AFTER THREE DAYS - THEN WHAT?

The art of seeing faith through art

Burial of the artist Henkus' father

Edwin Koamesah had a great idea.  That’s his assessment and maybe it will all turn out OK.

But maybe not and the news pages of The Jakarta Post and other dailies will have tales of real or confected outrage as protestors misinterpret motives and try to trash his dream.

For the record the Surabaya engineer, art collector and businessman says:  “Of course I’m confident it will work.  Why not?”  Others have their private doubts and mutter “it’s risky.” Which is probably correct.

So here’s the plan: To hold a travelling art exhibition called After Three Days.  It will open later this year in Surabaya and feature 20 large canvasses painted by artist Slamet Hendro Kusumo (Henkus).  These are being created in his studio called Omah Budaya Slamet (Slamet’s Cultural Home) in the East Java hilltown of Batu.

So far so good.  Now to the tricky part: Koamesah (right) is a Protestant, Henkus a Muslim; the pictures focus on the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and what the Bible says happens next.  However there’s little in common with the art that features in churches across the archipelago.

A canvas of the Last Supper has the disciples ready to slice the top off a tumpeng, the yellow rice mountain served for special events.  In another Jesus seems to be a T-shirted preman (street thug) while his followers are more hoodlums than holies.

Thomas the kissing betrayer wears glasses. Features are Arabic, Indian, European, Chinese, Javanese and a mix. As there are no known portraits of Jesus made during his life, artists have developed their own images.  These usually show a slender, handsome bearded man who looks more Caucasian than Jewish.

Henkus rejects that standard, making the man republican, not regal.  He’s a bit plump but certainly human and ordinary, though the events are extraordinary.  The pictures may be cursed as sacrilegious by the orthodox who want trumpeting angel choirs and sunbeams shafting through clouds.

In the West this would be a yawn. The rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar broke the blasphemy barriers 47 years ago. But Indonesia is different.

Some Muslims will be upset that a man of their faith is interpreting Christianity (Islam forbids portraits of Mohammad) – but that strengthens the impact, according to Koamesah who commissioned the works.  

 “We want these pictures to appeal to the young,” he said “We’ve developed the themes together, but these are Henkus’ paintings – and they go far beyond my expectations.

“It’s the strength of his interpretations that’s important. His art is powerful, it makes you think, and it stimulates discussions.”

It certainly did during three open-studio days.  Among those coming to peer and ponder was Anik Lailatul Muniroh, 21, (left) studying English at a local Islamic university.

“I’m a pluralist and like the idea,” she said before stating her position firmly:  “But don’t call me a liberal.”  When told the ruling group in Australian politics is called the Liberal Party and its supporters button-down conservatives she was even more confused.

“’Liberal’ in Indonesian means things like free sex and a bad lifestyle. But no-one is perfect in any religion.  Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.  We should be searching for goodness.”

Many find the idea of valuing other religions difficult if it means diluting her own commitment. Henkus had no such concerns:

“Before starting work I had to research the life of Christ.  That included reading the Bible, Stamford Raffles’ History of Java and scholarly texts on Christianity.  I’ve questioned much, learned a lot and respected what I’ve read.  But Islam remains my path to God.

“It hurts me to hear people saying their belief is the only one. Every religion teaches the same thing – love.  Humans invented religion and we should keep open minds about other people’s beliefs and opinions.”

The artist (right) was born and raised in Batu which is the weekend refresher for weary Malangites as Bandung is for jaded Jakartans. But Henkus looks beyond the hotels and hedonism:

“You see the traffic and the crowds seeking fun but away from the roads is a community of artists sustained by the collective values of Indonesian village life.

“It’s the ideal location for anyone concerned with spirituality; it’s surrounded by the ancient kingdoms of Kediri, Singasari and Majapahit.”

When reminded that most of the known temples are in Malang’s flatlands he responded: “Those are only the ones known so far. There are more to be discovered, and they are here.”

This suggests Henkus, 58, has his head in the saturated clouds that drop onto the peaks in the afternoons but the man is well educated with a higher degree in sociology.  His mother was Chinese and his father from Java; they had no known artistic talent. Likewise his three children.

