Fitting In

The Jakarta Post   |  Wed, 01/23/2008 10:35 AM  |  Center Piece

In a nation made up of diverse ethnic groups, Chinese-Indonesians stand out for their historical and cultural contributions as well as for the persecution they have endured. But 10 years after the bloody riots in which ethnic Chinese were targeted, is there greater acceptance of them as Indonesians? Bruce Emond and Maggie Tiojakin reports.

Lim Hwee stands behind the cash register at his store in Mangga Besar, West Jakarta, and asks a couple of questions that continue to haunt him.

“What did we do wrong? Why does it keep on happening?”  

Ten years ago, the 56-year-old ethnic Chinese man’s shop was one of the many in the area that was vandalized and looted during the May riots.  He had experienced upheaval before; during a wave of anti-Chinese sentiment in the early 1960s, 11-year-old Lim and his family fled their home in Jakarta to take refuge with a friend in Cirebon, West Java.

The ’98 riots, in which an orgy of violence overtook the predominantly ethnic Chinese commercial center of Glodok in Jakarta, Surakarta and other cities in Java and Sumatra, followed the shooting of four university students during a protest against the Soeharto regime. Once again, Chinese-Indonesians were the scapegoats, part of an ugly historical legacy that dates back to colonial times when they, in the precarious position of middlemen between the Dutch overlords and the local population, could always find themselves victims to the anger of one side or the other.

It was a shocking reminder that, despite being born here or achieving success in their individual fields, they could quickly be reduced to second-class citizens simply due to their ethnic origin (the word pribumi, meaning indigenous, was hurriedly painted on many storefronts to “exempt” them from looting). 

This time, though, there was a difference. Unlike the quickly hushed-up incidents of the past that were relegated to historical footnotes, there was an international audience watching the devastation. Cable news stations beamed images of the anarchy to the world, and showed Chinese-Indonesians fleeing the capital or barricading their neighborhoods against marauding groups. 

Local media also took note, with mainstream publications and TV programs detailing the singling out of the ethnic Chinese in the destruction. In the ensuing years, with the demise of the New Order and its colonialistic “divide and conquer” approach to leadership that had marginalized Chinese-Indonesians and prohibited any displays of Chinese culture, there has been change.

The “oriental” look, signifying almond-shaped eyes and light skin, became trendy in fashion, Indonesian entertainers of Chinese descent such as Agnes Monica, Olga Lydia and Delon are popular, there is a Chinese-backed political party and the Lunar New Year in February has been made a national holiday.

“Things are better, and I think we can continue to improve, because we are still behind Singapore and Malaysia but we are going in the right direction, there is recognition of us,” says businessman Johnny Andrean, who rebounded from losing dozens of his hairdressing salons in the riots to establish the successful chain of J.CO donut stores.

“That’s for the better and will help create a feeling of nationalism. It helps us feel that we belong. We were born in Indonesia … what’s important is that we are all the same. When that feeling [of acceptance] arises, then it will be good for Indonesia.”

So does the increasing visibility actually translate into greater acceptance as Indonesians? Or does getting past the superficial gestures of recognition reveal that old stereotypes die hard?

Helmi, a middle-aged executive, is an advocate of pluralism and does his best to ensure minorities – from ethnic Chinese to people from Eastern Indonesia – are given priority for hiring in his office. But even he says that underlying distinctions remain, most of the time unspoken. He uses the analogy of Indonesia’s badminton stars, many of whom are ethnic Chinese.

“When they win, they’re Indonesian,” he says with a smile. “But when they lose, people will say, ‘Ah, he’s Chinese after all.’”

Many Indonesians – ethnic Chinese and otherwise – contend that broaching the issue of ethnicity, even in a joking way, simple serves to bring lurking hostility and stereotypes to the fore. Part of the reticence can be attributed to Indonesia’s fickle and painful history, for acknowledging one’s ethnicity has been dangerous for Chinese-Indonesians.

Others, however, feel the failure to look at the issues head-on, and confront the discrimination that Chinese-Indonesians face, means the issues will never be resolved.

“We just never talked about who we were when I was growing up,” says Angie, a 25-year-old ad company employee. “I remember sometimes when we were kids we would joke about ‘cik’ and ‘koko’ (Chinese appellations) and my mother would tell us to hush, that we shouldn’t say such things.”

Ironically, she became fully aware of her background on the morning that the May riots began, when a Muslim woman pulled her off the street and sheltered her in her house.

“I didn’t want to go with her, but she said, ‘you have to, you’re Chinese, it’s dangerous for you now’. And I kept on saying that I wasn’t Chinese, what was she talking about? When I eventually got home, I asked my mother and she said quietly, ‘Yes, we are’.”

