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
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
FAREWELL, URBAN COWBOY
Samian
The last cowboy left in Sawojajar © Duncan Graham 2007
When he first started herding cattle in the open fields east of Malang, Samian could count up to 400 head grazing across the broad commons. Now there are only three.
All his fellow farmers have left, forced off the lands they roamed for generations by housing estates sliced into squares by rivers of endless traffic. Where grass, bushes and trees once painted the landscape a hundred hues of green, there’s now only terracotta red and asphalt black.
“Maybe two or three years more, and then I’ll have to stop,” Samian said. “More homes are being built all the time. People complain about my cows and the mess they make, but I think they should put up with them. I was here first.
“I used to have 15, now just two cows and a calf. But there’s no point in being angry; in the end I know I’ll have to move elsewhere.”
Town planners call it urban sprawl and it’s the curse of Indonesian agriculture, particularly Java, the world’s most fertile and overcrowded island. According to riceland preservation activists an estimated 60,000 hectares of prime paddy is lost to housing and industry every year. For every square meter of rich black volcanic soil smothered by concrete, that’s one less plot to keep the nation self-sufficient in food.
Malang is typical of the trend. The cool East Java hill town, once famous for its plantations of tobacco, tea, fruits and vegetables, has become a major education center. There are more than 30 universities and colleges pulling in students from across the archipelago.
Demand for housing has been spectacular; about 25 years ago the deep-gullied Amprong River, its steep banks cluttered with ancient cemeteries, was properly bridged. This opened the flatlands, dusted daily by ash from the nearby Semeru volcano. And so the suburb of Sawojajar was born.
Free-ranging bovines and fussy cityfolk don’t make a good mix. If you’ve invested in a chintzy mansion with a Doric pillar entrance statement, hopscotching cowpats down the driveway is not the ideal way to maintain the image.
Having your precious darlings confront 300 kilos of beef straddling the path to school isn’t conducive to best parenting practice. For the superstitious, finding a lawn studded with cloven hoofprints can be a devilish experience.
Samian’s long-time survival in this hostile environment along with Inem, 3, and her calf, and Sariem, 11, has much to do with the farmer and his four-legged family’s placid personalities. The local kids like watching the animals’ antics although they’re often spoil sports, evacuating their tank-size bladders and bowels on the improvised soccer pitches and getting their legs entangled with the kite-fliers’ strings.
Samian, 47, is a cheerful chap, sharing jokes with the idlers and curious. When the happy herdsman isn’t thinking about life and its unstoppable changes, he sings in Javanese, anything that comes into his head. If he had a Western repertoire it would surely include Don’t Fence Me In and a bracket from Oklahoma!
Because his frisky little heifer has an Australian dad, courtesy of a government artificial insemination program using semen from Aussie bulls, he’s fascinated by tales of cattle raising Down Under.
The idea of wild steers ranging unfenced arid lands, mechanized dairies where three or four workers can handle hundreds of milkers twice daily, and microchiping cows’ ears to identify their provenance fascinates.
Inem (named after a sinetron (soap opera) sexy maid character) is a cream colored and patient mum. Her russet mate Sariem is expecting. Again, for this is the only way Samian earns money, selling one offspring a year.
Sariem has horns that would make bullfighters blanche but she uses them only to deftly lift the fragile fences smallholders have erected to protect their crops of corn. The sharp points also help maintain passing motorbikes at handlebars’ length.
The cows’ big, brown swimming-pool eyes quickly spot when the boss gets involved in a chatathon with other road users. Then, like naughty truants they seize the chance for misadventure, squeezing their hard heads through loose railings to get a massive munch of some garden-proud newcomer’s pampered palm.
Keeping the trio in line is Samian’s job from 1 pm to nightfall every day. They know the way out to the shrinking herbage and back across a busy road. As the mosques burst into magrib (evening prayers) they wait unfazed at the kerb for the signal to cross.
While other stockmen hold their animals in byres and scour the roadside verges for greenstuff to cut and carry, Samian takes his cows strolling through the suburbs, seeking the undeveloped blocks where weeds are rank.
Unfortunately these vacant lots are also used to dump building site rubbish and household waste, so the cows have to pick their way through sharp-edged concrete rubble and shattered tiles in search of tasty turf.
“Sometimes they eat the plastic bags,” said Samian. “It doesn’t seem to bother them. But I’ve had one poisoned by a jealous neighbor who baited the grass with phosphorous.
“I also had a cow hit by a car. The police got involved. So of course I lost the case and had to pay.”
The other hazard is thieves. Come nightfall the cattle trot home down a one-cow wide lane and are locked into a low-roof stable next to the family’s little house deep in a kampong. Every night they’re given a swill of fermented soybeans. Bells hanging on the bamboo gate are a burglar alert.
“My father was a farmer, but I don’t want my three children to follow me,” Samian said. “I like the outdoor life but there’s no future. I think my sons will have to join the army.
“We have to rely on my wife Suliati selling vegetables for our daily income. Once a year I can sell a yearling for about Rp 10 million (US $1,100) – that’s all the money we get.”
Someday soon the pernickety new arrivals will finally reckon that sharing their space with dung-splashed cows is incompatible with an upmarket lifestyle.
Then the Sawojajar cowboy will be in search of pastures new – should any remain. If this story was a cigarette commercial he’d be astride a roan stallion clip-clopping into a shimmering sunset of a thousand empty acres, as great as all outdoors.
But because this is a slice of real Indonesian life the singing cowboy will shuffle into the smoke of a thousand exhausts in his flip flops, fenced out by builders’ scaffolding, farewelled by the fist-waving urbanites’ security guards.
So closes another chapter in the story of Indonesian rural development.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 31 July 07)
##
The last cowboy left in Sawojajar © Duncan Graham 2007
When he first started herding cattle in the open fields east of Malang, Samian could count up to 400 head grazing across the broad commons. Now there are only three.
All his fellow farmers have left, forced off the lands they roamed for generations by housing estates sliced into squares by rivers of endless traffic. Where grass, bushes and trees once painted the landscape a hundred hues of green, there’s now only terracotta red and asphalt black.
“Maybe two or three years more, and then I’ll have to stop,” Samian said. “More homes are being built all the time. People complain about my cows and the mess they make, but I think they should put up with them. I was here first.
“I used to have 15, now just two cows and a calf. But there’s no point in being angry; in the end I know I’ll have to move elsewhere.”
Town planners call it urban sprawl and it’s the curse of Indonesian agriculture, particularly Java, the world’s most fertile and overcrowded island. According to riceland preservation activists an estimated 60,000 hectares of prime paddy is lost to housing and industry every year. For every square meter of rich black volcanic soil smothered by concrete, that’s one less plot to keep the nation self-sufficient in food.
Malang is typical of the trend. The cool East Java hill town, once famous for its plantations of tobacco, tea, fruits and vegetables, has become a major education center. There are more than 30 universities and colleges pulling in students from across the archipelago.
Demand for housing has been spectacular; about 25 years ago the deep-gullied Amprong River, its steep banks cluttered with ancient cemeteries, was properly bridged. This opened the flatlands, dusted daily by ash from the nearby Semeru volcano. And so the suburb of Sawojajar was born.
Free-ranging bovines and fussy cityfolk don’t make a good mix. If you’ve invested in a chintzy mansion with a Doric pillar entrance statement, hopscotching cowpats down the driveway is not the ideal way to maintain the image.
Having your precious darlings confront 300 kilos of beef straddling the path to school isn’t conducive to best parenting practice. For the superstitious, finding a lawn studded with cloven hoofprints can be a devilish experience.
Samian’s long-time survival in this hostile environment along with Inem, 3, and her calf, and Sariem, 11, has much to do with the farmer and his four-legged family’s placid personalities. The local kids like watching the animals’ antics although they’re often spoil sports, evacuating their tank-size bladders and bowels on the improvised soccer pitches and getting their legs entangled with the kite-fliers’ strings.
Samian, 47, is a cheerful chap, sharing jokes with the idlers and curious. When the happy herdsman isn’t thinking about life and its unstoppable changes, he sings in Javanese, anything that comes into his head. If he had a Western repertoire it would surely include Don’t Fence Me In and a bracket from Oklahoma!
Because his frisky little heifer has an Australian dad, courtesy of a government artificial insemination program using semen from Aussie bulls, he’s fascinated by tales of cattle raising Down Under.
The idea of wild steers ranging unfenced arid lands, mechanized dairies where three or four workers can handle hundreds of milkers twice daily, and microchiping cows’ ears to identify their provenance fascinates.
