Fear and freedom in Indonesian cities

The Jakarta Post ,  Jakarta   |  Sat, 11/03/2007 5:00 PM  |  Opinion

Roy Voragen, Jakarta

Since March 5, 2003, I have been in Indonesia. The last time I had Dutch soil under my feet was, according to my passport -- my diary -- nearly three yeas ago.

Did I somewhere cross a line without noticing it? In the past few years I collected dozens of pages filled with stamps, signatures and corrections from various state officials. Did I somehow become an immigrant without ever making that decision? Expatriated?

I've begun to feel at home here, though. Indonesia is nesting underneath my skin -- the dust, the dirt, the heat, the jams, the noise -- the thrills for me, the urban junkie.

I walk around Indonesian cities and, on purpose, I get lost. In these moments of losing a sense of direction I can get to know these new cities. I circle around. I come back to the same point many times -- I am a slow walker.

I am a walker, a wandering walker. Which many middle class Indonesians, especially, consider odd. They say: ""You will get sunburned. You will get robbed. You will get dirty."" I can confirm the last one. Yes, I get dirty. Sometimes I slip and get all muddy. The pollution in some cities is a brilliant sun block (though I don't mind some color on my skin). And so far I have been lucky when it comes to being robbed (and I have to say, I feel safer here than in Amsterdam).

Still, I walk. And as I walk and meet my fellow urbanites, I talk to them and take their photographs. And as I walk round and round and get lost I get to know these Indonesian cities while I photograph them.

It is often said that we humans are by nature social beings. But we urbanites feel ambiguous. At times we feel alienated. We get lonely -- lost in between concrete and asphalt. At such times we hide our vulnerability behind facades and masquerades, with ironies and metaphors.

As an expatriate, I am an outsider. However, always being treated as an outsider is rather alienating. In my optimistic hope and cosmopolitan moods I hope for days to come when passports and visas are considered folklore as much as the border crossings of my childhood to Belgium and Germany. Perhaps Alle Menschen werden Brder will remain utopia, but the slogans sans frontiers and sans papiers seem to me happy striking notes.

Culture shock is not so much dealing with new values and norms, for there are things of universal value, such as the value of individual human life. Culture shock occurs when I -- the alien -- realize that the rules of communication have changed (a chair is no longer a chair). And when the rules of communication change the modes of relating to the world and other people alter completely. So, what to expect?

This new perspective -- or lack thereof -- is not necessarily a bad thing. Sure, many expatriates cocoon together in their fancy clubs to recreate a sense of home. But why do they try so hard to create a sense of home so far away from home in a tropical country like Indonesia?

In my opinion it is a blessing in disguise. This new perspective gives freedom. This is freedom as a form of naivete. I cannot see the world through a set of categories, but now I can sense details, the chaos of the multitude of beautiful and horrific details.

When I told an Indonesian friend that I feel safer in Indonesian cities than in their Dutch counterparts he was rather startled. Ok, Indonesian cities appear messy; and arriving at Gambir station isn't without its difficulties. Nevertheless, I've never run into problems here, and in Dutch cities, on the other hand, I've been molested twice.

The first time I went to Semarang I was told not to arrive at the station area at night, presumably because prostitutes are a dangerous species. I never had a problem with one of the members of the oldest profession, though. I guess it is a silent pact: I don't bother them and they don't bother me.

I spent five weeks in Semarang as an artist-in-residence at a local gallery house. On my many walks around the city I met a lot of people. At the end of my time there my best friend visited, and I took him around to show him a city he'd never seen. He was surprised how many people greeted me. He was even more surprised when who he thought was a hoodlum started to chat with us. I asked my friend how he could be so sure the man was a criminal, and he answered that the man had tattoos, even though my friend had a tattoo as well.

I guess it is difficult to approach another person without prejudice. A prejudice is a reflection of fears. But it is exactly that fear we ought to fear, because this fear builds gated communities and no-go areas. Can we postpone judgment and become free?

The quality of public space in our cities -- our, because I am an inhabitant of these Indonesian cities as well -- increases if we realize that we have these prejudices. And we want public space to be a civilized arena, so we should all become preman in the literal sense: Free men are free of prejudgments.

The writer teaches philosophy at Parahyangan Catholic University.

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