His parents let their son extend his inquiries into philosophy.  He’s assembled a complex set of ideas exploiting the paradoxes of religions where no-one knows the certainty of any statement said or written centuries ago, but instead mold texts to fit their outlook.

He populates his canvases with faces that look startled, dismayed, confused, never triumphant but not defeated. Sadly most are men, which fits the time-toughened narrative that women belong in the background as supporters not activists.

 Sometimes he adds words like Democracy Zero; these tend to diminish the effect by disallowing viewers the chance to make their own interpretations of the ambiguities. But these are minor gripes.

Henkus is a humanist not confined to religious art. His secular pictures are social commentaries - a group of mourning men burying his father knowing they will follow - a cluster of bemused middle-aged workers realising that the old ways of farming can no longer sustain their families.

“We can find our own faith through art,” he said. “Mixing the modern with tradition in subtle ways makes the point that some messages are valid whatever the place and time.  I hope that my work can lead to better understanding of the mysteries.”

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 First published in The Jakarta Post 14 November 2017

   

BATU - A HARD PLACE

BTW: Rot in Appletown                                                                           

Batu is the small East Java hilltown famous for fruit, flowers and naughty weekends.  It’s about 20 kilometers outside the city of Malang,

Half way up Mount Welirang it’s a place where parents and teenagers might for once agree on the correct descriptor: Cool.

We hadn’t been to Batu for a while.  Expectations were 840 meters high; even if we caught a chill we’d be warmed with a boot full of cheap apples. No longer.

The local variety is called Manalagi [want more], and allegedly developed from the Rome Beauty introduced by the Dutch.  There are more than 7,000 varieties in the world and the colonialists picked this one? They should offer compensation.

Harder than hockey balls these small apples are a dentist’s delight.  The only redeeming feature is Manalagi’s long shelf life, so the best chance of ensuring freshness is to pick your own.

Once it was easy to chat to a farmer, potter round his plantation with a basket and share a few laughs.  No longer.  A cartel now controls visits at Rp 20,000 a head.

This is little more than a US dollar, though likely to be way below once you digest this column – but still a bite out of the wallet if the car doubles as the extended family’s bus.

Smart marketing – but it’s given a sour taste to the once casual experience of townies meeting toilers, and turned the smallholders into the sort of hucksters that have corrupted Kuta.

Batu also had a reputation for weekend getaways when the gracious hotels tended to be occupied by refined couples.  On weekdays these cultured folk might be enjoying a respectable family life on the plains below, though with different partners.

There’s an old English joke about such places – the receptionist announces a call in the dining room for ‘Mr Smith’ and is besieged by all the guests.

Maybe this market is growing – certainly there’s a rush to build as many rooms as possible in the limited spaces.

Our day trip was strictly pleasures of the palate.  With the political killjoys focussing on booze instead of poverty alleviation, fewer grog outlets and higher prices, cider-making now seemed a pressing need before a law bans home brewing.

Foolish idea.  Nowhere could we negotiate below the Rp 20,000 a kilo tag all traders had connived to uphold.  This was even for fruit that might have been fresh when I was a whining school-boy with satchel and shining morning face, as my literary hero once remarked.

Only back in Malang and in the supermarkets could we buy cheaper imported fruit that was sweet to eat, softer to touch and as unblemished as the salesgirls at the make-up counter.

But at least we got to enjoy the summits and cascading greenery while sitting in a café run by relaxed owners, topping up our lungs with fresh mountain air. 

Wrong again. The restaurants are franchises staffed by bored teens. Batu is not Sumatra or even Riau so the local government hasn’t passed laws prohibiting open fires on windless days.  Or maybe it has and they’re treated with the same contempt motorists give to traffic rules.

This segues to the road between Malang and Batu.  Once a winding lane with a few motorbikes and fewer cars, it now carries a thousand times the traffic.  And it’s still a winding lane.

If British poet Robert Bridges’ famous line is true – and that ‘verily by beauty it is that we come at wisdom’, then the opposite must hold.

Batu’s theme parks play more to Western than Asian images; then there’s the inevitable municipal monstrosities.

The town’s core has been uglified with the addition of giant cartoon characters that originated in the design studios of Disney, not the rich heritage of Java.  Of course there’s a concrete Big Apple, which is appropriate given the armor-plated nature of the original.