Inem (named after a sinetron (soap opera) sexy maid character) is a cream colored and patient mum. Her russet mate Sariem is expecting. Again, for this is the only way Samian earns money, selling one offspring a year.
Sariem has horns that would make bullfighters blanche but she uses them only to deftly lift the fragile fences smallholders have erected to protect their crops of corn. The sharp points also help maintain passing motorbikes at handlebars’ length.
The cows’ big, brown swimming-pool eyes quickly spot when the boss gets involved in a chatathon with other road users. Then, like naughty truants they seize the chance for misadventure, squeezing their hard heads through loose railings to get a massive munch of some garden-proud newcomer’s pampered palm.
Keeping the trio in line is Samian’s job from 1 pm to nightfall every day. They know the way out to the shrinking herbage and back across a busy road. As the mosques burst into magrib (evening prayers) they wait unfazed at the kerb for the signal to cross.
While other stockmen hold their animals in byres and scour the roadside verges for greenstuff to cut and carry, Samian takes his cows strolling through the suburbs, seeking the undeveloped blocks where weeds are rank.
Unfortunately these vacant lots are also used to dump building site rubbish and household waste, so the cows have to pick their way through sharp-edged concrete rubble and shattered tiles in search of tasty turf.
“Sometimes they eat the plastic bags,” said Samian. “It doesn’t seem to bother them. But I’ve had one poisoned by a jealous neighbor who baited the grass with phosphorous.
“I also had a cow hit by a car. The police got involved. So of course I lost the case and had to pay.”
The other hazard is thieves. Come nightfall the cattle trot home down a one-cow wide lane and are locked into a low-roof stable next to the family’s little house deep in a kampong. Every night they’re given a swill of fermented soybeans. Bells hanging on the bamboo gate are a burglar alert.
“My father was a farmer, but I don’t want my three children to follow me,” Samian said. “I like the outdoor life but there’s no future. I think my sons will have to join the army.
“We have to rely on my wife Suliati selling vegetables for our daily income. Once a year I can sell a yearling for about Rp 10 million (US $1,100) – that’s all the money we get.”
Someday soon the pernickety new arrivals will finally reckon that sharing their space with dung-splashed cows is incompatible with an upmarket lifestyle.
Then the Sawojajar cowboy will be in search of pastures new – should any remain. If this story was a cigarette commercial he’d be astride a roan stallion clip-clopping into a shimmering sunset of a thousand empty acres, as great as all outdoors.
But because this is a slice of real Indonesian life the singing cowboy will shuffle into the smoke of a thousand exhausts in his flip flops, fenced out by builders’ scaffolding, farewelled by the fist-waving urbanites’ security guards.
So closes another chapter in the story of Indonesian rural development.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 31 July 07)
##
Monday, July 23, 2007
BUDI SANTOSA & AUSTRALIAN CATTLE
STEELMAN TURNS RANCHER © Duncan Graham 2007
By 2010 there'll be an annual national shortfall of six million cattle and the unmet demand will cause domestic meat prices to rise, according to research conducted by Budi Santosa.
"Every year the consumption of beef almost doubles," he said. "This is happening as the tastes of the Indonesian middle class change, and as they become more affluent."
The president director of the East Java agricultural machinery manufacturer PT Agrindo is moving slowly out of daily control of the business that has dominated his life, leaving administration to family members.
To fill the vacuum he's shifting his significant energies from making farm equipment – particularly lightweight tractors, land-tilling gear, pumps and rice mills – into imported cattle raised in feedlots. A shipment of more than 200 steers and young bulls from Australia is due in early July.
Yards are currently being constructed at the rear of Agrindo's Gresik plant southwest of Surabaya to take a further 2,000 cattle. Feedlots are reported to be expanding in Indonesia to meet the anticipated beef boom.
"I've always liked animals," Budi said. No empty words: Timor deer roam the factory compound. Crocodiles paddling in a pool against the boundary lie ready to snap foolhardy intruders. Nearby is a pen of the rare Javanese warty pigs.
"The cattle enterprise started as a hobby when I was on a Surabaya city committee investigating waste disposal," he said. "I thought it more useful to convert green feed to meat, so bought some local cattle and fed them rejected cornhusks and leaves collected from the markets.
"I started researching animal nutrition and marketing on the Internet and in government departments. The more I learned the more I discovered about changing patters of meat consumption and the developing taste for beef.
"But I could never buy an even line of cattle in sufficient numbers locally. Trading was complicated and the prices jumped when sellers knew I was in the market. So I've started buying from overseas."
The new company is called AgriRanch and the idea is to import cattle around 200-kilograms liveweight and re-sell for slaughter when they're around 320 kilograms. Returns rise significantly when white young bulls are sold at Idul Adha, the Muslim feast of the sacrifice ahead of the pilgrimage to Mecca.
The venture is being funded from profits generated by Agrindo.
It sounds easy money, but many challenges are being encountered. In their homeland the Australian Brahman-cross cattle roam free in large paddocks, graze pastures and seldom see humans. They're wild and often aggressive and need much patient handling to adjust to life behind bars in the tropics.
Australian sellers prefer to ship heavier cattle that can withstand the rigors of sea travel. These cost about AUD $ 1,500 (Rp 11 million). But this gives less time to fatten the beasts in Indonesia and so reduces profit.
The Indonesian government, under pressure from cattle buyers, has been pushing exporters to send smaller and cheaper beasts. The feedlots want to hold animals for about 100 days before resale.
Depending on weather conditions a ship can carry around 3,500 cattle. AgriRanch is expanding because the unit price is cheaper buying a full load. But that needs extensive infrastructure – strong holding yards, ample feed, experienced stock workers and trucks.
When he's taken his pick from a shipment Budi plans to sell surplus animals direct to local buyers in small lots.
AgriRanch workers are building handling facilities with recycled material. Pipes from a small shipyard also run by the company are being cut and bent into shape for use as cattle rails.
A former family planning clinic discarded by the government has been converted into an office. Equipment from a bankrupt restaurant forms the basis of an autopsy room where the carcasses of dead stock can be examined for signs of disease. AgriRanch already employs a vet.
Imported cattle are now quarantined for ten days in West Java but AgriRanch plans to set up an approved facility in East Java. Local abattoirs are still not up to international health and hygiene standards so the meat market remains local.
Budi is determined that the whole enterprise will follow modern environmental standards, with yard washdown being used to fertilize and irrigate crops that will feed the cattle. Dung will be channeled into a biomass plant to generate electricity from methane.
Dry feed supplements using waste from noodle factories, rice straw and shredded coconut are being analyzed in an on-site laboratory to determine nutrient values when used as supplementary feed. AgriRanch is trying to encourage villagers to use dry feed to boost milk yields in dairy cows and speed growth in beef cattle.
Budi is an eclectic and inventive businessman keen to experiment and find engineering solutions for problems that bedevil others. Not all are money makers: He's collected and restored six cars used by first president Soekarno that appear in antique motor shows and are sometimes lent out for weddings.
To get around the 13-hectare factory and the 15-hectare farm he uses a fuel-frugal Japanese hybrid golf cart powered by electricity supplemented by a small petrol engine.
"Our concept is that anything that can be recycled should be used," he said. "Why buy new when there are adequate materials available from elsewhere? I'm not into status – I don't wear expensive clothes, rings and a Rolex – I'm happy with a cheap and lightweight watch.
"I'm testing an electric fly-catching machine from Taiwan that can be used around the yards. If it's effective the flies will then be fed to catfish. Everything has its uses."
POWERED BY RICE
PT Agrindo's roots go back to 1942 when the Tan brothers built a small workshop in Malang (central East Java) with two workmen making bed frames and bicycle parts. The factory has expanded and moved into other production but still operates at the original site.
The company is now one of six enterprises in the Rutan Group with more than 2,000 direct and sub-contract workers. It has introduced quality management systems and has international certification.
Although Agrindo has diversified, built a foundry and makes pumps for export, its core business remains the fabrication of small-scale machines for use in Asian agriculture – particularly in growing and harvesting rice.
It claims to have the largest rubber roller manufacturing plant in Indonesia, making parts for rice milling machines throughout Indonesia, and exporting to 17 countries. The output is 200,000 units a month.
Agrindo will soon be building Mitsubishi engines under licence for use in farm equipment.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 23 July 07)
##
By 2010 there'll be an annual national shortfall of six million cattle and the unmet demand will cause domestic meat prices to rise, according to research conducted by Budi Santosa.
"Every year the consumption of beef almost doubles," he said. "This is happening as the tastes of the Indonesian middle class change, and as they become more affluent."