She recently broached the subject of an article she read about Chinese-Indonesians to her parents and aunt at a family gathering. “At first they said they were excited by it, and then they went quiet and we sat there saying nothing. It’s funny that we still cannot talk about it.”

An allegation often leveled at Chinese-Indonesians, as if to justify the discrimination they face, is that they have failed to assimilate into Indonesian society, especially the totok community who continue to speak Chinese dialects and hold to traditional ways.

It’s an argument that not only belittles the significant role people of Chinese descent have played in Indonesian society, but also has been used to support various legislation to “enforce” their assimilation.  

School textbooks have rarely included the names of Lim Koen Hian, Tan Eng Hoa, Oey Tiang Tjoe, Oey Tjong Hauw and Drs. Yap Tjwan Bing even though they helped draw up the Constitution. Others, including So Beng Kong, Tan Djin Sing and Sie Kong Liong, are practically unheard of. Yet each of them is a national hero.

“We followed a standard curriculum set by the government,” says Miranda Juandi, a retired history teacher. “During the New Order regime, history was nothing but a bunch of fictitious stories strung together as facts.”

And now?

“It’s getting better,” she says. “But I wouldn’t bet my money on it, either.”

In the waning years of the Sukarno regime, Chinese-Indonesians also endured discriminatory regulations. Under the draconian PP10/1959 regulation, traders in rural areas were forced to move to urban centers (some were reportedly killed when they resisted), and ethnic Chinese told to “choose” if they wished to remain in Indonesia or depart for the People’s Republic of China.

Those hardships were nothing compared to what lay in store when the New Order took power after an attempted coup blamed on the Indonesian Communist Party with supposed backing from associates in China.

References to ethnic Chinese involvement in the history of the nation were erased and eventually denied. Expressions of Chinese culture were outlawed, ethnic Chinese ordered to take more Indonesian sounding names and new citizenship regulations were established that created greater divides between ethnic Chinese and so-called indigenous Indonesians.

One of the most discriminatory among them was the labeling of Chinese-Indonesians as “foreign citizens” (WNA), thereby making them an outcast community rather than a minority. During the New Order regime, all Chinese-Indonesians were obligated by law to acquire a certificate of citizenship (SKBRI) which serves as a hard proof of their Indonesian identity (WNI). To do this, a copious set of requirements had to be met and, often, a large sum of money paid to ensure its processing.

Many find that their citizenship status still remains in limbo although they have lived all their lives in the country. Some have never been able to participate in a general election because they don’t have the identification card (KTP) required to register.

“I never had a birth certificate,” says Yin Fang, a native of Bangka province. “[The government] makes it so difficult for me to process any paperwork. I’ve been married for 30 years and I don’t even have a marriage certificate.”

Officially, the regulations are no longer in existence. Presidential Decree No. 56 / 1996 scrapped the rules and regulations requiring that ethnic-Chinese Indonesians obtain a certificate of citizenship. An instruction issued by BJ Habibie during his presidency in 1999 abolished all other regulations which required ethnic-Chinese Indonesians to apply for the certificate.

Unfortunately, Chinese-Indonesians say they continue to face discrimination in dealing with the bureaucracy. Many regional government offices reportedly require them to produce the SKBRI and refuse to process any legal paperwork in its absence.

Occasionally, the issue makes headlines, including in 2004 when Susy Susanti and Allan Budi Kusuma, the married badminton players who were Indonesia’s first ever gold medalists, were required to show proof of citizenship for their passport extensions. Then president Megawati Soekarnoputri again reiterated that such documents were not required (she also intervened to ensure that another badminton player, Hendrawan, a former world men’s singles champion and coach, received his citizenship).

A vast and diverse nation, Indonesia is home to more than 230 million people. Although there are no firm figures on the number of ethnic Chinese in the country, they are believed to account for 3 percent of the total population and up to 8 percent in the capital Jakarta.

Most of them don’t know how or why their ancestors came to this country; all they know is that they have lived here all their lives.

“What’s holding this extraordinary country together is … a shared history,” says political scientist Sidney Jones. “And I think one of the greatest challenges of the post-1998 government is to give ethnic and religious minorities a sense that they are now and always will be on an equal footing with the majority.”

Last year, amid the celebration of Chinese New Year, President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono publicly acknowledged the many unfortunate “misconceptions” against ethnic Chinese citizens as a result of mistakes made by past administrations. He promised changes would be made for the better.

“I’m past anger. I don’t know how I feel about all this, anymore,” mumbled Lim, sitting on a black stool just outside of his shop, staring into the crowded street. Asked if he ever thought of leaving the country for another, he replied with another question: “Where would I go?”

He shook his head. “I’m already home.”

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