FAITH IN INDONESIA
The shape of the world a generation from now will be influenced far more by how we communicate the values of our society to others than by military or diplomatic superiority. William Fulbright, 1964
Sunday, April 30, 2006
SURABAYA'S FIRST LADY
DOWN TO EARTH WITH SURABAYA’S FIRST LADY
© Duncan Graham 2006
The stereotypical provincial mayor’s wife is a plump matron swathed in batik, standing slightly behind her husband, splendid in a military uniform. But not in Surabaya.
…………………………………………
If you’re seeking Dyah Katarina Bambang don’t look in the five star hotels among the swish set.
Instead try any sweaty public function involving the environment, health or education, particularly if there are lots of kids. However don’t expect the wife of Surabaya Mayor Bambang Dwi Hartono to be a passive participant.
She may be one of the keynote speakers but unlike many public officials doesn’t dash for her car the moment the applause has died pleading other appointments as an excuse for a rest.
Dyah tends to be a stayer and chatter to anyone and everyone, even when the heat is stifling and crowds thick. And it’s not sinetron talk, but real discussions about serious issues.
In a society where protocols and status are more important than qualifications and achievements Dyah is accessible to kids puzzling over assignments through to pensioners with gripes. Every Tuesday she spends an hour on radio taking talk back calls on just about anything outside politics, mainly focussing on her work during the week.
Nor are her interests a fad manufactured to get publicity in the early days of a new-broom administration. Her husband was elected mayor last year nominated by the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle.
However it’s not the family’s first time in the big old Dutch house in central Surabaya that goes with the job.
Bambang became mayor in 2002 and before that was deputy mayor. So his wife is no stranger to public life. It’s just that she does it differently.
Dyah’s upbringing was a key factor. Her father is a teacher and still works into his 70s. Her mother works in a cosmetics factory. Her parents made sure their daughter was never idle or allowed to think herself superior. Cleaning the house wasn’t just left to the maid; young Dyah also had to do her share of sweeping.
She went to Airlangga, East Java’s most prestigious public university and graduated in psychology. Her first job was with a labour agency sending workers overseas. Her task was to assess their suitability by testing personality, aptitude, intelligence and skills.
This gave her insights into the backgrounds, hopes and concerns of young people who leave their homes –often in desperation - and for the first time in their lives head overseas. Many have little understanding of the world beyond their village or the demands that will be placed on them.
She married Bambang when he was still a government school maths teacher with political ambitions. They have three children – a 17 year old daughter and two sons aged 16 and 9. Two go to state schools, the youngest to an Islamic primary school.
Since her husband got involved in politics Dyah has been overseas and seen first hand how other cities are managed. The contrasts with places like Kuala Lumpur and Singapore are stark. In Surabaya there are no laws against throwing rubbish out of car windows and few bins available for people who want to do the right thing. Traffic controls are negligible.
In a vast timber-panelled reception room hung with paintings depicting the 1945 Battle of Surabaya the fast-talking Dyah, 38, spoke to The Sunday Post over a lunch of fruit.
How did you know what to do as the Mayor’s wife?
“There were no instructions, no guide book. I didn’t know anything about the role I was supposed to play and at first was quite confused. I had to learn very quickly.
“But I’ve always been a person who likes to do things herself. When our children were young I never wanted them to be cared for by babysitters. I was jealous of anyone who held my child.”
You could have focussed on being head of the household, spending your time at social events and going shopping.
“Of course. But I’m not into buying clothes and very rarely go to boutiques. I want to keep things simple. These shoes for example were bought in the market for Rp 15,000 (US $ 1.60). That’s me!
“No one would have complained if I’d stayed in the background as a traditional wife just appearing at the occasional function. As the mayor’s wife I’m ex officio – I don’t have a formal position.
“But I’ve been given a chance to do things that aren’t available to other women – and I want to take that opportunity. That’s why I’m involved in issues like the environment. I love trees and nature.
“Yes, I suppose I am a modern woman and down to earth. I certainly don’t think of myself as arrogant in any way.”
Dyah has been a strong public supporter of the USAID-funded Environmental Services Program (ESP) in East Java. The US$45 million (Rp 414 billion) five-year project is operating in five provinces and has several objectives.
These include raising health through better management of water resources, the delivery of clean water, reduction of pollution and improved waste disposal.
A critical target is diarrhoea, the second major killer of children under five. Every year about 100,000 little kids die from this easily preventable disease caused by poor sanitation – particularly through using hands, water and utensils contaminated by faeces.
Westerners unused to Indonesian culture find the lack of toilet paper a worry and the prohibition against using the left hand for serving food a bit quaint. But these traditional practices are well founded. Using water is more hygienic than paper provided nails are scrubbed and the waste water not reused.
Although Indonesians are fanatical about personal cleanliness many don’t have access to the basic needs for hygiene. Medical research shows that following a simple regimen of always washing hands with soap after going to the toilet and then drying them properly could cut diarrhoea cases by half.
Polio is also transmitted the same way. Last year a new virus was identified in West Java. Within six months almost 300 cases were detected in ten provinces.
The national government is now trying to immunise 24 million under-fives across the archipelago in a bid to make Indonesia polio-free by the end of this year. The disease is infectious. It can paralyse and kill. Dyah has been involved in the program.
The ESP project, which is being delivered by a company called Development Alternatives, organised a hand-washing campaign with the help of Muslim organisations.
The campaign started last October before the Ramadan fasting month in partnership with the East Java chapter of the Indonesian Ulama Institute.