Batu means ‘stone’ or ‘rock’. I don’t deny the town’s right to grow or its citizens to exploit its many attractions; nothing stays quaint forever.  But with a little foresight and a touch of imaginative planning Batu could have blossomed and charmed as before.  Unfortunately it has become a hard place.

First published in The Jakarta Post 15 November 2015

THE MONSTER OF BATU

A Turtle called Democracy                                     

He’s huge as befits a sprawling archipelago of many parts – and like the nation’s political system is still a work in progress.

But by the time the new President is inaugurated on 20 October, Malang metal sculptor Ono Gaf’s monster Democracy Turtle should be close to completion.

“I don’t want to rush it,” he said.  “This is not an exercise in speed – every cog, wheel and gear, spring and sprocket has to tell me where it wants to go.

“I like turtles.  I kept them as a child so I know their characteristics. They move slowly but methodically. They’re strong and can take hard knocks.

“They are wise and quiet.  They are determined and they persevere.  They never bother people and are always going forward. 

“There’s a Javanese children’s story [much like Aesop’s Fable of the Hare and Tortoise] about a race between a kancil (mouse deer) and a kura-kura (turtle).  The faster animal loses because it’s arrogant and doesn’t take the contest seriously. These are all qualities I respect and for me they’re present in our new democracy.”

Ono pedals a bike around scrap dealers and workshops where old vehicles – mainly busses – are broken up for spare parts.  He selects what appeals, already knowing where they’ll fit, and hauls them in sacks to the construction site using public transport.

“Some passengers think I’m a gombel (scavenger),” he said. “But it would cost a lot to have truck loads delivered.  They’re my treasury.”

The three-tonne monster is being constructed for a retired doctor who is also an artist, though specialising in small and delicate plant arrangements.  He owns a restaurant in the hill town of Batu outside Malang in East Java, though Democracy Turtle is hidden from street view at the back of the property.

Ono said the doctor, who shied publicity, had been unable to buy the self-taught artist’s sculptures at exhibitions so had decided to commission for an undisclosed sum.  Work started in May and Ono lives on site during weekdays.

Some restaurant staff help with spot-welding at Ono’s direction.

There are scores of other sculptures by Ono at gated upscale housing communities and outdoor theme centers in East Java.  The Eco-Green Park in Batu displays his scrap metal birds alongside the feathered varieties.

Democracy Turtle has attracted widespread interest, with bus loads of international tourists and tertiary students coming to watch the three-meter high terrapin grow. Visitors who reckon they’re mechanically smart try to identify the parts – others are overawed by its complexity.

“I’m 66 and I want this sculpture to be my masterpiece,” Ono said. “This isn’t just about welding metal – for me it’s spiritual.  That’s why it’s taking time to get established, just like our democracy.”

(First published in The Jakarta Post 12 August 2014)

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HENDRO BASUKI

From seedling to seedking                                       

Batu is East Java’s Eden.

Rumpled hills and smooth valleys, modest mountains dressing their cleavage with clouds, well watered, cool and fertile, lush and lovely.

It’s famous for apples, flowers and vegetables that grow fast and in abundance.  The town square parades its prosperity with a celebration of kitsch, giant concrete fruits.

So natural to assume the markets in towns nearby are overflowing with fresh, cheap, local produce, helping the nation reach its goal of food self sufficiency.

Wrong.  The delicious big red carrots are from China, the crunchy, sweet apples from New Zealand and the US.   All look splendid and are priced equal or cheaper.  Why?

“That’s a very tricky question,” said Hendro Basuki, 76, who’s been a seed producer for more than 40 years in the Republic, and 20 in this region.  “There are so many factors involved, including infrastructure.

“If there was a highway between Batu and Malang (East Java’s second largest city), expenses could be cut by ten to 20 per cent. (The current road is narrow and choked.)  

“Bureaucracy is also very annoying with permits and licences.  Our costs are still too high.”

Then he uttered a heresy: “Batu isn’t suitable for apples. There’s no winter to shed the leaves so they have to be hand picked.  Better to import from NZ.  Batu is best for leaf vegetables, like beans, leaks, spinach and lettuce.”

As a young agricultural engineer who turned to horticulture in the late 1960s, he was employed on a Dutch project that required a close look at Indonesia’s horticultural industry.