The president director of the East Java agricultural machinery manufacturer PT Agrindo is moving slowly out of daily control of the business that has dominated his life, leaving administration to family members.
To fill the vacuum he's shifting his significant energies from making farm equipment – particularly lightweight tractors, land-tilling gear, pumps and rice mills – into imported cattle raised in feedlots. A shipment of more than 200 steers and young bulls from Australia is due in early July.
Yards are currently being constructed at the rear of Agrindo's Gresik plant southwest of Surabaya to take a further 2,000 cattle. Feedlots are reported to be expanding in Indonesia to meet the anticipated beef boom.
"I've always liked animals," Budi said. No empty words: Timor deer roam the factory compound. Crocodiles paddling in a pool against the boundary lie ready to snap foolhardy intruders. Nearby is a pen of the rare Javanese warty pigs.
"The cattle enterprise started as a hobby when I was on a Surabaya city committee investigating waste disposal," he said. "I thought it more useful to convert green feed to meat, so bought some local cattle and fed them rejected cornhusks and leaves collected from the markets.
"I started researching animal nutrition and marketing on the Internet and in government departments. The more I learned the more I discovered about changing patters of meat consumption and the developing taste for beef.
"But I could never buy an even line of cattle in sufficient numbers locally. Trading was complicated and the prices jumped when sellers knew I was in the market. So I've started buying from overseas."
The new company is called AgriRanch and the idea is to import cattle around 200-kilograms liveweight and re-sell for slaughter when they're around 320 kilograms. Returns rise significantly when white young bulls are sold at Idul Adha, the Muslim feast of the sacrifice ahead of the pilgrimage to Mecca.
The venture is being funded from profits generated by Agrindo.
It sounds easy money, but many challenges are being encountered. In their homeland the Australian Brahman-cross cattle roam free in large paddocks, graze pastures and seldom see humans. They're wild and often aggressive and need much patient handling to adjust to life behind bars in the tropics.
Australian sellers prefer to ship heavier cattle that can withstand the rigors of sea travel. These cost about AUD $ 1,500 (Rp 11 million). But this gives less time to fatten the beasts in Indonesia and so reduces profit.
The Indonesian government, under pressure from cattle buyers, has been pushing exporters to send smaller and cheaper beasts. The feedlots want to hold animals for about 100 days before resale.
Depending on weather conditions a ship can carry around 3,500 cattle. AgriRanch is expanding because the unit price is cheaper buying a full load. But that needs extensive infrastructure – strong holding yards, ample feed, experienced stock workers and trucks.
When he's taken his pick from a shipment Budi plans to sell surplus animals direct to local buyers in small lots.
AgriRanch workers are building handling facilities with recycled material. Pipes from a small shipyard also run by the company are being cut and bent into shape for use as cattle rails.
A former family planning clinic discarded by the government has been converted into an office. Equipment from a bankrupt restaurant forms the basis of an autopsy room where the carcasses of dead stock can be examined for signs of disease. AgriRanch already employs a vet.
Imported cattle are now quarantined for ten days in West Java but AgriRanch plans to set up an approved facility in East Java. Local abattoirs are still not up to international health and hygiene standards so the meat market remains local.
Budi is determined that the whole enterprise will follow modern environmental standards, with yard washdown being used to fertilize and irrigate crops that will feed the cattle. Dung will be channeled into a biomass plant to generate electricity from methane.
Dry feed supplements using waste from noodle factories, rice straw and shredded coconut are being analyzed in an on-site laboratory to determine nutrient values when used as supplementary feed. AgriRanch is trying to encourage villagers to use dry feed to boost milk yields in dairy cows and speed growth in beef cattle.
Budi is an eclectic and inventive businessman keen to experiment and find engineering solutions for problems that bedevil others. Not all are money makers: He's collected and restored six cars used by first president Soekarno that appear in antique motor shows and are sometimes lent out for weddings.
To get around the 13-hectare factory and the 15-hectare farm he uses a fuel-frugal Japanese hybrid golf cart powered by electricity supplemented by a small petrol engine.
"Our concept is that anything that can be recycled should be used," he said. "Why buy new when there are adequate materials available from elsewhere? I'm not into status – I don't wear expensive clothes, rings and a Rolex – I'm happy with a cheap and lightweight watch.
"I'm testing an electric fly-catching machine from Taiwan that can be used around the yards. If it's effective the flies will then be fed to catfish. Everything has its uses."
POWERED BY RICE
PT Agrindo's roots go back to 1942 when the Tan brothers built a small workshop in Malang (central East Java) with two workmen making bed frames and bicycle parts. The factory has expanded and moved into other production but still operates at the original site.
The company is now one of six enterprises in the Rutan Group with more than 2,000 direct and sub-contract workers. It has introduced quality management systems and has international certification.
Although Agrindo has diversified, built a foundry and makes pumps for export, its core business remains the fabrication of small-scale machines for use in Asian agriculture – particularly in growing and harvesting rice.
It claims to have the largest rubber roller manufacturing plant in Indonesia, making parts for rice milling machines throughout Indonesia, and exporting to 17 countries. The output is 200,000 units a month.
Agrindo will soon be building Mitsubishi engines under licence for use in farm equipment.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 23 July 07)
##
Monday, July 16, 2007
INDONESIAN IDIOMS
TOPP MARKS FOR WARPING LANGUAGE © Duncan Graham 2007
Indonesian Idioms and Expressions
By Christopher Torchia
Published by Tuttle (Periplus)
282 pages
Before the nation's second president was tumbled from power in 1998 he told the people that he was indeed old, toothless, wrinkled and senile.
Skeptics who understood Javanese double-meanings thought this self-deprecation a bit rich, probably designed to release a public outpouring of denial and demands that Suharto stay in office.
Their cynicism was reinforced when the words he used – tua, ompong, peot and pikun became an acronym revealing his true position – on TOPP. No wonder the smiling general didn't step down easily.
For this and many other nuggets we thank New York journalist and former Associated Press' Jakarta news editor Christopher Torchia who worked here a decade ago during Krismon (krisis moneter) the Asian money meltdown.
Make space on your bookshelf because his new book, Indonesian Idioms and Expressions should be rubbing covers with John Echols' and Hassan Shadily's enduring Indonesian- English Dictionary.
Hanging off the broken spine of this heavily used and absolutely essential work are all the words you'll need to understand correct and polite Indonesian. But not the hundreds of slang terms, proverbs, idioms and acronyms that are constantly being invented and discarded – and that Torchia has garnered.
Writing this review offers the opportunity for an exposé.
Deep in the bowels of the bureaucracy, clattering away on long-platen Remingtons, are the officers of CONFUSE.
Thanks to democracy and free speech we can now reveal the existence of this little known and most secretive department. Its full name is the Committee to Nonplus and Frustrate Users of Simple Expressions.
It was formed in the early days of nationhood when an excess of public servants was hired. This policy helped disguise unemployment by getting ten people to do the job of one.
It's the ambition of these Indonesian Idles in CONFUSE to reach the creative imagination of the nation's first president Soekarno, famous for now obsolete slogans like Nekad that bundled exhortations to struggle, defend and grow.
His successor Suharto's most brilliantly sinister addition to the language was Gestapu, referring to the Gerakan September Tiga Puluh or 30 September movement (the 1965 coup). You don't need to be a linguist to grab the association with a former European demonic force.
No-one has quite reached that apogee of evil, but they'd doing their best: the soft syllables of Petrus (Penembak misterius, or mysterius shootings) seemed to legitimize the alleged government-approved killing of criminals in Jakarta in 1983.
Torchia's verbosity-detector has quarried granite from the grand old days of total obfuscation: Ipoleksobudmilag (the unity of ideology, politics, economics, society, culture, the military and religion.) Like the ideas, the word is too hard to fracture.
SARA sounds sweet but never trust Miss Communication, the darling of government propaganda everywhere; she's censorious. The word refers to suku, agama, ras and antar-golongan (ethnicity, religion, race and social relations) the four issues that the media and public could not stir.
Now we allegedly have freedom of speech we can all become word warpers. Reversing acronyms and giving everyday terms a new meaning is a popular pastime for amateur lexicographers:
MBA (not a degree, but married by accident, or married but available); MLM (once a selling scheme, now mulut lewat mulut (mouth to mouth), meaning gossip on the grapevine. Absent from the book but often heard at airports when flights are delayed is GARUDA – good and reliable under Dutch administration.
Then there are the proverbs. These don't just express some time-toughened and inherited village wisdom, they also give insights into the culture and the things that matter in daily life.
