LOOK LIKE CARRIERS? KICK 'EM OUT

    Mobocracy rules

The videos are ghastly.  Young men stripped to the waist, roped together in a line, shuffling forward on their knees.  Their bodies are bruised and bloodied, their smashed faces creased with fear.  They’re not just the victims of kampong rough justice – they’re also casualties of the Indonesian government’s mishandling of the Covid-19 crisis.

President Joko Widodo and his Cabinet should have known the consequences of freeing 50,000 prisoners.  The idea was to ease congestion during the Covid-19 crisis and reduce chances of disease clusters forming.  The result has been the release of community fear.

It’s widely WhatsApped that ex-cons have used their unexpected freedom to reprise careers of crime, though years hence sociologists will be testing the veracity of that belief.

The counterpoint is that even if the idlers with dyed hair and tattooed torsos stayed clean once out of jail, their past misdeeds are widely known in a country where privacy is nil. Like Canaan, they are cursed forever.  

Citizens are told to follow the government’s up-down, off-on rules to crimp the pandemic, but don’t trust authorities.  With a few exceptions, the mainstream media is slapdash leaving unsourced social messages as gospel for the gullible.

Many won’t believe there’s a killer disease running amuck.  For those who do it’s a plot to thin out the elderly, devalue the rupiah and set the scene for a coup.

Sickness is obvious - viruses are invisible.  Like the US President, Indonesians need scapegoats.  Orang Tionghoa (ethnic Chinese, about 1.2 per cent of the national population of 270 million) have been targeted by xenophobes since the first traders arrived in the 13^th century. 

The rich have bolt holes overseas or fortress mansions in gated suburbs.  More than 1,000 died and 168 rapes were reported during Jakarta riots following the downfall of President Soeharto in 1998.  Since then Chinese shops in unstable zones have installed steel door and window shutters.

Foreigners are also targeted on the basis that strangers bring dangers, but there aren't many left.  Fewer than 3,000 Australians remain.  They’re mostly 'short term travellers' in Bali according to the Embassy, now minus Ambassador Gary Quinlan, safe in Canberra.

Thieves, reformed or reoffending, are not so hard to spot as they’re rootless.  They can be caught and bashed to show how crime should be handled.

In a well-ordered society, the police would be called when alleged wrongdoers are snared by vigilantes.  That seldom happens. An old proverb warns:  Report the theft of a goat and lose a cow.   

Transparency International Indonesia surveys show the police rank fifth on the corruption index. Top are politicians followed by public servants, regional councillors and tax officials.

Before some prison gates were partly opened the roll call was 270,000 felons and beds for around half.  The latest jail uproar was this month in Manado (North Sulawesi) as fear of Covid-19 triggered an attempted breakout.

About 100 in every hundred thousand Indonesians are behind bars.  That’s low compared with the neighbours - Australia 170, Malaysia 230 and Singapore 200.  That doesn’t mean Indonesians are law abiding; it’s more a measure of slack policing and criminals’ ability to buy their way out of trouble.

It’s easy to criticize the world’s fourth most populous nation for appalling administration and what Westerners consider irrational behaviours, so time to give thanks for large mercies.

There are no gun shops or booze barns.  Firearms are seldom used in robberies and drunks are rare outside Bali (mainly ugly Okkers) and the small Christian-majority provinces.  If Indonesia was like weapon-mad America or grog-crazed Australia (where the sale of alcohol is deemed an ‘essential service’) then this country would be a frightful place.

Another blessing:  Science education is poorly taught and school labs primitive. Bomb makers openly buying exotic chemicals show their hands - then lose them through premature explosions.

There’s no way of knowing whether the crook-bashing videos are current or even factual.  That would be important in a rational discussion but the dark ages are returning coupled with the feral theories that swamp reason.

Think of Salem and worthies pursuing witches.  That gives some understanding of the Indonesian practice of ‘sweeping’, frequently choreographed by agents provocateurs. 

Gangs of sanctimonious hoons clad in religious garb – usually white to pretend they’re divinely driven - storm hotels, dormitories and meetings where infidels may be lurking.

Foremost among the stirrers is the hardline Front Pembela (Defenders) Islam formed in 1998 by religious leaders and military men to turn Indonesia into a sharia (Islamic law) state.  It claims seven million members though that figure is suspect.

In 2016 the FPI mustered a 500,000-strong mob howling for the elected Jakarta Governor Basuki Tjahaja Purnama to be charged with blasphemy.  The ethnic Chinese Christian spent two years in jail.

Although sweepings are irregular, fanatics favour the holy fasting month of Ramadan, starting 23 April and climaxing with Idul Fitri on 24 May.  There have already been threats to ‘sweep’ Indians following reports of discrimination against Muslims on the subcontinent.

Although not sanctioned by police the bullies are often ignored.  Past targets have included Communism, drugs, alcohol, ‘free sex’ (unmarried couples living together) and bestiality – meaning homosexuality.  The fear now is that Covid-19 will be an excuse for new eruptions of hate.

Beyond a locked gate where this column is winding down, the Rukun Tetangga (elected community leader) has stamped his foot.  Street security cameras are being repaired, the satpam (security guard) has been told to step up patrols and all non-residents' vehicles banned.

These measures won’t do more than divert beggars for a few weeks till the satpam returns to dozing before his TV.  Crims on the loose are unlikely to be deterred.

Meanwhile in his palace, the decisively indecisive President has reversed an order to keep citizens in the dark about Covid-19 stats and told bureaucrats to be honest and open.

That’s something they haven’t done since the Republic was proclaimed, 75 years ago this coming 17 August.  Had it been otherwise the nation wouldn’t be ranked 85th on TI’s Corruption Perceptions Index.