“I found it backward,” he said.  “You have to understand the history.  The Dutch were mainly interested in plantations of coffee, cocoa, tea, rubber and tobacco. They never really had a policy on rice production or horticulture.

“I had no great expectations for my life. However God thought otherwise.”

His dream of a comfortable future on a couple of hectares with around 16 workers was rapidly uprooted, replanted by an analytical mind sharpened by personal research and overseas travel that spotted trends and techniques.

Now Hendro’s companies Bibit Baru and Selektani have four seed-production farms in three provinces and 1,500 growers who double as workers.  They learn the techniques of modern plant husbandry, growing, pollinating and harvesting seed in plastic-sheeted greenhouses big enough to shelter a Boeing.

“I call them ‘growers’, not ‘farmers’, because they have knowledge and skills, know how to plan and organize and actualize,” he said.

“Farmers are conservative and it’s difficult to introduce new technology. The situation has improved. Our job is to educate and modernize.”

His companies’ products are exported to Europe and the US; some are sold domestically.  However traditionalists prefer to let a few plants go to seed to provide a resource for the next season rather than spend on new varieties.

The results can be seen in the shops:  Shrunken cauliflower heads, midget broccoli and the famed manalagi (“I want more”) apples introduced in the colonial era when jaws were stronger could be used in baseball if the dangers to strikers weren’t so great

The squishy, sick tomatoes, a variety pioneered in Italy for the pulp industry, would be better used for political protests.

Hendro’s growth from south Central Java village lad to a national seedking has much to do with the Japanese occupation of Java.

His father and uncles were interred; their crime was to be well educated shopkeepers, speakers of Dutch and therefore suspect.  Their businesses were confiscated.  The once well-off family used sacks for clothes and grew vegetables to survive.

Hendro was the youngest of seven, just eight when the invaders arrived in 1942.  He soon learned to plant, till and harvest. 

“I was a good observer and a curious child,” he said.  “I was always asking questions about nature, like ‘why is there rain?’  I’d already been to a Dutch school so could speak the language.”

After the war the family bounced back and Hendro went to the Indonesian University.  His folks wanted him garlanded with a stethoscope but he failed entrance tests.  No matter, as long as he graduated with a title – and engineer was good enough to calm parental anxieties.

Next a grant to study tropical horticulture in the US and a planned PhD at the University of Hawaii.  Along the way he mastered English and German and visited Europe.

Business beckoned. He dropped his doctoral thesis to concentrate on the commercialism of agriculture.  Before this happened he learned a useful lesson in human behavior.

Like his fellow students he got by on a monthly grant of US $150.  Unlike his classmates who were frequently in debt before the next payment, the frugal Indonesian had US $ 50 tucked away. 

Now he includes cash management in the programs taught to his grower employees, wishing they’d buy cows instead of motorbikes to boost their incomes rather than status.

Back in Indonesia and after working for a German company and on the Dutch project he set out on his own, starting in 1971 in Medan, North Sumatra.

In 1992 he took over an old Dutch coffee plantation in Batu at an elevation of 1,400 meters and started building the greenhouses where geraniums, snapdragons, begonias and tomatoes are pollinated by hand.

“Not many investors are interested in seed production,” he said as the pregnant clouds tumbled off the peaks and broke their waters.

“It’s long term, capital intensive and the risks are great.  But the returns can be good, 20 per cent or more.

“I have research programs in place with the Dutch.  I’d like to do the same with NZ so we can both benefit.

“I’ve got money, but there are things of the soul to consider.  I’d like to see a time when being a farmer is an honorable occupation. Too many want to leave the land, creating future problems.

“Looking back I think I’ve helped give people work – and something they need.  That’s important – that’s satisfaction.”

(First published in The Jakarta Post 27 December 2012)

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KAMPOENG KIDZ- Julianto Eka Putra's Story

Capitalism with a conscience                                                    

How do you get corporate Indonesia to meet its civic responsibilities and help the disadvantaged?

It sounds like a variation on the old joke: How do you make a small fortune?  (By starting with a big one.)

But this question is serious, and a bother to many in business. One way is to invite executives to a training camp so they meet young battlers, many with a sad story to tell, but all demonstrating potential.