Community leaders in Malang and the suburb of Wonokromo, Surabaya were trained to set the values of the district by encouraging everyone to use soap and dry their hands. The exercise, which was both spiritual and practical, may be extended to other areas after assessment.
To help strengthen the program Dyah went into the slums of Wonokromo to do a bit of hand washing herself. And when she’s not scrubbing fingernails she’s digging them into rubbish to promote recycling and composting - or into the dirt planting trees with environmental organisations like the Klub Tunas Hijau. (Green bud club)
By dressing simply she doesn’t intimidate ordinary people. Like men in uniform, women who flaunt their wealth and position with a jangle of accessories and a preening of rich fabrics can be hard to approach. Dyah may be a VIP but that’s not on her CV. She has the common touch – and some clear goals.
“I want to help make Surabaya green and clean,” she said. “That’s my ambition and it’s that simple. Everything is related - education, clean water, fresh air, good health.”
Others have tried and failed. On roadsides at the main entrances to the city are signs welcoming visitors to a clean green city. But the metal is rusting and the signs fogged by clouds of exhaust smoke from badly maintained trucks and busses.
“I don’t know what went wrong,” she said. “That was with a past administration. It was before Krismon (the 1997 economic crisis) when everything became very difficult. I’m an optimist and believe we must all do what we can to make things better. We must keep trying.”
That’s a big job in an industrial and heavily polluted city like Surabaya.
“Yes it is. Socialisation is a long and slow process. There needs to be a consistent message and stability in the programs.
“There’s a lot of overcrowding in some kampung caused by illegal migrants from the rural areas coming into Surabaya. That creates health issues. It’s not exclusive to Surabaya – it’s part of globalisation.
“I want to help poor people develop their handicraft skills. I’ve seen projects like that in Lombok and they could be developed here.
“There’s a mountain of problems out there and we’re just at the foothills. But I’m always trying to encourage schools to respect the environment. It was very pleasing to see hundreds of children putting on displays at a recent workshop on clean water.”
At the event, where her husband also endorsed the need to clean up waterways, Dyah sang about preserving nature with Claire Pierangelo, the US consul in East Java and local kids. While the Mayor was with the official guests and heavily into handshaking his wife was mixing with the activists and stressing the health message.
Pompous she is not. Surabaya’s First Couple don’t radiate glamour but they make an effective team.
“People do respond when they see that we’re serious,” she said. “There are already compost-making programs in place using household waste and bins separating rubbish.
“Surabaya is a great city with lots of character, and its very safe. Please don’t be frightened about coming here. Although we’re not yet green and clean we’re
working on it. If you’d like to help you’re welcome.”
(First published in The Sunday Post 30 April 06)
##
">Link
© Duncan Graham 2006
The stereotypical provincial mayor’s wife is a plump matron swathed in batik, standing slightly behind her husband, splendid in a military uniform. But not in Surabaya.
…………………………………………
If you’re seeking Dyah Katarina Bambang don’t look in the five star hotels among the swish set.
Instead try any sweaty public function involving the environment, health or education, particularly if there are lots of kids. However don’t expect the wife of Surabaya Mayor Bambang Dwi Hartono to be a passive participant.
She may be one of the keynote speakers but unlike many public officials doesn’t dash for her car the moment the applause has died pleading other appointments as an excuse for a rest.
Dyah tends to be a stayer and chatter to anyone and everyone, even when the heat is stifling and crowds thick. And it’s not sinetron talk, but real discussions about serious issues.
In a society where protocols and status are more important than qualifications and achievements Dyah is accessible to kids puzzling over assignments through to pensioners with gripes. Every Tuesday she spends an hour on radio taking talk back calls on just about anything outside politics, mainly focussing on her work during the week.
Nor are her interests a fad manufactured to get publicity in the early days of a new-broom administration. Her husband was elected mayor last year nominated by the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle.
However it’s not the family’s first time in the big old Dutch house in central Surabaya that goes with the job.
Bambang became mayor in 2002 and before that was deputy mayor. So his wife is no stranger to public life. It’s just that she does it differently.
Dyah’s upbringing was a key factor. Her father is a teacher and still works into his 70s. Her mother works in a cosmetics factory. Her parents made sure their daughter was never idle or allowed to think herself superior. Cleaning the house wasn’t just left to the maid; young Dyah also had to do her share of sweeping.
She went to Airlangga, East Java’s most prestigious public university and graduated in psychology. Her first job was with a labour agency sending workers overseas. Her task was to assess their suitability by testing personality, aptitude, intelligence and skills.
This gave her insights into the backgrounds, hopes and concerns of young people who leave their homes –often in desperation - and for the first time in their lives head overseas. Many have little understanding of the world beyond their village or the demands that will be placed on them.
She married Bambang when he was still a government school maths teacher with political ambitions. They have three children – a 17 year old daughter and two sons aged 16 and 9. Two go to state schools, the youngest to an Islamic primary school.
Since her husband got involved in politics Dyah has been overseas and seen first hand how other cities are managed. The contrasts with places like Kuala Lumpur and Singapore are stark. In Surabaya there are no laws against throwing rubbish out of car windows and few bins available for people who want to do the right thing. Traffic controls are negligible.
In a vast timber-panelled reception room hung with paintings depicting the 1945 Battle of Surabaya the fast-talking Dyah, 38, spoke to The Sunday Post over a lunch of fruit.
How did you know what to do as the Mayor’s wife?