Pepesan kosong (a discarded banana leaf food-wrap) equals empty promises; nyamuk mati, gatal tak lepas (the mosquito dies but the itch remains) means some things are never forgotten. Seperti katak di bawah tempurung (like a frog under a coconut husk) suggests an insular person.
Seperti kacang lupa akan kulitnya (like a peanut that's forgotten its shell), subtly slandering someone who's rejected his or her origins provides an unforgettable image. Equally digestible is nasi sudah menjadi bubur (the rice has turned to porridge), commonly heard in East Java and probably elsewhere.
Torchia translates this as an inability to turn back the clock. It's similar to the English proverbs of being unable to unscramble the egg or crying over spilt milk. One culture's cuisine based on fruits, nuts and grains – the other on dairy and poultry foods.
The book is a bit of a magpie's nest (or a bower bird's if you're an Aussie) with useful pickings so the browser is constantly rewarded. Most terms come from Java, and the Betawi (the original people of Jakarta) in particular.
Torchia tries to provide the provenance of most expressions though surprisingly offers no explanation for burung (penis, but also bird), a term that foxes many non-Indonesians and often leads to embarrassing moments.
Maybe like the English euphemisms for anything associated with reproduction and defecation the origin has been lost long ago.
One other complaint – and this time serious: No index. The book has been arranged in four sections, Life Forms, Power and Conflict, Tradition and Modern Life. These are further broken down into chapters with open-ended titles like Protest Fever and Family Affairs.
These are arbitrary categories with many overlaps. Cataloguing and indexing are tricky arts that constantly test decision-making abilities; they'd be particularly challenging with such a loosely structured book. But most readers will want to use Indonesian Idioms and Expressions as a reference, and without an index that's difficult.
Or, as some would say: NUTS (not up to scratch).
(First published in The SundayPost 1 July 07)
##
Indonesian Idioms and Expressions
By Christopher Torchia
Published by Tuttle (Periplus)
282 pages
Before the nation's second president was tumbled from power in 1998 he told the people that he was indeed old, toothless, wrinkled and senile.
Skeptics who understood Javanese double-meanings thought this self-deprecation a bit rich, probably designed to release a public outpouring of denial and demands that Suharto stay in office.
Their cynicism was reinforced when the words he used – tua, ompong, peot and pikun became an acronym revealing his true position – on TOPP. No wonder the smiling general didn't step down easily.
For this and many other nuggets we thank New York journalist and former Associated Press' Jakarta news editor Christopher Torchia who worked here a decade ago during Krismon (krisis moneter) the Asian money meltdown.
Make space on your bookshelf because his new book, Indonesian Idioms and Expressions should be rubbing covers with John Echols' and Hassan Shadily's enduring Indonesian- English Dictionary.
Hanging off the broken spine of this heavily used and absolutely essential work are all the words you'll need to understand correct and polite Indonesian. But not the hundreds of slang terms, proverbs, idioms and acronyms that are constantly being invented and discarded – and that Torchia has garnered.
Writing this review offers the opportunity for an exposé.
Deep in the bowels of the bureaucracy, clattering away on long-platen Remingtons, are the officers of CONFUSE.
Thanks to democracy and free speech we can now reveal the existence of this little known and most secretive department. Its full name is the Committee to Nonplus and Frustrate Users of Simple Expressions.
It was formed in the early days of nationhood when an excess of public servants was hired. This policy helped disguise unemployment by getting ten people to do the job of one.
It's the ambition of these Indonesian Idles in CONFUSE to reach the creative imagination of the nation's first president Soekarno, famous for now obsolete slogans like Nekad that bundled exhortations to struggle, defend and grow.
His successor Suharto's most brilliantly sinister addition to the language was Gestapu, referring to the Gerakan September Tiga Puluh or 30 September movement (the 1965 coup). You don't need to be a linguist to grab the association with a former European demonic force.
No-one has quite reached that apogee of evil, but they'd doing their best: the soft syllables of Petrus (Penembak misterius, or mysterius shootings) seemed to legitimize the alleged government-approved killing of criminals in Jakarta in 1983.
Torchia's verbosity-detector has quarried granite from the grand old days of total obfuscation: Ipoleksobudmilag (the unity of ideology, politics, economics, society, culture, the military and religion.) Like the ideas, the word is too hard to fracture.
SARA sounds sweet but never trust Miss Communication, the darling of government propaganda everywhere; she's censorious. The word refers to suku, agama, ras and antar-golongan (ethnicity, religion, race and social relations) the four issues that the media and public could not stir.
Now we allegedly have freedom of speech we can all become word warpers. Reversing acronyms and giving everyday terms a new meaning is a popular pastime for amateur lexicographers:
MBA (not a degree, but married by accident, or married but available); MLM (once a selling scheme, now mulut lewat mulut (mouth to mouth), meaning gossip on the grapevine. Absent from the book but often heard at airports when flights are delayed is GARUDA – good and reliable under Dutch administration.
Then there are the proverbs. These don't just express some time-toughened and inherited village wisdom, they also give insights into the culture and the things that matter in daily life.
Pepesan kosong (a discarded banana leaf food-wrap) equals empty promises; nyamuk mati, gatal tak lepas (the mosquito dies but the itch remains) means some things are never forgotten. Seperti katak di bawah tempurung (like a frog under a coconut husk) suggests an insular person.
Seperti kacang lupa akan kulitnya (like a peanut that's forgotten its shell), subtly slandering someone who's rejected his or her origins provides an unforgettable image. Equally digestible is nasi sudah menjadi bubur (the rice has turned to porridge), commonly heard in East Java and probably elsewhere.
Torchia translates this as an inability to turn back the clock. It's similar to the English proverbs of being unable to unscramble the egg or crying over spilt milk. One culture's cuisine based on fruits, nuts and grains – the other on dairy and poultry foods.
The book is a bit of a magpie's nest (or a bower bird's if you're an Aussie) with useful pickings so the browser is constantly rewarded. Most terms come from Java, and the Betawi (the original people of Jakarta) in particular.
Torchia tries to provide the provenance of most expressions though surprisingly offers no explanation for burung (penis, but also bird), a term that foxes many non-Indonesians and often leads to embarrassing moments.
Maybe like the English euphemisms for anything associated with reproduction and defecation the origin has been lost long ago.
One other complaint – and this time serious: No index. The book has been arranged in four sections, Life Forms, Power and Conflict, Tradition and Modern Life. These are further broken down into chapters with open-ended titles like Protest Fever and Family Affairs.
These are arbitrary categories with many overlaps. Cataloguing and indexing are tricky arts that constantly test decision-making abilities; they'd be particularly challenging with such a loosely structured book. But most readers will want to use Indonesian Idioms and Expressions as a reference, and without an index that's difficult.
Or, as some would say: NUTS (not up to scratch).
(First published in The SundayPost 1 July 07)
##
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
CHOLIS BIDAJATI
SCORING FOR WOMEN'S SPORTING RIGHTS © 2007 Duncan Graham
Training was rescheduled at the last minute. The location was far out of town. Traffic was heavy. Based on past experience jam karet (rubber time) would certainly be operating. No reason to hurry.
Wrong call. As the little hand touched 8 and the big hand hit 12 the Persekam team splendid in shimmering blue dashed out of their change rooms like the champions they hope to become.
Then followed two hours of intensive training that had the young women sweating under a blowtorch sun, the coach's relentless and demanding whistles ricocheting off the stadium's concrete walls so every blast was multiplied . If they thought it all too strenuous then they were keeping their complaints to themselves.
If discipline is an essential ingredient to success then the Malang Regency (East Java) women's soccer squad has a grand future.
But first they have to overcome off-field handicaps that Zinedine Zidane hopefuls never have to confront.
"Java isn't like Papua where the religion, culture and crowds support women in competitive sport," said Persekam president Cholis Bidajati. In Javanese soccer the big, powerful yet twinkle-toed Papuans are always discussed with awe.
"Some see soccer as men's business with women staying at home. This is changing. Women are coming to watch games and now they want to get involved.
"Yet there's still a residue who think it's inappropriate for women to be running around in public wearing sports gear."
It's not that the uniforms are immodest. Voyeurs lusting for a glimpse of cheeky underwear as players stretch and bend should go to Wimbledon. None of the women wore headscarves so taking a header can be the start of a real bad-hair day. A battered mop-top is hardly enticing.
The only flesh shows were grass-stained knobbly kneecaps peeping between floppy long shorts and high socks. Any man finding that arousing should consult a psychiatrist.