Showing the corporate world another universe was the idea of Julianto Eka Putra (pictured, right), head of the Binar Group.  He’s set up a curious enterprise based around self-help training that’s hemorrhaging money, yet hoping to heal some of society’s wounded.

For some the US-inspired motivational industry is snake oil, cherry-picking winners; others believe it inspires those needing a hand-up.  If you’re in the latter and larger group then Julianto’s your man.

Clearly he’s a hot salesman.  He can bang off a stirring speech without notes and lace it with homely anecdotes. Despite a pudgy frame and looking nothing like the archetypal executive he has enough energy to nudge the reluctant and disarm the skeptics.

He also has a powerful belief in himself, a quality vital for any entrepreneur.  Apparently it wasn’t always that way for the son of a Surabaya jeweler.  “At school I was the ugly duckling,” he said.  “I found it difficult to attract girls, I’ve got dark skin around my neck and some thought I was dirty.

“I got into fights but realized I was heading in the wrong direction.  Once I’d set myself goals and did better than others through hiking and study I found my self confidence.”   

Unlike many who have made serious money in a short time he tends not to be defensive, or dismiss the importance of tertiary education

“About 10 years ago I was ready to retire,” he said.  “I was earning up to Rp 20 million a month (US$ 2000). I thought it was time I relaxed and enjoyed life.” 

He was just turning 30 and scoring well selling honey through multi-level marketing.  As a franchise boss he could afford to slip down the gears. But on the way to checking the world’s top resorts he stalled on his conscience.

“I was praying and suddenly realized God had given me almost everything I asked for – yet I’d given nothing in return,” he said. “I felt I was a very bad person.

“While presenting a motivation session before 2,000 people in Surabaya I announced that within ten years I’d set up a free school.  I don’t know why I said that – it wasn’t in the script.

“My wife and staff were angry with me – but I had to keep my word.”

With a no-interest loan of Rp 5.3 billion (US $600,000) from a Singapore business friend Julianto bought almost eight hectares tumbling down to a turbulent river at Batu, the hill town above Malang in East Java.

 Another Rp 10 billion (US $1.1 million) had to be found to develop the land, building dormitories and a school.  Here high school students from across the country who have hit hurdles and can’t fund further schooling are given a chance to turn around their lives.

Some are orphans and have had a tough life.  About ten per cent pull out, but the rest seem to be shining and proud to show off their talents, including dance, theatre and high-level English.

Their chance comes on weekends when employees are sent to custom-designed training programs by companies with problems  These usually include low staff morale, lack of direction and communication breakdowns.

Motivational speeches, obstacle courses and physical challenges are supposed to build trust and get participants into a different mindset.  Meeting the students and hearing their stories opens doors to another world.

Karnaka, the managing director of Malang manpower agency PT Binamandiri sent 15 employees to the two-day course this month (March). He plans to expand his business interests and wants a change in workplace culture.

“Everyone seemed to enjoy it and at Rp500, 000 (US $55) a head I’m getting value for money,” he said after jumping around with his workers to brain-fracturing music.  “We’ll wait till later to see if it’s effective.”

The fees for the business training, programs for schools called Kampoeng Kidz, or just taking a break on the property (rates start at Rp 175,000 (US$20) a night, are used to subsidize the free school and its 100 students from across Indonesia.

“We’ve paid back all the loans but need to earn about Rp 350 million (US $4000) a month to meet costs,” said Julianto.  “However we’re only getting Rp 200 million (US $22,000).

“The subsidies have to come from my company PT  Menuju Insan Cemerlang (MIC), one of five in the Binar Group.  We have 160 offices – but we’re not like (prominent politician and rich-lister) Aburizal Bakrie.

“MIC handles financial planning and real estate.  We publish and have the rights to translate the works of John C Maxwell (an evangelical American author of around 60 motivational books). These have been best sellers. 

“I’ve also written Anda ingin Sukses? (Do you want Success?) and featured in another with (Muslim televangelist) AA Gym.”

Like the easy read self-help books there are plenty of quotes and slogans on the bamboo walls of the teaching areas at the Batu property.  Many are in English, like Miracle, Faith, Action and Pray, giving the place a heavy Christian revival theme.

Julianto and his two main colleagues are Catholic so inevitably rumors circulated that they were ‘Christianising’ Muslim students. Julianto said that last year an Education Department inquiry cleared the school.