“There were no instructions, no guide book. I didn’t know anything about the role I was supposed to play and at first was quite confused. I had to learn very quickly.
“But I’ve always been a person who likes to do things herself. When our children were young I never wanted them to be cared for by babysitters. I was jealous of anyone who held my child.”
You could have focussed on being head of the household, spending your time at social events and going shopping.
“Of course. But I’m not into buying clothes and very rarely go to boutiques. I want to keep things simple. These shoes for example were bought in the market for Rp 15,000 (US $ 1.60). That’s me!
“No one would have complained if I’d stayed in the background as a traditional wife just appearing at the occasional function. As the mayor’s wife I’m ex officio – I don’t have a formal position.
“But I’ve been given a chance to do things that aren’t available to other women – and I want to take that opportunity. That’s why I’m involved in issues like the environment. I love trees and nature.
“Yes, I suppose I am a modern woman and down to earth. I certainly don’t think of myself as arrogant in any way.”
Dyah has been a strong public supporter of the USAID-funded Environmental Services Program (ESP) in East Java. The US$45 million (Rp 414 billion) five-year project is operating in five provinces and has several objectives.
These include raising health through better management of water resources, the delivery of clean water, reduction of pollution and improved waste disposal.
A critical target is diarrhoea, the second major killer of children under five. Every year about 100,000 little kids die from this easily preventable disease caused by poor sanitation – particularly through using hands, water and utensils contaminated by faeces.
Westerners unused to Indonesian culture find the lack of toilet paper a worry and the prohibition against using the left hand for serving food a bit quaint. But these traditional practices are well founded. Using water is more hygienic than paper provided nails are scrubbed and the waste water not reused.
Although Indonesians are fanatical about personal cleanliness many don’t have access to the basic needs for hygiene. Medical research shows that following a simple regimen of always washing hands with soap after going to the toilet and then drying them properly could cut diarrhoea cases by half.
Polio is also transmitted the same way. Last year a new virus was identified in West Java. Within six months almost 300 cases were detected in ten provinces.
The national government is now trying to immunise 24 million under-fives across the archipelago in a bid to make Indonesia polio-free by the end of this year. The disease is infectious. It can paralyse and kill. Dyah has been involved in the program.
The ESP project, which is being delivered by a company called Development Alternatives, organised a hand-washing campaign with the help of Muslim organisations.
The campaign started last October before the Ramadan fasting month in partnership with the East Java chapter of the Indonesian Ulama Institute.
Community leaders in Malang and the suburb of Wonokromo, Surabaya were trained to set the values of the district by encouraging everyone to use soap and dry their hands. The exercise, which was both spiritual and practical, may be extended to other areas after assessment.
To help strengthen the program Dyah went into the slums of Wonokromo to do a bit of hand washing herself. And when she’s not scrubbing fingernails she’s digging them into rubbish to promote recycling and composting - or into the dirt planting trees with environmental organisations like the Klub Tunas Hijau. (Green bud club)
By dressing simply she doesn’t intimidate ordinary people. Like men in uniform, women who flaunt their wealth and position with a jangle of accessories and a preening of rich fabrics can be hard to approach. Dyah may be a VIP but that’s not on her CV. She has the common touch – and some clear goals.
“I want to help make Surabaya green and clean,” she said. “That’s my ambition and it’s that simple. Everything is related - education, clean water, fresh air, good health.”
Others have tried and failed. On roadsides at the main entrances to the city are signs welcoming visitors to a clean green city. But the metal is rusting and the signs fogged by clouds of exhaust smoke from badly maintained trucks and busses.
“I don’t know what went wrong,” she said. “That was with a past administration. It was before Krismon (the 1997 economic crisis) when everything became very difficult. I’m an optimist and believe we must all do what we can to make things better. We must keep trying.”
That’s a big job in an industrial and heavily polluted city like Surabaya.
“Yes it is. Socialisation is a long and slow process. There needs to be a consistent message and stability in the programs.
“There’s a lot of overcrowding in some kampung caused by illegal migrants from the rural areas coming into Surabaya. That creates health issues. It’s not exclusive to Surabaya – it’s part of globalisation.
“I want to help poor people develop their handicraft skills. I’ve seen projects like that in Lombok and they could be developed here.
“There’s a mountain of problems out there and we’re just at the foothills. But I’m always trying to encourage schools to respect the environment. It was very pleasing to see hundreds of children putting on displays at a recent workshop on clean water.”
At the event, where her husband also endorsed the need to clean up waterways, Dyah sang about preserving nature with Claire Pierangelo, the US consul in East Java and local kids. While the Mayor was with the official guests and heavily into handshaking his wife was mixing with the activists and stressing the health message.
Pompous she is not. Surabaya’s First Couple don’t radiate glamour but they make an effective team.
“People do respond when they see that we’re serious,” she said. “There are already compost-making programs in place using household waste and bins separating rubbish.
“Surabaya is a great city with lots of character, and its very safe. Please don’t be frightened about coming here. Although we’re not yet green and clean we’re
working on it. If you’d like to help you’re welcome.”
(First published in The Sunday Post 30 April 06)
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">Link
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
CHOPIN AND CHARCOAL
WESTERN RESTRICTIONS CREATE INDONESIAN OPPORTUNITIES
© Duncan Graham 2006
‘Sending coals to Newcastle’ (in England) means a pointless venture. But the export of fuel briquettes to Newcastle and other Australian cities is turning the adage on its head.