Cholis is an imposing no-nonsense figure in her starched government uniform and headscarf. It was probably the same when she played as a forward. (The posture, not the outfit.)
Only the most foolhardy cleric would suggest she's a subversive undermining Indonesian spiritual values by encouraging girls to boot balls rather than goggle sinetrons.
A widow for the past two years and mother of two, Cholis heads the statistics section in Malang Regency's planning department. She no longer plays but now busies herself with administration, promotion and fund raising.
In this she seems to have been reasonably successful with the Regency putting Rp 125 million (US $14,000) into Persekam. The Regency doesn't support Arema, the premier Malang men's football team that's backed by a cigarette company.
There's a Catch 22 factor operating here: Women's soccer can't attract sponsorship unless the sport becomes widely popular – but it can't reach that goal without more cash to fund competitions.
Last year Persekam played in Jakarta, drawing 1 – 1 against a university team, then got thrashed 4 – 1 by the dreaded Papuans.
Cholis is the only woman in Java on Indonesian men's soccer's Division 3 Committee.
Before she got involved with Persekam the few women who wanted to play had to do so with men. "But," Cholis quickly added, "they were always accompanied by their families."
"The problem is many get married and leave the sport so there's always a turnover," she said. "Because young women are studying or working long hours outside the home and traveling great distances they have little time for recreation.
"My grandfather and father were active in sport. My parents didn't oppose me playing soccer. Some think it's unfeminine, but I say you can be feminine off the field."
The squad in training watched by The Jakarta Post was more into footwork than facework. Before they go into competitions – often as crowd-warmers ahead of the boys' big match – Cholis gets them to put on lipstick. It's a sort of gender color code so the fans know there are real women under the shapeless tops and baggy bloomers.
Persekam is a mixed team, from veterans like high school sports teacher Siti Sumarni who at 37 shows no sign of weakening or ageing, down to teenagers who are still trying to master (sorry, mistress) the art of dribbling.
They come from all over the Republic and sometimes include Koreans, Taiwanese and the occasional Caucasian from the local international school.
Team sport is the great leveler where the only differences are the skills you can bring to your side, and where the universal language is a determination to win.
"It's fun, it keeps us fit and you make new friends," said Siti. "Some find they can't keep their boyfriends once they discover they're dating a soccer girl.
This is about skill and athleticism. It's not dangerous."
Reminded that the goalie had just taken a ball from a power punt straight into her bosom, doubling up like a man who'd had a boot up his crotch, Siti laughed. "You get used to it."
The weaker sex? Nonsense; the keeper was ready for the next rocket in a trice. If this had been the men's game the stretcher-bearers would already be sprinting across the sward.
Despite the progress (see sidebar) full emancipation is still at the far end of the field. Watching the warm ups in shady comfort an all-male self-appointed group of experts chewed over the problems faced by soccer girls.
They soon concluded that menstrual cycles were responsible for poor performances and a perceived inability to focus on the game. But when joined by a sweaty Siti, who fulfilled her gender-assigned role by bringing the blokes drinks, the bench pundits' positions were quickly declared offside. They retired, red-faced, to find another excuse.
Like many reformers in Indonesia Cholis rejects Western labels. She reluctantly accepted the compliment that she's a pioneer, but elbowed aside suggestions that she might be considered modern and progressive.
"I'm a traditional but not orthodox Muslim," she said with vigor. "There are problems with some ulama (religious scholars) condemning women in sport. I don't argue with them; we just go ahead. The media is at fault for giving these remarks so much prominence.
"I haven't had any mothers complain to me about their daughters wanting to play. Sport offers a healthy alternative to hanging about in shopping malls.
"We don't wear tight-fitting clothes. There's nothing in the Koran to forbid women taking part in sport as long as they take care of their family duties first."
In other words, hubby before hobby.
(Sidebar)
GO ASIA
Women's soccer is doing OK in Asia, though it's well to remember the uplifting figures come from a low base.
China and North Korea are in the front ranks with Vietnam not far behind. The game in that country is sponsored by cosmetic and pharmaceutical firms, and insurance companies.
Muslim Bangladesh is also reported to be dashing ahead with women's soccer despite early opposition from fundamentalists.
According to the world football body FIFA (Federation of International Football Associations) the number of registered male and female players is now 265 million worldwide. Although most are men the number of women in the sport has jumped 54 per cent in the past six years to 4.1 million.
The Asian Football Confederation has 85 million players making it the world's largest regional group.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 25 June 07)
">Link
Training was rescheduled at the last minute. The location was far out of town. Traffic was heavy. Based on past experience jam karet (rubber time) would certainly be operating. No reason to hurry.
Wrong call. As the little hand touched 8 and the big hand hit 12 the Persekam team splendid in shimmering blue dashed out of their change rooms like the champions they hope to become.
Then followed two hours of intensive training that had the young women sweating under a blowtorch sun, the coach's relentless and demanding whistles ricocheting off the stadium's concrete walls so every blast was multiplied . If they thought it all too strenuous then they were keeping their complaints to themselves.
If discipline is an essential ingredient to success then the Malang Regency (East Java) women's soccer squad has a grand future.
But first they have to overcome off-field handicaps that Zinedine Zidane hopefuls never have to confront.
"Java isn't like Papua where the religion, culture and crowds support women in competitive sport," said Persekam president Cholis Bidajati. In Javanese soccer the big, powerful yet twinkle-toed Papuans are always discussed with awe.
"Some see soccer as men's business with women staying at home. This is changing. Women are coming to watch games and now they want to get involved.
"Yet there's still a residue who think it's inappropriate for women to be running around in public wearing sports gear."
It's not that the uniforms are immodest. Voyeurs lusting for a glimpse of cheeky underwear as players stretch and bend should go to Wimbledon. None of the women wore headscarves so taking a header can be the start of a real bad-hair day. A battered mop-top is hardly enticing.
The only flesh shows were grass-stained knobbly kneecaps peeping between floppy long shorts and high socks. Any man finding that arousing should consult a psychiatrist.
Cholis is an imposing no-nonsense figure in her starched government uniform and headscarf. It was probably the same when she played as a forward. (The posture, not the outfit.)
Only the most foolhardy cleric would suggest she's a subversive undermining Indonesian spiritual values by encouraging girls to boot balls rather than goggle sinetrons.
A widow for the past two years and mother of two, Cholis heads the statistics section in Malang Regency's planning department. She no longer plays but now busies herself with administration, promotion and fund raising.
In this she seems to have been reasonably successful with the Regency putting Rp 125 million (US $14,000) into Persekam. The Regency doesn't support Arema, the premier Malang men's football team that's backed by a cigarette company.
There's a Catch 22 factor operating here: Women's soccer can't attract sponsorship unless the sport becomes widely popular – but it can't reach that goal without more cash to fund competitions.
Last year Persekam played in Jakarta, drawing 1 – 1 against a university team, then got thrashed 4 – 1 by the dreaded Papuans.
Cholis is the only woman in Java on Indonesian men's soccer's Division 3 Committee.
Before she got involved with Persekam the few women who wanted to play had to do so with men. "But," Cholis quickly added, "they were always accompanied by their families."
"The problem is many get married and leave the sport so there's always a turnover," she said. "Because young women are studying or working long hours outside the home and traveling great distances they have little time for recreation.
"My grandfather and father were active in sport. My parents didn't oppose me playing soccer. Some think it's unfeminine, but I say you can be feminine off the field."
The squad in training watched by The Jakarta Post was more into footwork than facework. Before they go into competitions – often as crowd-warmers ahead of the boys' big match – Cholis gets them to put on lipstick. It's a sort of gender color code so the fans know there are real women under the shapeless tops and baggy bloomers.
Persekam is a mixed team, from veterans like high school sports teacher Siti Sumarni who at 37 shows no sign of weakening or ageing, down to teenagers who are still trying to master (sorry, mistress) the art of dribbling.
They come from all over the Republic and sometimes include Koreans, Taiwanese and the occasional Caucasian from the local international school.
Team sport is the great leveler where the only differences are the skills you can bring to your side, and where the universal language is a determination to win.
"It's fun, it keeps us fit and you make new friends," said Siti. "Some find they can't keep their boyfriends once they discover they're dating a soccer girl.
This is about skill and athleticism. It's not dangerous."
Reminded that the goalie had just taken a ball from a power punt straight into her bosom, doubling up like a man who'd had a boot up his crotch, Siti laughed. "You get used to it."
The weaker sex? Nonsense; the keeper was ready for the next rocket in a trice. If this had been the men's game the stretcher-bearers would already be sprinting across the sward.
