I

t is never a good way to start an argument by comparing calamities, but with condolences for the fatalities of the “Brexit” (short for Brebes exit) disaster during this Idul Fitri exodus (mudik), I am going to do exactly that.

First, of course, we had what some of the media described as “the worst traffic disaster of all time”, claiming at least 12 lives and disrupting the plans and journeys of, likely, millions of people.

My family was one of the luckier ones in that we “only” spent an eight-hour all-nighter to get through the 20 kilometer line for the exit. I therefore stand in solidarity with fellow toll road users in demanding real action be taken to prevent the same fatal incident from occurring for a second time.

But I am more concerned about another pressing issue that has been left untended for probably
decades now.

This started, for me, with a group of middle-aged to elderly ladies sitting outside a mosque at one rest area on the Palimanan toll road in the West Java town of Cirebon. We stopped there a few days before Eid on our mudik to Central Java.

This is not our first mudik, hence, I was not entirely surprised to see them there at around 7 p.m. that night. They were the sandal keepers — people minding sandals while the owners prayed in the mosque.

There are sandal keepers in many bigger mosques — “official” ones with authority given by the mosque’s management to secure sandals from thieves. This is not what these women were — they came to the rest area with the intention of making money from protecting people’s sandals.

It didn’t matter if you thought your footwear was not worthy of this great care — mine was a pair of worn out rubber sandals. They insisted on keeping guardianship of the sandals even if you openly protested.

An elderly lady snubbed me when I did just that, saying I shouldn’t be so fussy because: “It’s only once a year, anyway”.

My protest turned to embarrassment and later anger when a new visitor came and the ladies started to shout in competing voices offering their services.

They became so absorbed in offering their service that some were blocking the mosque’s entrance and disturbing the serenity appropriate to a place of worship, in the holy month of Ramadhan, no less.

Who do these women think they are? Who gave them a license to take people’s sandals hostage and disrupt the tranquility of a supposedly peaceful holy night and expect payment for it?

By the time that question had formed, I had already noticed that the women, plain in clothing and headscarves, were not unusual looking.

There were traces of lipstick on the younger faces, while the older ones had wrinkles and dark skin from excessive sun exposure.

However, there was little indication that they were beggars or that they lived in extreme poverty. They could be female neighbors from a kampung close to where we live.

So, why would they beg for money when they’re not even beggars? A friend piped up saying something about begging for money had long been customary in Indonesia, saying, in fact, “There is no prerequisite of being poor to be a beggar”, which had resulted in the lifetime trend of the so-called beggar mentality.

Sure enough, evidence abounds. Some distance from these women was a bunch of men and women (grownups and children alike) baking themselves dry in the scorching sun in the middle of the street atop a bridge on the Pamanukan-Indramayu border in West Java, holding long broomsticks to sweep up money they expected passersby would throw out, following years of “tradition”.

And while some village women use the sandal service as a front and the bridge men use broomsticks as a tool, people in higher up positions use a more modest approach.

A letter allegedly sent by a district head on Burung Island, Riau, went viral, asking for “soft drinks” provided for the office “at this time of Eid”.

Another man in a high position, the head judge of Tembilahan municipal court, also in Riau, was released from duty after the media reported him for demanding money from local business “for the Eid allowance [THR]”. One can only think of what other higher authorities — officials and similar — could do with lines similar to the “it’s only once a year, anyway” excuse.

After all, at least one House of Representatives’ member has been jailed by the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) for using the Eid allowance front to ask for money from a high-ranking official dealing with oil and gas when the administration was trying to amend the state budget law in 2013.

Looking at the trend, who can say for sure whether these are isolated cases among Indonesians? Social media is a good place to source many letters (in official or plain extortion language) citing Eid to demand funds.

Smaller local organizations — some were likened to thugs — are known to send similar requests on an annual basis.

And suddenly you cannot be that mad with the women in the Palimanan rest area. If a lawmaker can extort money with such an innocent excuse as Eid once a year, as the judge, the district head and others also did, surely they can too. At least their mode of operation was to safely guard sandals.

And this is where the complexity really lies: the KPK was doing great unraveling the THR corruption scandal and jailed the politician involved, but who will address the problem of the women, the bridge sweepers and the thugs?

This may prove to be a graver problem than “Brexit”. While the Brebes toll fiasco may soon be addressed by better traffic engineering or other toll road projects, the beggar mentality will take longer to shake.

Especially since not many are concerned.
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The writer works for CNN Indonesia.