Capitalising on anti-pollution laws that ban the use of wood and coal fires in the West, an enterprising manufacturer in East Java called Indocharcoal is sending near-smokeless fuel to Australia and Europe.
Made from compressed sawdust and waste wood chips the product, distributed as Woodlog and marketed as Hot Rox, meets the new standards for house warming systems and slow-burning stoves.
In the past Australians in the southern states consumed thousands of tonnes of firewood on open fires during the winter months. Scavenging forests and farms for a pick-up load of dry wood was a regular family weekend pastime, often combined with a picnic. Toasting toes on a Sunday night round glowing embers was a lovely bonding ritual.
But as the cities expanded the forests contracted and more people started burning green wood. The removal of fallen timber denied native animals their habitat. Conservationists demanded the forest floor stay cluttered.
Temperature inversion where cold smoke gets trapped at rooftop height became a new and worrying condition in the cities, particularly for people with asthma.
So open fires have yielded to closed combustion stoves and government officers check firewood sellers for the moisture content of their product. Farewell the romance of a roaring log fire.
Into this gap has stepped Krisna Setiawan who three years ago bought out the briquette-making equipment of a factory in Gresik outside Surabaya that was going bankrupt.
“Our product is made from timber-mill sawdust and waste wood chips from furniture factories,” he said.
“The waste is combined, dried and compressed, heated to about 200 degrees centigrade and then forced through a die. We don’t use any glues or chemicals to bond the sawdust.
“The briquettes are about 40 centimetres long, pipe shaped and slow burning. They are sparkless and odourless and almost smokeless.
“They don’t give off any toxins unlike coal briquettes so can be used for cooking, though in Australia the need is for heating. A 20 kilo box of briquettes sells in Australian supermarkets for about AUD $10 (Rp 65,000).
“Demand is good and growing. We’re operating ten machines working seven days a week around the clock.”
Indonesia is facing an acute briquette shortage according to government sources with supplies failing to meet demand as the price of oil-based fuels rises.
Mineral, Coal and Geothermal director general Simon Felix Sembiring was quoted by the ASEAN Energy News Service as saying the country has only three briquette plants.
The total output is 90,000 tonnes but the plants are operating at only one third of capacity. He said Indonesian industry needed 300,000 tonnes a year and households ten times that amount.
Plans were announced late last year for the state-owned coal miner PT Tambang Batubara Bukit Asam to build three new briquette factories with an annual capacity of 500,000 tonnes. However these are not expected to start before 2009.
Krisna said that briquettes made from coal were best used in industry because the discharge of poisonous gas made them unsuitable for household use.
His factory also makes charcoal briquettes for the Korean, Japanese and Taiwan markets. Again this market has developed following the Korean government banning the manufacture of charcoal to reduce pollution.
These briquettes are widely used for cooking in restaurants.
The manufacture of charcoal is an ancient art, traditionally made by pre-heating timber or coal to drive off the gasses, leaving a lightweight but long-lasting fuel which burns bright at a high temperature. Now the process is done in kilns starved of oxygen.
The US car manufacturer Henry Ford is credited with inventing the charcoal briquette using sawdust from his factories.
Krisna said that sourcing suitable sawdust and wood chips was getting difficult as other manufacturers were attracted to the industry. So he has just opened another factory at Mojokerto south east of Surabaya to make pulp packaging from recycled newsprint and cardboard.
“Styrofoam is no longer wanted as mouldings to protect electronic equipment in transit,” he said. “The industry now demands less toxic packaging so we’re meeting that demand.”
Despite his skills in spotting local trade opportunities generated by laws overseas, Krisna, 36, would much rather be at the keyboard of his piano than his laptop. He’s an accomplished classical and jazz musician.
A devotee of the 19th century Polish composer Frederic Chopin, Krisna wishes his finger work on the ivories was equal to his nimble business acumen.
Contracts are being negotiated with importers in Greece, Switzerland and Denmark keen to get Indocharcoal’s products. If this eventuates maybe a trip to Europe will follow with a side stop in Warsaw to soak up the atmosphere.
“It’s very difficult to appreciate European culture and music in Indonesia,” Krisna said. “It’s also hard to earn an income as a concert pianist in Surabaya. This is a city of commerce, not culture. So I make money by recycling and make music for pleasure.”
(First published in The Jakarta Post 24 April 06)
##
">Link
© Duncan Graham 2006
‘Sending coals to Newcastle’ (in England) means a pointless venture. But the export of fuel briquettes to Newcastle and other Australian cities is turning the adage on its head.
Capitalising on anti-pollution laws that ban the use of wood and coal fires in the West, an enterprising manufacturer in East Java called Indocharcoal is sending near-smokeless fuel to Australia and Europe.
Made from compressed sawdust and waste wood chips the product, distributed as Woodlog and marketed as Hot Rox, meets the new standards for house warming systems and slow-burning stoves.
In the past Australians in the southern states consumed thousands of tonnes of firewood on open fires during the winter months. Scavenging forests and farms for a pick-up load of dry wood was a regular family weekend pastime, often combined with a picnic. Toasting toes on a Sunday night round glowing embers was a lovely bonding ritual.
But as the cities expanded the forests contracted and more people started burning green wood. The removal of fallen timber denied native animals their habitat. Conservationists demanded the forest floor stay cluttered.
Temperature inversion where cold smoke gets trapped at rooftop height became a new and worrying condition in the cities, particularly for people with asthma.