Despite the progress (see sidebar) full emancipation is still at the far end of the field. Watching the warm ups in shady comfort an all-male self-appointed group of experts chewed over the problems faced by soccer girls.
They soon concluded that menstrual cycles were responsible for poor performances and a perceived inability to focus on the game. But when joined by a sweaty Siti, who fulfilled her gender-assigned role by bringing the blokes drinks, the bench pundits' positions were quickly declared offside. They retired, red-faced, to find another excuse.
Like many reformers in Indonesia Cholis rejects Western labels. She reluctantly accepted the compliment that she's a pioneer, but elbowed aside suggestions that she might be considered modern and progressive.
"I'm a traditional but not orthodox Muslim," she said with vigor. "There are problems with some ulama (religious scholars) condemning women in sport. I don't argue with them; we just go ahead. The media is at fault for giving these remarks so much prominence.
"I haven't had any mothers complain to me about their daughters wanting to play. Sport offers a healthy alternative to hanging about in shopping malls.
"We don't wear tight-fitting clothes. There's nothing in the Koran to forbid women taking part in sport as long as they take care of their family duties first."
In other words, hubby before hobby.
(Sidebar)
GO ASIA
Women's soccer is doing OK in Asia, though it's well to remember the uplifting figures come from a low base.
China and North Korea are in the front ranks with Vietnam not far behind. The game in that country is sponsored by cosmetic and pharmaceutical firms, and insurance companies.
Muslim Bangladesh is also reported to be dashing ahead with women's soccer despite early opposition from fundamentalists.
According to the world football body FIFA (Federation of International Football Associations) the number of registered male and female players is now 265 million worldwide. Although most are men the number of women in the sport has jumped 54 per cent in the past six years to 4.1 million.
The Asian Football Confederation has 85 million players making it the world's largest regional group.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 25 June 07)
">Link
Sunday, June 24, 2007
SOCCER IN INDONESIA
GIVING INDONESIA A SPORTING CHANCE © Duncan Graham 2007
Imagine this: Indonesia wins the Asian Cup in July to be hailed as regional soccer champions with eyes on the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. Manchester United gets anxious and Real Madrid revises its tactics to combat the threat from afar.
Indonesia produces its own David Beckhams, household names from Arsenal to Argentina. European clubs jostle to pick the archipelago's best. What a boost to national pride, what great benefits to the Republic's reputation!
Instead of being the butt of coarse jokes, unable even to best tiny Singapore in some sports, this huge nation could build teams renowned for excellence.
These dreams aren't exclusive to Indonesians. Australian entrepreneur and footy fan Geoffrey Gold has also been giving his imagination a workout. He thinks Indonesian soccer is currently in its "blackest period" but there could be light ahead if synergy can be developed with its southern neighbor.
Gold has been commissioned by the Western Australian (WA) government to talk to clubs in Surabaya and Malang. He will report on how soccer can be made the catalyst for regional development in Indonesia using the long established formal relationships between WA and the province of East Java.
There's been a 'Sister State' agreement in place since 1990. It includes sport along with commerce, tourism, education and culture. But till now the big-ticket issues have taken priority.
If everything clicks in the Gold plan, Australian skills in running and marketing football, coaching players (male and female), sports medicine, training youngsters and improving facilities could be made available to Indonesian clubs. In return the teams Down Under could promote their brand names in Asia.
"With the entry last year of Australia into the Asian League there's now a sport that Indonesians can understand and share," said Gold. "In the past Australia has been better known for rugby and Australian Rules football, but soccer is rushing to the front line.
"Soccer in Australia has undergone huge changes in the boardrooms and the field during the past few years. Once it was seen as the plaything of ethnic groups. Now the Socceroos are a united force in the sporting world.
"These changes could really improve relationships at all levels. Indonesians are fanatical about football. Australia is internationally recognized for its sporting skills and resources and has much to offer its neighbor to lift the quality of the game."
Things in the Republic are getting better – though slowly. Proposed management restructuring and the Asian Cup contest are the main drivers- along with the anger of fans denied the chance to see their teams do well.
The Jakarta stadium has been given a US $10 million (Rp 90 billion) facelift and should be able to seat almost 90,000 people enjoying modern facilities. Sports administrators want other regions to follow suit. Till now the comfort of fans has been the last thing on the minds of many clubs.
Instead their attention has been focused on a more basic need – money. There are 36 teams in Indonesia's Premier League. All but four are funded by regional governments, often out of welfare budgets.
The national government has ordered this practice to stop. What could justify taxpayers' rupiah earmarked for the local poor being channeled into the pockets of high-wage players, including big names from overseas?
The obvious answer is vote buying. What mayor or regent wouldn't want tens of thousands of soccer supporters reckoning they're great guys because they've helped the local lads knock out a rival team – particularly at election time.
Next year (or so the plan goes) there'll be no more slurping at the public trough. Instead teams will have to find their own fodder.
Gold reckons this is a good move because it will allow creative and progressive managements the chance to get their act together, be truly professional and better promote their product.
"Because the teams had this regular source of money, supporters and sponsors were considered unnecessary," he said. "At some regional grounds the fans are treated like animals with no-where to sit and disgusting toilets.
"If facilities are improved women and families will feel more comfortable about attending matches."
Ground conditions aren't the only hassle. At the moment Indonesian soccer suffers a severe image problem with fans linked to hooliganism – once the English disease.
A feature at some events is a vicious set piece brawl between the police, supporters and their rivals. That might be a thug's idea of a good day out, but law-abiding citizens who love soccer would rather not take the risk of seeing their kids trampled and car torched.
Next year the Football Association of Indonesia is introducing rules to create Super and Premier Leagues each of 18 teams, and meet new standards of safety, security and accountability. These will include sound financial backing and programs to train youngsters properly.
Malang's Arema is one of the few that don't get government rupiah, a point made often and vigorously by club chair Satrija Budi Wibawa. Arema relies on smokes sponsorship from a big-name brand headquartered in Malang. Other clubs are bound to go knocking on the tobacco tsars' doors, but that may not be a healthy move.
In neighboring nations like Malaysia, Thailand, Australia and Singapore tobacco links to sport are banned. If Indonesia wants to play on the world stage it will have to quit its addiction to cash from ciggies.
The Indonesian League is also funded by a cigarette manufacturer – but no nicotine names are on the Asian Cup sponsors' list. Instead the backers are airlines, hotel chains, electronic goods companies, makers of power tools and sports gear.
These were the advertisers prominent in the recent match between Sydney and the East Java team Persik Kediri at Solo - won 2-1 by the locals. No tobacco ads could be seen on the telecast.
Although he's been involved with Indonesian business since the mid 1980s, Gold only recently realized the importance of soccer in Asia when he saw a game in Kuala Lumpur featuring English team Birmingham City.
"Till then I'd mixed with ex-pats who were only interested in rugby and Aussie Rules," he said. "The enthusiasm for soccer and English teams in particular throughout the ASEAN region is huge.
"People want to see professional football. At the end of a hard day's work this is their catharsis. It's the tribalisation of the modern world. When I came back to Indonesia I suddenly saw the obvious. But the game hasn't been well run or marketed."
If Gold's report is positive and his recommendations followed then formal links may be forged with Australian 11s like A-league team Perth Glory. Indonesian national teams have already used the facilities in WA to hone pre-match skills.
"The question raised in Indonesia is money, the issue in Australia is security," said Gold. "When we can sort these out then everything else will be about football."
(Sidebar 1)
BIG TIME – SMALL CHANCES
The contest to decide who'll be Asia's top football team will be decided at Jakarta's Bung Karno Stadium on Sunday 29 July. It's being promoted as the biggest sporting event ever staged in Indonesia, expected to draw an international TV audience of close to one billion.
Quarterfinals will be played in Jakarta and the other host countries, Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam.
At the moment hopes of Indonesia making an international mark any time soon seem fanciful indeed. Although Indonesia will be playing in the Asian Cup it has earned its place not through merit but because it's one of the four host nations. The hot favorite is Australia.
The 46-member Asian Football Confederation headquartered in Malaysia runs the Asian Cup.
The first Asian Cup match was in 1956 and it's contested every four years. The trophy has been won three times each by Iran, Japan and Saudi Arabia. Singapore won in 1984. So far Indonesia has never made it to the finals.
The first contest this year involving Indonesia will be against Bahrain on the evening of Tuesday 10 July at Bung Karno.
For more details of matches, times and locations see www.afcasiancup.com
(First published in The Weekender (JP) June 07)
##
">Link
Imagine this: Indonesia wins the Asian Cup in July to be hailed as regional soccer champions with eyes on the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. Manchester United gets anxious and Real Madrid revises its tactics to combat the threat from afar.