 Then the allegation changed to communist indoctrination; the reality is that it’s pushing capitalism, albeit with a benign nature.

“I accept that some will never become entrepreneurs,” Julianto said.  “That’s not their talent.  The objective is to train people so they reflect on their lives and realize their potential. 

“I ask the students to talk to the business participants.  It’s not exploitation, it helps give them confidence and if they have that they can do anything.

“If they share their stories they will bless many people.”

((First published in the Weekender Magazine, Jakarta May 2012)

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POT PROTEST IN EAST JAVA

REACHING FOR THE STARS WITH FEET OF CLAY © Duncan Graham 2007

Few who've climbed to the top of the pile remember their origins. Once fame and fortune arrive it's farewell to their lowly past, according to East Java potter Ponimin.

"The grassroots people get crushed by the political and social system," he said. "Most aren't smart enough. They get tricked by those who are more ambitious.

"The poor also want to succeed, to have materialist goods, but they get trampled. The few who do reach the summit discover it's an illusion and what they hoped to find isn't there. They like to claim they're clever and strong, but in fact they're just victims of the social environment."

But how to express such ideas? Ponimin is an easy-going man who laughs a lot and talks more, particularly about art. You won't find him wearing a headband and shouting into a megaphone at a street protest – though his passions may be just as strong.

He doesn't have a good way with words, – particularly when trying to reach foreigners as he's discovered when lecturing overseas. His skills are in his hands where the language of clay crosses all barriers.

He was chosen as the only Indonesian artist to be represented at the third Asna Clay Triennial held by the Arts Council of Pakistan late last year. His work – according to local press reports – 'mesmerized' visitors and was the center of attraction, competing with sculptures and artifacts from nine other countries.

Reach of No Hope is the artist's title for his work, a large installation that needs plenty of space. It shows dozens of small plump figures clawing their way up ropes and ladders on a pyramid made of sticks.

It's a work that's gone through several changes. Earlier versions shown in Surabaya were titled Climbing on Empty Expectation Stairs.

The structure can be seen in many ways. The symbol of the pyramid is widely used in graphic representations of society – a few at the top and many at the bottom.

It also looks like a scaffold, an instrument of torture.

Those who get to the top crawl like flies across the ceiling, unable to go further. Others tumble to the floor. Some are shattered. It's a metaphor that transcends cultures. The extra quality is the expression on the faces of the figurines.

For the little people are cherubic, jolly wee terracotta urchins, nothing like the grotesque and greedy caricatures normally used to represent the avaricious and ambitious. This is no allegorical work, so the observer is bemused.

"I think their behavior is funny, that's why I make them look happy," he said. "I'm disgusted by the actions of our politicians and leaders since Reformation – but what can we do? We're powerless. As Javanese we tend to accept the situation. So maybe it's better just to laugh."

Ponimin's work has already been shown in Bangladesh and Japan, supported by the Indonesian government through the department of tourism. He hopes that next year it will be displayed in India.

Being an artist with a message is difficult in Indonesia where there are few arts grants. Ponimin, 40, originally from Jombang in East Java, studied at the school of fine arts in Yogya where he worked in most media but eventually settled with clay.

A grandfather had been a potter making kitchenware, but the old man died before young Ponimin could learn the techniques, so he came late to clay.

Jombang is in the heart of terracotta country. The mighty Majapahit Empire flourished 700 years ago in the fertile lowlands fed by the Brantas River. The land was so rich that life wasn't one long struggle to survive.

There was time to develop culture, fight wars, expand trade and create art. The dark riverbank clays were so easy to handle that the people used them to make bricks, tiles, pottery and figurines. Surviving examples give the best clues to how the people of that era lived.

Ponimin loves the local clays' plasticity and the way they hold their shape. They contain little grit. He doesn't have a wheel, preferring the coil system where cords of rolled clay are built into shape using the fingers to smooth and pinch.

"This allows for more creativity," he said. "A wheel makes for uniformity."

Although his studio in the hillltown of Batu looks like a production line with scores of black figures drying in the sun and waiting to be fired in an open oven, every piece is individual.