So open fires have yielded to closed combustion stoves and government officers check firewood sellers for the moisture content of their product. Farewell the romance of a roaring log fire.
Into this gap has stepped Krisna Setiawan who three years ago bought out the briquette-making equipment of a factory in Gresik outside Surabaya that was going bankrupt.
“Our product is made from timber-mill sawdust and waste wood chips from furniture factories,” he said.
“The waste is combined, dried and compressed, heated to about 200 degrees centigrade and then forced through a die. We don’t use any glues or chemicals to bond the sawdust.
“The briquettes are about 40 centimetres long, pipe shaped and slow burning. They are sparkless and odourless and almost smokeless.
“They don’t give off any toxins unlike coal briquettes so can be used for cooking, though in Australia the need is for heating. A 20 kilo box of briquettes sells in Australian supermarkets for about AUD $10 (Rp 65,000).
“Demand is good and growing. We’re operating ten machines working seven days a week around the clock.”
Indonesia is facing an acute briquette shortage according to government sources with supplies failing to meet demand as the price of oil-based fuels rises.
Mineral, Coal and Geothermal director general Simon Felix Sembiring was quoted by the ASEAN Energy News Service as saying the country has only three briquette plants.
The total output is 90,000 tonnes but the plants are operating at only one third of capacity. He said Indonesian industry needed 300,000 tonnes a year and households ten times that amount.
Plans were announced late last year for the state-owned coal miner PT Tambang Batubara Bukit Asam to build three new briquette factories with an annual capacity of 500,000 tonnes. However these are not expected to start before 2009.
Krisna said that briquettes made from coal were best used in industry because the discharge of poisonous gas made them unsuitable for household use.
His factory also makes charcoal briquettes for the Korean, Japanese and Taiwan markets. Again this market has developed following the Korean government banning the manufacture of charcoal to reduce pollution.
These briquettes are widely used for cooking in restaurants.
The manufacture of charcoal is an ancient art, traditionally made by pre-heating timber or coal to drive off the gasses, leaving a lightweight but long-lasting fuel which burns bright at a high temperature. Now the process is done in kilns starved of oxygen.
The US car manufacturer Henry Ford is credited with inventing the charcoal briquette using sawdust from his factories.
Krisna said that sourcing suitable sawdust and wood chips was getting difficult as other manufacturers were attracted to the industry. So he has just opened another factory at Mojokerto south east of Surabaya to make pulp packaging from recycled newsprint and cardboard.
“Styrofoam is no longer wanted as mouldings to protect electronic equipment in transit,” he said. “The industry now demands less toxic packaging so we’re meeting that demand.”
Despite his skills in spotting local trade opportunities generated by laws overseas, Krisna, 36, would much rather be at the keyboard of his piano than his laptop. He’s an accomplished classical and jazz musician.
A devotee of the 19th century Polish composer Frederic Chopin, Krisna wishes his finger work on the ivories was equal to his nimble business acumen.
Contracts are being negotiated with importers in Greece, Switzerland and Denmark keen to get Indocharcoal’s products. If this eventuates maybe a trip to Europe will follow with a side stop in Warsaw to soak up the atmosphere.
“It’s very difficult to appreciate European culture and music in Indonesia,” Krisna said. “It’s also hard to earn an income as a concert pianist in Surabaya. This is a city of commerce, not culture. So I make money by recycling and make music for pleasure.”
(First published in The Jakarta Post 24 April 06)
##
">Link
Monday, April 24, 2006
ART AND THEATRE IN SURABAYA
HUNTING IDENTITY, SEARCHING FOR SPACE © Duncan Graham 2006
Memo to Philanthropic Culture Vultures: Modern performance space and dedicated gallery urgently required to showcase East Java talent. Help struggling artists get the audience they deserve.
Rewards guaranteed: Your name will ring from the rafters and your reputation chanted in every quarter where the creative gather. Well, at least until the next financial crisis.
“It’s a serious problem,” said Farid Syamlan, manager of Galeri Surabaya in the heart of Indonesia’s second biggest metropolis.
“We keep asking the city council for a good place to hang paintings, but they keep saying there’s no money.”
So this month’s Jambore Kebudayan (Cultural Jamboree) is being squeezed into some hot little rooms centred around Balai Pemuda (Youth Hall) in Jl Gubernur Suryo, the nearest thoroughfare Surabaya has to a boulevard.
The overall location could hardly be better; it’s easy to see and access. There’s plenty of parking. However the facilities will deter all but the most hard-wired devotees of culture.
Sadly the casual visitor will rapidly decide that viewing art is best done outside a sauna and head for the nearest shopping mall and a fix of iced coffee. They won’t be intellectually challenged, but they will stay cool.
So all applause to the artists who are determined to exhibit their skills and display their ideas whatever the conditions.
People like Novita Sechan, 27, from Sidoarjo whose acrylic abstracts have style and depth, the colors good enough to eat. The mother of a young baby, Novita finds time not only to paint but also to take visitors around her works and explain her obsession with form and color. She’s also the exhibition’s producer.
Then there’s the versatile Thoyib Tamsar, 58, who works in coarse fabrics to create mythical three-dimensional monsters. He’s also at home with oils portraying Biblical scenes, like Noah filling the Ark to save wildlife from the rising flood.
His work has an apocalyptic feel with great creatures wrestling to the death as in sci-fi fantasies, but he handles light well and offers canvases that aren’t easy to pass by or forget.