Indonesia produces its own David Beckhams, household names from Arsenal to Argentina. European clubs jostle to pick the archipelago's best. What a boost to national pride, what great benefits to the Republic's reputation!
Instead of being the butt of coarse jokes, unable even to best tiny Singapore in some sports, this huge nation could build teams renowned for excellence.
These dreams aren't exclusive to Indonesians. Australian entrepreneur and footy fan Geoffrey Gold has also been giving his imagination a workout. He thinks Indonesian soccer is currently in its "blackest period" but there could be light ahead if synergy can be developed with its southern neighbor.
Gold has been commissioned by the Western Australian (WA) government to talk to clubs in Surabaya and Malang. He will report on how soccer can be made the catalyst for regional development in Indonesia using the long established formal relationships between WA and the province of East Java.
There's been a 'Sister State' agreement in place since 1990. It includes sport along with commerce, tourism, education and culture. But till now the big-ticket issues have taken priority.
If everything clicks in the Gold plan, Australian skills in running and marketing football, coaching players (male and female), sports medicine, training youngsters and improving facilities could be made available to Indonesian clubs. In return the teams Down Under could promote their brand names in Asia.
"With the entry last year of Australia into the Asian League there's now a sport that Indonesians can understand and share," said Gold. "In the past Australia has been better known for rugby and Australian Rules football, but soccer is rushing to the front line.
"Soccer in Australia has undergone huge changes in the boardrooms and the field during the past few years. Once it was seen as the plaything of ethnic groups. Now the Socceroos are a united force in the sporting world.
"These changes could really improve relationships at all levels. Indonesians are fanatical about football. Australia is internationally recognized for its sporting skills and resources and has much to offer its neighbor to lift the quality of the game."
Things in the Republic are getting better – though slowly. Proposed management restructuring and the Asian Cup contest are the main drivers- along with the anger of fans denied the chance to see their teams do well.
The Jakarta stadium has been given a US $10 million (Rp 90 billion) facelift and should be able to seat almost 90,000 people enjoying modern facilities. Sports administrators want other regions to follow suit. Till now the comfort of fans has been the last thing on the minds of many clubs.
Instead their attention has been focused on a more basic need – money. There are 36 teams in Indonesia's Premier League. All but four are funded by regional governments, often out of welfare budgets.
The national government has ordered this practice to stop. What could justify taxpayers' rupiah earmarked for the local poor being channeled into the pockets of high-wage players, including big names from overseas?
The obvious answer is vote buying. What mayor or regent wouldn't want tens of thousands of soccer supporters reckoning they're great guys because they've helped the local lads knock out a rival team – particularly at election time.
Next year (or so the plan goes) there'll be no more slurping at the public trough. Instead teams will have to find their own fodder.
Gold reckons this is a good move because it will allow creative and progressive managements the chance to get their act together, be truly professional and better promote their product.
"Because the teams had this regular source of money, supporters and sponsors were considered unnecessary," he said. "At some regional grounds the fans are treated like animals with no-where to sit and disgusting toilets.
"If facilities are improved women and families will feel more comfortable about attending matches."
Ground conditions aren't the only hassle. At the moment Indonesian soccer suffers a severe image problem with fans linked to hooliganism – once the English disease.
A feature at some events is a vicious set piece brawl between the police, supporters and their rivals. That might be a thug's idea of a good day out, but law-abiding citizens who love soccer would rather not take the risk of seeing their kids trampled and car torched.
Next year the Football Association of Indonesia is introducing rules to create Super and Premier Leagues each of 18 teams, and meet new standards of safety, security and accountability. These will include sound financial backing and programs to train youngsters properly.
Malang's Arema is one of the few that don't get government rupiah, a point made often and vigorously by club chair Satrija Budi Wibawa. Arema relies on smokes sponsorship from a big-name brand headquartered in Malang. Other clubs are bound to go knocking on the tobacco tsars' doors, but that may not be a healthy move.
In neighboring nations like Malaysia, Thailand, Australia and Singapore tobacco links to sport are banned. If Indonesia wants to play on the world stage it will have to quit its addiction to cash from ciggies.
The Indonesian League is also funded by a cigarette manufacturer – but no nicotine names are on the Asian Cup sponsors' list. Instead the backers are airlines, hotel chains, electronic goods companies, makers of power tools and sports gear.
These were the advertisers prominent in the recent match between Sydney and the East Java team Persik Kediri at Solo - won 2-1 by the locals. No tobacco ads could be seen on the telecast.
Although he's been involved with Indonesian business since the mid 1980s, Gold only recently realized the importance of soccer in Asia when he saw a game in Kuala Lumpur featuring English team Birmingham City.
"Till then I'd mixed with ex-pats who were only interested in rugby and Aussie Rules," he said. "The enthusiasm for soccer and English teams in particular throughout the ASEAN region is huge.
"People want to see professional football. At the end of a hard day's work this is their catharsis. It's the tribalisation of the modern world. When I came back to Indonesia I suddenly saw the obvious. But the game hasn't been well run or marketed."
If Gold's report is positive and his recommendations followed then formal links may be forged with Australian 11s like A-league team Perth Glory. Indonesian national teams have already used the facilities in WA to hone pre-match skills.
"The question raised in Indonesia is money, the issue in Australia is security," said Gold. "When we can sort these out then everything else will be about football."
(Sidebar 1)
BIG TIME – SMALL CHANCES
The contest to decide who'll be Asia's top football team will be decided at Jakarta's Bung Karno Stadium on Sunday 29 July. It's being promoted as the biggest sporting event ever staged in Indonesia, expected to draw an international TV audience of close to one billion.
Quarterfinals will be played in Jakarta and the other host countries, Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam.
At the moment hopes of Indonesia making an international mark any time soon seem fanciful indeed. Although Indonesia will be playing in the Asian Cup it has earned its place not through merit but because it's one of the four host nations. The hot favorite is Australia.
The 46-member Asian Football Confederation headquartered in Malaysia runs the Asian Cup.
The first Asian Cup match was in 1956 and it's contested every four years. The trophy has been won three times each by Iran, Japan and Saudi Arabia. Singapore won in 1984. So far Indonesia has never made it to the finals.
The first contest this year involving Indonesia will be against Bahrain on the evening of Tuesday 10 July at Bung Karno.
For more details of matches, times and locations see www.afcasiancup.com
(First published in The Weekender (JP) June 07)
##
">Link
Thursday, June 21, 2007
THE SOEKARNO INDUSTRY
BUNG KARNO INDUSTRY BOOSTS BLITAR © Duncan Graham 2007
To get some understanding of Javanese mysticism and a sense of this nation's complex history, be in Blitar on 20 June. This is the eve of the death of first President Soekarno, and a major date in the calendar of those who revere his name. Duncan Graham reports from the East Java town:
Once a month on Legi Jumat (Friday in the Javanese calendar), Misril dresses in her best sarong and lacy white kebaya (traditional blouse). She pins back her hair and adds two small daisy-shaped gold earrings. Then leaning on the arm of her nephew Karyadi, the 70 year old shuffles up the polished marble steps and into the sanctuary.
This is a pendopo, the Javanese four-pillared open-walled hall with a richly carved timber ceiling. Inside are three graves. The smaller one in the center is strewn with leaves and flowers. The headstone is a huge black boulder.
Misril carries a tiny plastic bag of pink and yellow petals that she squeezes into the carpet of flowers as she prays. Then she moves away and others take her place. Most are also formally dressed.
"I ask for safety for my family and four grand-children, and I've always received that," she said in kromo, the high level Javanese language. Misril does not understand Indonesian.
"Bung (brother) Karno struggled for Indonesia. He saw no difference between the rich and poor. His soul comes to me in my dreams and tells me to go to his grave.
"I wanted to meet him when he was alive, but that was difficult. Now I can visit him any day."
Indonesia's first president died aged 69 under virtual house arrest on 21 June in 1970. This was five years after being deposed by General Suharto following a bloody coup allegedly engineered by communists, though this is a matter of dispute.
Soekarno was buried in a simple cemetery in his hometown of Blitar, about five road-hours south of Surabaya. The story goes that Suharto feared his rival's grave could become a focal point for fomenting opposition to the New Order government if located in Jakarta.
At first Soekarno was officially remembered only as the Proklamator, the man who happened to proclaim the Declaration of Independence on 17 August 1945. It was as though he was just a bit player in the struggle for the Republic, not its main architect.