This is the work he has to do to keep the rupiah flowing. "It's my industrial art," he explained. "Only when I've done enough can I get involved in my fine art. I want to extend the images and ideas that I've been showing overseas but there are no sponsors for this sort of work."

However there have been plenty willing to pay serious money to Ponimin provided he follows their designs, not his.

The clients are housing developers and recreation park investors whose ideas of art come not from the ancient culture that they've inherited and which surrounds them, but from European history books.

Ponimin has had to make statues of dinosaurs, Roman gladiators, Egyptian pharaohs, chariots, figures from Greek mythology, armless Venus de Milo look-alikes, unlimited galloping stallions and even the Sydney Opera House.

These are used to give 'quality' to the tropical urban landscape. Don't worry about the potholes and open drains; a fine figure in a toga nursing a cornucopia keeps the mind off the mundane.

Or maybe they're just a sly way to put statues of semi-clothed maidens around gateways and on median strips. If they featured bare-breasted Javanese virgins there might be an outcry from self-appointed moral guardians, while anything that looks Caucasian and classical is acceptable.

Ponimin is aware of the incongruities and tries to fight them. He teaches art at the Malang State University and pushes his students to look at the local culture and landscape for inspiration.

But they also know what sells. So in the shadow of Mount Kawi, a mountain rich in magic, they're busy molding sway-back Balinese beauties with mask faces, just big enough to fit into a traveler's bag.

"I never think about selling my fine art," Ponimin said. "This what I want to do to express myself. I plan a new installation that reverses the pyramid and has grains of rice trickling down to the people who suffer from all the weight above them."

No doubt they'll still look like happy hobgoblins rather than the gaunt downtrodden masses that normally feature in the art of social protest.

(First published in The Weekender magazine (JP), September 2007)
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POLLUTING THE BRANTAS

THE FOUL REFUSE OF TEMAS © Duncan Graham 2006

The Lapindo hot mud eruption at Sidoarjo in East Java is in its fourth month. The disaster has swamped more than 300 hectares of paddy, 20 factories and several villages. More than 10,000 are homeless. With no end in sight the effluent is now being piped into the nearby Porong River.

Using rivers as drains has long been an easy way to dispose of waste – and you don’t need a test tube and litmus papers to know that many Indonesian waterways are heavily polluted. Just an average nose and reasonable eyesight are enough. Some communities aren’t waiting for government action – they’re cleaning up the creeks themselves. Duncan Graham reports from central East Java:


Temas is a small village near the tourist town of Batu, in the hills north west of Malang. Most visitors know the fancy hotels, knockout views and cheery flower gardens flanking the roads, a kaleidoscope of colour.

But behind the prettiness is something ugly. In a back street are the chicken slaughterhouses, with almost 50 households involved in the trade.

Every night when most folk are asleep live fowls are trucked from distant farms, slaughtered and dressed. Unlike Western processors who present a headless, clawless empty carcase to the shopper, the butchers of Temas are more efficient.

The feet, heads, hearts, some blood and the best feathers are all preserved for sale. Every day before dawn three tonnes of chicken meat leave the village for markets in Surabaya, Malang and other centres.

But not the offal and unsaleable feathers. They get dumped in a nearby creek that eventually flows into the Brantas. (See Sidebar)

Apart from the washdown from the fowl abattoirs – with some also used to process fish - there’s a steady stream of white liquid pouring from two tofu (soft soy-bean cake) factories into the same small stream. Then there’s raw sewage.

Every 100 metres or so are tiny unroofed huts with one metre high walls. In these loos with views the village residents relieve themselves straight into the slowly flowing water. Domestic waste and run-off from the roads also spills into the system.

What was a riverlet is now a sewer. It meanders past an irrigated vegetable patch then cascades down a slope to another village. Despite the pollutants men wade waist deep to filter red worms from the mud. These are used as fish feed.

All users of this resource, including a forge hammering out knives and sickles, are within a few hundred metres of each other.

Not surprisingly skin infections and respiratory problems have been reported among farmers working downstream. These have prompted demands for proper water management.

The obvious answer is to ban discharges and force the factories to install their own waste systems and the householders to build septic tanks. But that’s not practical in Indonesia. Factories and families would claim a lack of money, and the government doesn’t seem to have the power or will to enforce regulations.