Novita, who studied at the State University of Surabaya, agreed that most of the 11 artists featured were drawing on European styles and subjects. She could offer little explanation, other than the dominance of Western art and the globalisation of culture.
It’s as though the conventional art schools have said the norms of Paris and London determine what is or isn’t art. But this approach cramps the experimental that might find root in the fertile lushness of East Java. It takes courage to be different in art, as in politics.
The exhibition has the usual look-alike Balinese maidens flaunting their smooth shoulders and plump breasts, and still life from the salons which could have come from any era. Only some angular kampung children by Fauzie Muhammad, 49, carry a sense of place and a whiff of Java.
“In Indonesia Yogya leads with original work,” said Autar Abdillah, secretary general of the Surabaya Arts Council. “After that comes Bali, Jakarta and Bandung. Surabaya is way behind.
“It wasn’t always like this, but the arts scene has been slow here for the past decade. We can use some lovely buildings but have to compete with handicraft exhibitions, educational seminars and traders from Yogya who book the space.
“So we’ve nothing really dedicated to show art except a few rooms at the side.”
The multicoloured domed Balai Pemuda can seat 150 people, the theatre alongside 300. Both are relics from the colonial past, jolly on the outside but acoustically flawed. (The larger Taman Budya (Culture Park) in Jl Gentengkali is used for dance and wayang.)
The Dutch Club (“forbidden to natives and dogs” according to an historical plaque) once dominated the Balai Pemuda. But this has been demolished. A local government tourist office uses one part of the complex and keeps to itself. There’s a cinema alongside showing the standard gorefests.
Integration and coordination of history and modern culture, plus a bit of landscaping to create a real arts centre would make the site a splendid attraction.
Despite these drawbacks a special quality of this event (and many others staged in the same spot) is the willingness of the artists to relax and reflect on their work.
Unlike many exhibitions in the West where the drawcard vanishes to his or her hideaway once the first night drinks have been drained, East Java artists are accessible. So the visitor can actually sit down (usually on the sidewalk) and discuss the aesthetics without feeling pressured by a gallery owner desperate to put a red dot on the frame.
After the art comes theatre, with six campuses putting on short plays. The Gresik based community Teater Payung Hitam (Black Umbrella Theatre) that has performed in Australia will stage workshops; the company is supported by a cement manufacturer.
The ticket prices won’t rip your wallet. The best seats in the house cost only Rp 30,000 (US $3.20) and students get in for half price.
Again there’ll be plenty of opportunity for interaction with playwrights and performers at the end of the shows. Surabaya’s creative folk tend to be humble and introspective – sinetron poseurs they are not. So whatever you think of the scripts and direction you’ll get a chance to question the creators and stir their ideas.
Try doing that on Broadway or the West End.
(First published in The Jakarta Post Saturday 22 April 06)
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Memo to Philanthropic Culture Vultures: Modern performance space and dedicated gallery urgently required to showcase East Java talent. Help struggling artists get the audience they deserve.
Rewards guaranteed: Your name will ring from the rafters and your reputation chanted in every quarter where the creative gather. Well, at least until the next financial crisis.
“It’s a serious problem,” said Farid Syamlan, manager of Galeri Surabaya in the heart of Indonesia’s second biggest metropolis.
“We keep asking the city council for a good place to hang paintings, but they keep saying there’s no money.”
So this month’s Jambore Kebudayan (Cultural Jamboree) is being squeezed into some hot little rooms centred around Balai Pemuda (Youth Hall) in Jl Gubernur Suryo, the nearest thoroughfare Surabaya has to a boulevard.
The overall location could hardly be better; it’s easy to see and access. There’s plenty of parking. However the facilities will deter all but the most hard-wired devotees of culture.
Sadly the casual visitor will rapidly decide that viewing art is best done outside a sauna and head for the nearest shopping mall and a fix of iced coffee. They won’t be intellectually challenged, but they will stay cool.
So all applause to the artists who are determined to exhibit their skills and display their ideas whatever the conditions.
People like Novita Sechan, 27, from Sidoarjo whose acrylic abstracts have style and depth, the colors good enough to eat. The mother of a young baby, Novita finds time not only to paint but also to take visitors around her works and explain her obsession with form and color. She’s also the exhibition’s producer.
Then there’s the versatile Thoyib Tamsar, 58, who works in coarse fabrics to create mythical three-dimensional monsters. He’s also at home with oils portraying Biblical scenes, like Noah filling the Ark to save wildlife from the rising flood.
His work has an apocalyptic feel with great creatures wrestling to the death as in sci-fi fantasies, but he handles light well and offers canvases that aren’t easy to pass by or forget.
Novita, who studied at the State University of Surabaya, agreed that most of the 11 artists featured were drawing on European styles and subjects. She could offer little explanation, other than the dominance of Western art and the globalisation of culture.
It’s as though the conventional art schools have said the norms of Paris and London determine what is or isn’t art. But this approach cramps the experimental that might find root in the fertile lushness of East Java. It takes courage to be different in art, as in politics.
The exhibition has the usual look-alike Balinese maidens flaunting their smooth shoulders and plump breasts, and still life from the salons which could have come from any era. Only some angular kampung children by Fauzie Muhammad, 49, carry a sense of place and a whiff of Java.
“In Indonesia Yogya leads with original work,” said Autar Abdillah, secretary general of the Surabaya Arts Council. “After that comes Bali, Jakarta and Bandung. Surabaya is way behind.
“It wasn’t always like this, but the arts scene has been slow here for the past decade. We can use some lovely buildings but have to compete with handicraft exhibitions, educational seminars and traders from Yogya who book the space.