Later, when Suharto was well entrenched, it was deemed politically safe to rehabilitate the nation's first President. In 1979 the present grand structure was built to house the body of Soekarno and his parents.
As expected the grave has become a shrine. In the arid Saudi versions of Islam Muslims are not supposed to pray at tombs, but in Indonesia that rule is widely ignored.
For Blitar the grave has become a major earner, with the Bung Karno industry showing no sign of collapsing despite the passing of a generation that lived during Soekarno's turbulent times.
The local authorities have done a good job in crowd control. They've built a huge bus and car station away from the tomb and museum and set up a park-and-drive system – using becak (pedicabs) on a fixed and published tariff.
For Rp 15,000 (US $1.70) you can be wheeled to all locations and back to your vehicle, then have a feed at the scores of stalls while fending off trinket sellers.
Karno kitsch is everywhere, from key rings to T shirts, clocks and other down-market memorabilia. There are photos and busts aplenty, though the artists who duplicate Soekarno's image show little respect for reality.
So you can choose from any version that suits your view of the great man - leonine, saturnine, lean, plump, feisty or thoughtful – but always dapper.
Official presentations of the past gloss over Soekarno's sexual adventures. The badly arranged museum has masses of historical documents and happy family snaps – Karno with wife Fatmawati and five children, including Megawati who was to become the nation's fifth president.
But outside pavement sellers offer the unauthorized versions listing the founding father's nine wives and 11 kids in a smudged photocopied document titled Don Juan, the Skilled Lover. It seems he particularly liked younger women; the age gap was between 39 and 46 years for his last five wives.
Here's another paradox that confuses the outsider; a great statesman saturated in the conservative and rigid culture of Java was a playboy whose sexual exploits put world leaders like John Kennedy in the amateur class. You'd expect Karno to have been condemned for such affairs; instead they added to his stature.
Soekarno was a master orator and probably the only person who could have rallied the masses to fight for Independence. But history shows he fumbled the economy and botched foreign affairs.
All this has been forgotten in Blitar, where the worshipers speak only in respectful terms of the good old days. Any Westerner wanting to know more should just sit quietly in the shade at the tomb site and wait awhile.
It won't take long before you'll be given history lessons you never read, and anecdotes that make Soekarno into a demi-god, a man of mystery and magic who can still influence the present.
"Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono visited the grave before he became president," said retired military man Susilo Adji, on a pilgrimage from Jakarta. "He should return again to receive more wisdom on how to run Indonesia."
(Sidebar)
MAN OF THE PEOPLE
But what was Soekarno really like? East Java singer Kadam became a court favorite and has a clear memory.
Nicknamed 'Golden Voice' he first met Soekarno at the Presidential Palace in 1960. The 17-year old was a member of a ludruk (grassroots theatre) group from Surabaya invited to perform in Jakarta.
"He took a real liking to me and I returned to the palace and his home in Bogor 13 times," Kadam said at his home in Malang. "He even picked me up because I was very small, and always waited for us to change after our performances so he could chat to us.
"I was never frightened of him because he treated everyone as equal. He didn't discriminate between high and low. He felt he was in touch with the village people – and he was.
"He was a teacher. He hadn't come from a business background. Unlike other leaders he never forgot his roots. What he said was in his heart and people understood that.
"He was a most exceptional person. There has never been anyone like him. I feel that God has accepted his soul."
(First published in The Jakarta Post 18 June 07)
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To get some understanding of Javanese mysticism and a sense of this nation's complex history, be in Blitar on 20 June. This is the eve of the death of first President Soekarno, and a major date in the calendar of those who revere his name. Duncan Graham reports from the East Java town:
Once a month on Legi Jumat (Friday in the Javanese calendar), Misril dresses in her best sarong and lacy white kebaya (traditional blouse). She pins back her hair and adds two small daisy-shaped gold earrings. Then leaning on the arm of her nephew Karyadi, the 70 year old shuffles up the polished marble steps and into the sanctuary.
This is a pendopo, the Javanese four-pillared open-walled hall with a richly carved timber ceiling. Inside are three graves. The smaller one in the center is strewn with leaves and flowers. The headstone is a huge black boulder.
Misril carries a tiny plastic bag of pink and yellow petals that she squeezes into the carpet of flowers as she prays. Then she moves away and others take her place. Most are also formally dressed.
"I ask for safety for my family and four grand-children, and I've always received that," she said in kromo, the high level Javanese language. Misril does not understand Indonesian.
"Bung (brother) Karno struggled for Indonesia. He saw no difference between the rich and poor. His soul comes to me in my dreams and tells me to go to his grave.
"I wanted to meet him when he was alive, but that was difficult. Now I can visit him any day."
Indonesia's first president died aged 69 under virtual house arrest on 21 June in 1970. This was five years after being deposed by General Suharto following a bloody coup allegedly engineered by communists, though this is a matter of dispute.
Soekarno was buried in a simple cemetery in his hometown of Blitar, about five road-hours south of Surabaya. The story goes that Suharto feared his rival's grave could become a focal point for fomenting opposition to the New Order government if located in Jakarta.
At first Soekarno was officially remembered only as the Proklamator, the man who happened to proclaim the Declaration of Independence on 17 August 1945. It was as though he was just a bit player in the struggle for the Republic, not its main architect.
Later, when Suharto was well entrenched, it was deemed politically safe to rehabilitate the nation's first President. In 1979 the present grand structure was built to house the body of Soekarno and his parents.
As expected the grave has become a shrine. In the arid Saudi versions of Islam Muslims are not supposed to pray at tombs, but in Indonesia that rule is widely ignored.
For Blitar the grave has become a major earner, with the Bung Karno industry showing no sign of collapsing despite the passing of a generation that lived during Soekarno's turbulent times.
The local authorities have done a good job in crowd control. They've built a huge bus and car station away from the tomb and museum and set up a park-and-drive system – using becak (pedicabs) on a fixed and published tariff.
For Rp 15,000 (US $1.70) you can be wheeled to all locations and back to your vehicle, then have a feed at the scores of stalls while fending off trinket sellers.
Karno kitsch is everywhere, from key rings to T shirts, clocks and other down-market memorabilia. There are photos and busts aplenty, though the artists who duplicate Soekarno's image show little respect for reality.
So you can choose from any version that suits your view of the great man - leonine, saturnine, lean, plump, feisty or thoughtful – but always dapper.
Official presentations of the past gloss over Soekarno's sexual adventures. The badly arranged museum has masses of historical documents and happy family snaps – Karno with wife Fatmawati and five children, including Megawati who was to become the nation's fifth president.
But outside pavement sellers offer the unauthorized versions listing the founding father's nine wives and 11 kids in a smudged photocopied document titled Don Juan, the Skilled Lover. It seems he particularly liked younger women; the age gap was between 39 and 46 years for his last five wives.
Here's another paradox that confuses the outsider; a great statesman saturated in the conservative and rigid culture of Java was a playboy whose sexual exploits put world leaders like John Kennedy in the amateur class. You'd expect Karno to have been condemned for such affairs; instead they added to his stature.
Soekarno was a master orator and probably the only person who could have rallied the masses to fight for Independence. But history shows he fumbled the economy and botched foreign affairs.
All this has been forgotten in Blitar, where the worshipers speak only in respectful terms of the good old days. Any Westerner wanting to know more should just sit quietly in the shade at the tomb site and wait awhile.
It won't take long before you'll be given history lessons you never read, and anecdotes that make Soekarno into a demi-god, a man of mystery and magic who can still influence the present.
"Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono visited the grave before he became president," said retired military man Susilo Adji, on a pilgrimage from Jakarta. "He should return again to receive more wisdom on how to run Indonesia."
(Sidebar)
MAN OF THE PEOPLE
But what was Soekarno really like? East Java singer Kadam became a court favorite and has a clear memory.
Nicknamed 'Golden Voice' he first met Soekarno at the Presidential Palace in 1960. The 17-year old was a member of a ludruk (grassroots theatre) group from Surabaya invited to perform in Jakarta.
"He took a real liking to me and I returned to the palace and his home in Bogor 13 times," Kadam said at his home in Malang. "He even picked me up because I was very small, and always waited for us to change after our performances so he could chat to us.
"I was never frightened of him because he treated everyone as equal. He didn't discriminate between high and low. He felt he was in touch with the village people – and he was.
"He was a teacher. He hadn't come from a business background. Unlike other leaders he never forgot his roots. What he said was in his heart and people understood that.
"He was a most exceptional person. There has never been anyone like him. I feel that God has accepted his soul."
(First published in The Jakarta Post 18 June 07)
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