With no quick-fix solution which wouldn’t cause severe economic hardship to the village, the issue had to be handled with care.

Plant pathologist Arief Lukman Hakim, a Sustainable Agriculture Extension Specialist working for the Environmental Services Program (ESP) in East Java got involved. The ESP is a US-Aid funded program operating in five provinces.

“At first I didn’t know what to do about the problem,” Arief said. “It was very complex. There were so many pollutants. At night the river is running red with blood. I didn’t know where to look for answers.”

Eventually he discovered wastewater treatments using ‘eco-technology’ that had become popular in some villas and hotels in Bali. These were being promoted by a foundation called Indonesian Development of Education and Permaculture (IDEP).

Labelled Wastewater Gardens these used a process developed 20 years ago in the US through the self-contained Biosphere project. This was an experiment to see if people and plants could live in a closed ecological system.

A year ago this month (Sept) about 30 people from 13 villages gathered to discuss the Temas pollution problem with the ESP. The wetland filtration system was proposed. The local administration put in Rp 100 million (US $11,000), and the community donated the land and the labour. The earthworks are now in place and being primed.

The system can’t cope with all the muck and mess – there’s just too much. But when fully operational this coming wet season it should be able to supply clean – but not potable – water for the villagers at the bottom of the hill.

It works like this: The polluted water is channelled into a concrete settling tank where the heavy muck remains. It’s then piped to three lines of contour banks built down the hillside.

Each bank (called a ‘cell’) has been excavated to make a long impervious trench filled with gravel. The water seeps through limestone to help neutralise acids, then into the banks. These will be planted with bushes and trees to suck up and use the nutrients.

The technologists claim that the final product will have significantly less nitrogen, phosphorous and bacteria. It doesn’t use pumps or chemicals and needs little maintenance. There’s no surface water so no smell or mosquitoes.

“I believe it will produce water clean enough for bathing and washing clothes, “ said Arief. “It can probably only cope with 10 per cent of the discharge – but that’s a start. We want this to be an education and demonstration project so other villages can see what to do.”

Will the Brantas ever get as clean as London’s Thames that was once the capital’s sewer but now attracts whales?

“It’s going to take a long time,” said Arief. “Indonesia is now a democratic country and the people are using their new powers. How they determine the future will depend on many factors.

“Land care groups are already in place, cleaning up the environment, planting trees and conserving the watershed. Small-scale waste composting projects have started. There’s an awareness of the problems.

“We can marry the bottom-up approach taken by communities with the top-down administration favored by local government. In most cases we try to use local networks

“The role of the ESP is not to lead but to train trainers and bring in technical advice. How people see their future is for them to decide.”

(sidebar)

KILLING THE RIVER OF LIFE

The Brantas River is East Java’s spittoon, sewer, drain and rubbish tip.

And its water supply.

By the time this 328 kilometre long artery reaches the coastal plain around Surabaya it’s saturated with toxins. The dissolved oxygen in the water during the dry season is often too low to support aerobic life.

And in the wet season it frequently floods, destroying life.

This great – and presumably once majestic - waterway rises on the slopes of the 3339 metre Ardjuna volcano south of Surabaya. From here it goes south, then west, curling round a volcanic range before heading north.

It was once the source of wealth for the mighty Majapahit kingdom of 700 years ago.

It’s so important that it’s been classified as a national strategic river with its own watershed authority. This is supposed to regulate and conserve this most precious and essential element.

Over the years the Brantas has been studied, analysed, discussed and debated by local and international authorities. But by the time it gets near the sea it still looks like an oily scum carrying a fleet of bobbing black plastic bags.

The river drains and feeds about 12,000 square kilometres, a quarter of the province. Its waters are used to grow crops, supply industries and meet the toilet needs of up to twenty million people. Five hydroelectric stations along the river’s course generate power.

So why isn’t the Brantas in pristine condition, sparkling bright, splashing with fish, the pride of the province? Why has it been so abused?

It’s easy to accuse the people. In the past, before urbanisation, the population boom, chemicals, detergents, plastics and noxious industries, the rivers could be used as drains with little harm.

Not now. If the population hasn’t been supplied with proper public health facilities, education on the environment and alerts to the dangers of pollution should the poor really take all the blame?


(First published in The Jakarta Post 28 November 2006)
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