“So we’ve nothing really dedicated to show art except a few rooms at the side.”
The multicoloured domed Balai Pemuda can seat 150 people, the theatre alongside 300. Both are relics from the colonial past, jolly on the outside but acoustically flawed. (The larger Taman Budya (Culture Park) in Jl Gentengkali is used for dance and wayang.)
The Dutch Club (“forbidden to natives and dogs” according to an historical plaque) once dominated the Balai Pemuda. But this has been demolished. A local government tourist office uses one part of the complex and keeps to itself. There’s a cinema alongside showing the standard gorefests.
Integration and coordination of history and modern culture, plus a bit of landscaping to create a real arts centre would make the site a splendid attraction.
Despite these drawbacks a special quality of this event (and many others staged in the same spot) is the willingness of the artists to relax and reflect on their work.
Unlike many exhibitions in the West where the drawcard vanishes to his or her hideaway once the first night drinks have been drained, East Java artists are accessible. So the visitor can actually sit down (usually on the sidewalk) and discuss the aesthetics without feeling pressured by a gallery owner desperate to put a red dot on the frame.
After the art comes theatre, with six campuses putting on short plays. The Gresik based community Teater Payung Hitam (Black Umbrella Theatre) that has performed in Australia will stage workshops; the company is supported by a cement manufacturer.
The ticket prices won’t rip your wallet. The best seats in the house cost only Rp 30,000 (US $3.20) and students get in for half price.
Again there’ll be plenty of opportunity for interaction with playwrights and performers at the end of the shows. Surabaya’s creative folk tend to be humble and introspective – sinetron poseurs they are not. So whatever you think of the scripts and direction you’ll get a chance to question the creators and stir their ideas.
Try doing that on Broadway or the West End.
(First published in The Jakarta Post Saturday 22 April 06)
">Link
Saturday, April 22, 2006
WOMEN'S LOT IN INDONESIA
NO NEW KARTINI?
On 21 April Indonesians celebrated Kartini Day. This recalls the brief life of Javanese emancipist Raden Ajeng Kartini who campaigned for women to be educated and independent. She died in 1904 aged 25.
Has her advocacy brought great changes? Not according to Duncan Graham:
Compared to their Middle East sisters, Indonesian women are liberated. The nation’s fifth president was a woman. There are women in high places in government and business, though not many. Only eight per cent of legislators are women.
To the average hail-and-farewell visitor who just notes dress and public behavior, females seem as free as in the West. But try looking deeper.
A good place to start is newspaper WANTED columns for sales and administration. The requirements are specific: Good command of English and maybe Mandarin, a degree from a top university and experience.
Plus something extra not seen in Western countries where discrimination is illegal: Must be under 25 and attractive. Photo required.
So however incandescent your intellect and diligent your record, if you’re blemished by acne or past the quarter century don’t bother applying.
The visible workforce in the flash offices is overwhelmingly female and young. Older women survive only in the government or in backroom jobs. Being unmarried and over 30 is a single-life sentence; if unemployed prospects are minimal.
The demand for secretarial jobs is huge; some of the best and brightest from prestigious tertiary institutions are rotting behind reception desks and customer service counters across the archipelago.
They may be polymaths outside but in the workplace their greatest challenge is serving tea without spilling. Their role is decorative and subservient.
They’re employed as eye candy for the men who come to do business with their boss. They make his coffee, order the cakes for his meetings and buy his cigarettes – often with their own money.
They are not expected to contribute ideas or opinions; that’s a male domain. The only power they exercise is the photocopier switch.
Before their beauty fades they’re expected to get married and leave – to be replaced by the next crop of campus cuties. They have no career path and can only rise through longevity.
The Government’s Manpower Department (the name’s a giveaway) determines wages and working hours but these are not policed. White-collar unions are largely toothless and in some cases have been bought off by management.
Working for a multinational is little different from a local company. Even overseas-funded religious schools think office staff can survive on Rp 1 million (US$ 110) a month.
Staff are frequently ordered to work back without notice. Although secretaries are supposed to be paid overtime the hassle of getting approval after the event means few bother.
Sick leave is rarely taken because the wrath that follows is worst than the illness. Her fortnight’s leave has to coincide with her boss’s holidays. A boss who recognises his underlings as fellow humans with needs and concerns is a rarity
For the privilege of working a secretary will be lucky to start with more than Rp 1.5 million (US $170) a month in the big cities, and a lot less elsewhere.
Clerk Dewi is a composite character drawn from many models. She works as a secretary for a multinational in Surabaya. She frequently has to translate head office instructions in English for her monolingual boss.
Dewi lives in a kos (boarding house) about 10 km from the office and gets Rp 1.7 million a month. Ideally she’d live with her parents, but they’re in another town. This is her monthly budget.
· Transport: Rp 250,000. (She uses bemo (mini busses) but has to change twice; each stage costs Rp 2,000.)
· Meals: Cooking is not allowed in her kos, so all meals have to be taken outside. Rp 600,000. (She eats in warung (roadside cafes) and budgets Rp 20,000 a day for the simplest and cheapest meals.)
· Laundry, make up and hairdressing: Rp 160,000.
· Accommodation: Rp 600,000.
Clearly there’s no room for unexpecteds or luxuries. She gets a uniform and launders this herself. Her private time is spent washing, ironing and maintaining appearances. She has nothing left for entertainment or travel. Health care is covered by company insurance but there’s a monthly limit.
