indonesia have more wealth than the combined total of the poorest 100 million ...’ Some calm their consciences by distributing meals, publicising their munificence with company logos.
Top hotels fear losing trade and religious authorities say the president’s order breaks tradition. His office explained the ban also prevents the spread of Covid. Curious, for there are no curbs on the dense crowds in the takjil fast-end markets.
At lower levels, the bukber gatherings of friends and neighbours with differing expectations of the hereafter assuage hunger, erode distrust and dispel annoyance: ‘Does the 3 am wake-up bother Sir? No probs mate, right as rain.’
After the saur predawn meal, the increasingly grumpy adults hit the mattress again, but the wide-awake kids are let loose from the disciplines that govern their other 11 months.
Packs of 20 plus pre-teen and adolescent boys, and now more frequently girls, dash around the streets spreading their sarongs like bat wings, yahooing loudly and throwing firecrackers.
In Australia 000 calls would jam police switchboards, and Sky News would rabbit on about Asian gangs. The Indonesians make a racket, but they don’t hot-wire cars, break into homes, bash or booze. They’re so self-absorbed the only things they throw at passers-by are glances.
My dawn bike rides sometimes draw shouts of bule (whitey), for foreigners here are rarer than Bibles in mosques and Korans in churches, but the banter is benign. Last week one smart lad yelled ’wiseman’ in English. Then an afterthought: Was he being cynical?
The climax is Idul Fitri on 21 April, a fortnight following Easter. In the week before millions take to the streets for mudik. This is the gift-giving mass return to families asking for blessings in the year ahead and seeking forgiveness for bad words and deeds in the twelvemonth past - lahir dan batin. Like a fault-prone laptop, 1445 will get a factory reset.
A predicted 123 million individuals on overloaded motorbikes and cars will quit the metropoles in a roar of power bouncing off the concrete canyons and a fog of CO2. It’s a practice-run for Armageddon.
There were more than 700 deaths and 1,000 serious injuries in Jakarta during the last exodus. As many prangs go unreported the number will be higher.
For health and safety reasons the religious authorities could classify mudik as haram (forbidden), and the government pass noise-abatement laws.
These sensible suggestions your reporter declines to offer. To maintain Australian-Indonesian harmony it’s best we stomach the holy month’s quirks and cacophony - plus the meals and hospitality.
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