First published in Pearls and Irritations 20 April 2020: https://johnmenadue.com/duncan-graham-mobocracy-rules-in-indonesia/

COVID-19 -WHEN WILL INDONESIA GET SERIOUS?

                      The land of no social distance                         

While the Western world thinks staying apart is wise to avoid Covid-19 infections, Indonesians still remain together.

Only magnates can practise social distancing by fleeing to apartments in Singapore, or hunkering down in their Jakarta mansions.  The threats would come from outside the high iron gates, brought in by the maids, gardeners and drivers who help maintain the oligarch’s opulent lifestyles.

The wee folk have no opportunity to keep their distance on Java.  It’s reputed to be the world’s most densely populated island with about 1,120 people per square kilometer.  In Jakarta the compaction is a dozen times greater.

Johns Hopkins University of Medicine in the US is tallying Covid-19 around the world.  On Wednesday (25/3) Indonesia had 686 cases confirmed and 55 deaths.  That ratio of almost nine to one puts Indonesia far above other countries, but may also be skewed because so few have been tested.

The environment is another danger. Few Westerners get the chance to explore the gang (alleys) of urban kampongs where people live so close its often impossible to pass and not brush clothes.  Reaching out to the neighbours doesn’t demand a conscious decision – just lifting an arm is sufficient.

The Directorate General of Human Settlements reported that kawasan kumuh (slums) covered 38,000 hectares of Indonesia.  This had risen to 87,000 hectares last year despite many clearing projects.  In Jakarta 445 communities are classified as ‘slums’.

It’s in these twisted, congested communes that the roots of Indonesian tolerance – and parochialism – have thrived.

Elsewhere millions of workers and students live in kos, basic bedrooms with access to a toilet and little else rented from private homeowners.  These people eat outside at roadside stalls, making the idea of a lockdown impractical.

The language is full of references to the virtues of close-proximity living.  Rindu kampung halaman (I long for my village), to mangan ora manga asal kumpul (even when hungry we have each other).  Hanging out (nongkrong) was invented in Indonesia.

Now being shared is a virus.  Although kampong residents generally keep homes and streets well washed, drains are usually open and livestock often kept under the same roof. Walls, doorways, handles, switches – all are touched and retouched every few minutes.

In Tomohon, a small town in North Sulawesi, a wildlife meat market similar to the one in Wuhan where Covid-19 is alleged to have started, operates openly.  Dogs, cats, bats, forest pig, pythons and other feral animals continue to be sold despite an international campaign to have the trade shuttered.  In response a huge government poster outside proclaims its ‘Love for Animals’.

Jamu (herbal drink) women wander the streets selling home made cures for all ills, including coronavirus.  Their potions are far cheaper than proprietary medicines and their effectiveness is confirmed by anecdote.

At least customers aren’t following Australia and panic buying toilet rolls, only found in hotels catering for foreigners.  The culture is to wash, which seems far cleaner.

Community health services stress hygiene and proper waste disposal, yet rivers remain the favoured place to chuck rubbish. The best disposal points are indicated by signs threatening penalties.  The people have information – what they don’t have is health literacy.

The US National Academy of Sciences’ Institute of Medicine defines this as ‘the degree to which individuals have the capacity to obtain, process, and understand basic health information and services needed to make appropriate health decisions.’

Most research has been done in Europe, but any survey in Indonesia would likely find the nation largely health illiterate.  Which makes combating the spread of Covid-19 particularly difficult.

Although my Indonesian wife looks and feels fine it seems she suffers from hypothermia.  That’s according to a shop security guard’s forehead thermometer which recorded 33 degrees.

It was the same for her equally sprightly sister. The women distrusted the device and its untrained user so walked on.  But the procedure looked comforting; something was being done.

The dangers of smoking are advertised on the packs of fags plus a small panel on the huge DON’T QUIT posters urging men to prove their masculinity though nicotine. 

International health authorities believe almost 70 per cent of Indonesian men smoke. Packs cost about one US dollar.  The World Health Organisation reckons around 270,000 deaths a year in Indonesia are caused by smoking.  If Covid-19 takes hold smokers will be particularly susceptible.

The World Bank estimates that around 25 million Indonesians live on one US dollar a day.  More than half the workforce is in the informal sector and has no safety net.

It’s work, beg or bludge from relatives – which is another reason President Joko Widodo is resisting a lockdown.

There’s a tiered national health insurance scheme called BPJS (Badan Penyelenggara Jaminan Sosial) which relies on voluntary payments.  It’s grossly under-funded, opposed by many hospitals and doctors, and seriously sick.

Working from home is an option only for the well-educated employed by government, multinationals and universities.  But even they have to cope with poor Internet services.

According to the US pro-democracy NGO Freedom House only 56 per cent of Indonesians have access to the Internet, one of the lowest penetration levels in the region.  Even in big centres it’s frustratingly fickle.

So far religion has trumped reason in the response to Covid-19.  At first it was widely claimed the virus would by-pass the archipelago because all citizens must profess to a monotheistic belief and record their adherence to one of six approved religions on their ID cards.  Prayer would prevent.  

 Even Health Minister Terawan Agus recommended worship while medicos were urging washing.
Few questioned why any deity would recognize lines drawn on maps by humans, spare those on one side while afflicting the allegedly less pious innocents next door.

Deaths in Indonesia, where almost 90 per cent of the population is Muslim, are followed by same day or next morning burials.  The community gets involved, rarely undertakers and doctors. 

Unless the police are called because of violence, there’s seldom a post mortem or tissue swab to determine cause of death.  Instead relatives use their faith to explain a sudden departure:  Allah or God had called her or him home.  Their time was up.  That’s how the world works.

No longer.

First published in Pearls and Irritations, 27 March 2029:  https://johnmenadue.com/duncan-graham-the-land-of-no-social-distance/