Her Idul Fitri bonus of a month’s extra salary is spent on clothes and presents – and money for her parents.
The kos is the best she can afford. It’s a 10 square metre room with plywood partitions sub-dividing a lounge in a shabby private house. There’s a rough single bed and a wardrobe; no linen. Lighting is a one 15-watt globe.
She shares a small bathroom with six other working women and has to be in by 9 pm every night. Her door is secured by a tiny padlock. Petty theft is common.
Neither working nor living conditions would be tolerated for a moment by any Australian. But in Indonesia complaints result in dismissal or eviction, and there’s no shortage of more docile candidates.
No wonder most believe they can be rescued only through marriage. Dear God, may the next customer be Mr Right.
At a personal level it’s dreary and depressing, but in broader terms there’s a more serious issue: How can a country hope to prosper if the talents and education of half the population are ignored?
Kartini, where are your successors?
(First published in The Jakarta Post 21 April 06)
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">Link
On 21 April Indonesians celebrated Kartini Day. This recalls the brief life of Javanese emancipist Raden Ajeng Kartini who campaigned for women to be educated and independent. She died in 1904 aged 25.
Has her advocacy brought great changes? Not according to Duncan Graham:
Compared to their Middle East sisters, Indonesian women are liberated. The nation’s fifth president was a woman. There are women in high places in government and business, though not many. Only eight per cent of legislators are women.
To the average hail-and-farewell visitor who just notes dress and public behavior, females seem as free as in the West. But try looking deeper.
A good place to start is newspaper WANTED columns for sales and administration. The requirements are specific: Good command of English and maybe Mandarin, a degree from a top university and experience.
Plus something extra not seen in Western countries where discrimination is illegal: Must be under 25 and attractive. Photo required.
So however incandescent your intellect and diligent your record, if you’re blemished by acne or past the quarter century don’t bother applying.
The visible workforce in the flash offices is overwhelmingly female and young. Older women survive only in the government or in backroom jobs. Being unmarried and over 30 is a single-life sentence; if unemployed prospects are minimal.
The demand for secretarial jobs is huge; some of the best and brightest from prestigious tertiary institutions are rotting behind reception desks and customer service counters across the archipelago.
They may be polymaths outside but in the workplace their greatest challenge is serving tea without spilling. Their role is decorative and subservient.
They’re employed as eye candy for the men who come to do business with their boss. They make his coffee, order the cakes for his meetings and buy his cigarettes – often with their own money.
They are not expected to contribute ideas or opinions; that’s a male domain. The only power they exercise is the photocopier switch.
Before their beauty fades they’re expected to get married and leave – to be replaced by the next crop of campus cuties. They have no career path and can only rise through longevity.
The Government’s Manpower Department (the name’s a giveaway) determines wages and working hours but these are not policed. White-collar unions are largely toothless and in some cases have been bought off by management.
Working for a multinational is little different from a local company. Even overseas-funded religious schools think office staff can survive on Rp 1 million (US$ 110) a month.
Staff are frequently ordered to work back without notice. Although secretaries are supposed to be paid overtime the hassle of getting approval after the event means few bother.
Sick leave is rarely taken because the wrath that follows is worst than the illness. Her fortnight’s leave has to coincide with her boss’s holidays. A boss who recognises his underlings as fellow humans with needs and concerns is a rarity
For the privilege of working a secretary will be lucky to start with more than Rp 1.5 million (US $170) a month in the big cities, and a lot less elsewhere.
Clerk Dewi is a composite character drawn from many models. She works as a secretary for a multinational in Surabaya. She frequently has to translate head office instructions in English for her monolingual boss.
Dewi lives in a kos (boarding house) about 10 km from the office and gets Rp 1.7 million a month. Ideally she’d live with her parents, but they’re in another town. This is her monthly budget.
· Transport: Rp 250,000. (She uses bemo (mini busses) but has to change twice; each stage costs Rp 2,000.)
· Meals: Cooking is not allowed in her kos, so all meals have to be taken outside. Rp 600,000. (She eats in warung (roadside cafes) and budgets Rp 20,000 a day for the simplest and cheapest meals.)
· Laundry, make up and hairdressing: Rp 160,000.
· Accommodation: Rp 600,000.
Clearly there’s no room for unexpecteds or luxuries. She gets a uniform and launders this herself. Her private time is spent washing, ironing and maintaining appearances. She has nothing left for entertainment or travel. Health care is covered by company insurance but there’s a monthly limit.
Her Idul Fitri bonus of a month’s extra salary is spent on clothes and presents – and money for her parents.
The kos is the best she can afford. It’s a 10 square metre room with plywood partitions sub-dividing a lounge in a shabby private house. There’s a rough single bed and a wardrobe; no linen. Lighting is a one 15-watt globe.
She shares a small bathroom with six other working women and has to be in by 9 pm every night. Her door is secured by a tiny padlock. Petty theft is common.
Neither working nor living conditions would be tolerated for a moment by any Australian. But in Indonesia complaints result in dismissal or eviction, and there’s no shortage of more docile candidates.
No wonder most believe they can be rescued only through marriage. Dear God, may the next customer be Mr Right.
At a personal level it’s dreary and depressing, but in broader terms there’s a more serious issue: How can a country hope to prosper if the talents and education of half the population are ignored?
Kartini, where are your successors?
(First published in The Jakarta Post 21 April 06)
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">Link
Thursday, April 20, 2006
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