Identity Crisis

Often when we consider a certain people, we think of psychological, cultural, ideological or sentimental traits to help us define what is otherwise indefinable: a nation’s character. Indonesia is described as a melting pot, from Sabang to Merauke, but what does it mean to be Indonesian? Maggie Tiojakin asks.

In an era of global diversity, of universal truths and of pluralistic values, it’s a tough task to try to narrow down the characteristics that make up a whole nation. There is no science wide enough in scope to cover all six billion people who inhabit the earth, and there is no device advanced enough that enables us to separate those people into convenient boxes of  generalized personality without making it sound presumptuous or ill-conceived.

Two years ago, President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono told a crowd of spectators about the importance of “strengthening our nation’s character”. He pointed out how other nations, such as India and China, had grown rapidly in the past few decades thanks to their characterbuilding strategies. It was about more than just the basic principles of economy and education, he said – by combining its intellectual and cultural strengths, Indonesia would progress as quickly as other developing nations.

It’s a nice thought, really. But what is there to strengthen if we don’t even know who we are or what kind of character we – as a people – possess?

“When I think of what it means to be an Indonesian, what immediately comes to mind is a negative image,” says Herina Sapto, a postgraduate student at the University of Indonesia.

We’re notoriously late, for example. We’re laid-back, but not in a good way. And we have no sense of patriotic duties – a bit selfish, perhaps.” By contrast, many non-Indonesians who visit or live here will argue that one of the most recognizable traits they associate with Indonesians
is a friendly disposition, despite everything going on around them.

“When I was in Aceh, right after the tsunami hit, I was surprised and delighted to see so many people still find a reason to smile,” says Vicki Noble, an American doctor who served on the Mercy ship in 2006. “That’s an Indonesian thing, I think. And I was touched to see that.”

Some see that renowned friendliness from a different perspective.

“We do smile a lot,” says Bertha Kolansi, a manager at Kina Tours & Travel in West Jakarta.

“Which is good for [the tourism] industry, because tourists feel more secure when they see people smiling at them. But, if you’re an Indonesian, you’ll know there’s something not quite right behind that smile.”

A facial expression can only say so much about a person, is what Bertha means to say. And a customary gesture – however generous – is usually followed by other, less nobel intentions from the giver. Sadly, this is a common perception among Indonesians themselves: Everything has a price, and even the smallest acts of kindness are treated as a commodity to be bought and sold, at least in big cities.

“As an outsider, it’s easy to take things at face value,” says Andini Muchlis, a freelance image-consultant based in Jakarta. “They have the privilege to reduce Indonesians into one thing or other, while we see ourselves as this giant bowl of mess. Nothing is what it seems, and that
leads to an issue of trust. Our greatest problem is we don’t trust one another: What kind of a relationship can you build without trust?”

The kind, perhaps, that is held together by a very thin thread and unravels at the slightest tug.

In his 2007 Independence Day speech, Sri Sultan Hamengku Buwono X – also the governor of the Special Region of Yogyakarta – told the young flag ceremony squad that special attention
must be paid to reforming the national character of Indonesia, referring to the recent squabbles and violent disputes among interfaith and intercultural groups across the archipelago. He then emphasized that our diversity is a “blessing, not an irritant source of conflict”.

It’s somewhat overwhelming to pin down a single trait or personality characteristic, no matter how obvious it may be, for more than 230 million people living in an archipelagic country. The Indonesian identity is still largely divided into groups defined by regions, tiny clusters of
tribes and customs, so the idea of presenting the country as part of neatly constructed whole can be a little daunting.

“When I meet people from other countries, I tell them I’m an Indonesian,” says Indra Guntur, a student at the University of California, Long Beach. “But when I meet a fellow Indonesian, I tell them I’m Javanese.

I guess if people from other countries can place me on a map if I say I’m Javanese, I would tell them I’m Javanese, instead of Indonesian.”

“It’s ironic, I think,” says Andini, “the way we see ourselves compared to how other people see us. We keep telling ourselves that diversity is our strength, and the world believes us wholeheartedly. Yet once you’re inside, you see these … invisible partitions that separate people into different corners. We don’t fight for the same reasons: We don’t even live for the same reasons.”

The practice of studying a nation’s identity has been widely opposed due to its method of generalizing individual experiences and its inaccuracy in depicting what a nation does or does not stand for. What usually happens when someone tries to identify a nation’s character is
the birth of stereotypes, which can divide more than unite.

“It’s inevitable, though,” argues Indra, who is majoring in biochemistry.

“We create patterns out of thin air, because we want to believe that nothing is accidental; that everything has a purpose, a reason. Americans are known to be idealistic, Indians spiritual – this is who they are, and they embrace it. The problem with Indonesians is … we are trying too
hard to be someone we’re not.”

And the list of what we’re not and will never be goes a long way.

There is an unsettling phenomenon that sweeps over Indonesians living or studying abroad who refuse to acknowledge their nationality, claiming to be Singaporean, Malaysian, Filipino, even Vietnamese (in short, whatever comes close in physical appearance). This phenomenon was first recorded after the May riots in 1998 when Indonesia was briefly pegged as a racist country. But 10 years after the incident, some still prefer to assume the identity of another nation.

“I’m not proud to be an Indonesian,” says “Dilla”, who has been living in the United States for seven years now and is married to an American. “I used to tell people I was Singaporean, because people here respect that.

Now that I’m married, I prefer to tell people I’m an American.”

Is it shame that propels them to adopt another’s identity?

“I don’t feel like I belong to Indonesia,” continues Dilla. “The country has not done anything for me, has not done anything that can make me feel like I’m a part of it. So why not pretend to be something else?”

Perhaps that’s the most complicated issue we’re facing right now as a nation: a sense of belonging. Globalization has brought with it a universal idea imbued with “kernels of truth” that lead people from all nations to believe we are rooted in one space, one geographical earth, one shared time. But the quest for identity is far from over, as more and more people strive to stand out from the crowd and achieve unique recognition.

“I admit there are good things about being an Indonesian that we overlook,” says Herina. “And why we choose to overlook that is a mystery to me. But there’s no reason to give up hope. You know, this is our transition phase: I’m sure with time it’ll get better.”

Indra agrees. “For now, we’re still sketching on a canvas. Sooner or later, it’ll become a painting. And you’ll see the face of our nation, the spirit of our people – by each stroke of the brush.”

Illustration by Admira Pustika

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