from Tempo No. 39/VIII/May 27-June 02, 2008
Too Much, Too Little, Too Late
Julia Suryakusuma
Julia Suryakusuma is the author of Sex, Power and Nation. She can be contacted at jsuryakusuma@gmail.com
A FEW days ago, I relived the past in celluloid form: 10 films from Proyek Payung (Umbrella Project) about the May riots and rapes of 1998. To what aim? To ‘commemorate’ the atrocities that were part of the unexplained backdrop to the rise of the Reform movement, jogging our memories of the price some among us had to pay for change. Of course, those who were raped, attacked or abused don’t need be reminded. The tragedy and pain they experienced is etched so deeply in their memories that the last thing they need is a bookmark. For some, the trauma is so deep that May 1998 is a nightmare relived on a daily basis. So these films are for the rest of us, most of whom would like to simply forget those black scorched pages in our history. The films themselves vary in focus and treatment, ranging from the reminiscing of Where were you (interviewees speaking about where they were during the May riots), to the humour of Sugiharti Halim (about the New Order government regulation that forced ethnic Chinese to ‘Indonesianise’ their names), the escapism of Huang Chen Guang (about a young woman whose ethnic Javanese mother was killed during the May riots, causing her to flee to Korea to escape the awful memories), the self-mocking of Kucing 9808, Catatan Seorang (Mantan) Demonstran (Cat 9808, Diary of a Former Activist who scoffs at himself with chagrin, as his reality now is more about his wife and baby daughter than any big, idealistic cause), to the piercing grief of Yang Belum Usai (That Which is Unfinished—about a mother whose son was one of the four students shot at the Semanggi flyover and who every year, without fail, demonstrates in front of the Presidential palace to demand justice).
During discussions in Jakarta on May 20 one director said he and his fellow film-makers had been accused of focusing too much on the Chinese in four out of the ten films. Besides Sugiharti Halim and Huan Chen Guang, there was also the erotic A Trip to the Wound, about how bodily wounds tell the story of our lives, and how our psychic wounds tell even more about ourselves and our humanity, a film which distracts in its erotic atmosphere, but attracts us to reflect on symbolic meanings. There was also the nostalgic A Letter of Unprotected Memories, about the post-1998 ‘nationalisation’ of Imlek—Chinese New Year.
I expect that I too will run the risk of being accused of defending the ethnic Chinese by focusing on these films. So why do I do it?
Because the way we treat our minorities reveals much about what we are as a people and as a nation. Our minorities are us, so our intolerance—let alone overt discrimination—exposes our injustices, and in the case of the May riots and rapes, our inability to acknowledge our wrongs. Playing ostrich is ultimately self-destructive. It prevents us from moving forward into the future and fulfilling our destiny because it dooms us to repeat our mistakes over and over again.
Each of the four ‘Chinese’ films are told from a subjective, personal point of view, but collectively they speak volumes about our persistent abuse of this minority. The witty approach of Sugiharti Halim is fraught with irony, and belies the pain and humiliation that the Chinese had to go through as a result of the New Order’s misguided attempt to obliterate Chinese names. Shakespeare famously asked “what’s in a name?” and the answer was obviously ‘a lot’ for Indonesian Chinese before 1998. It could subject you to discrimination, exploitation and in May 1998, it could even make you a target for rape, pillage, arson and murder.
Ten years into Reformasi, what have we done to fix all this? Our national position seems to be a vague, insincere (and usually unstated) apology: Uhh, sorry that we raped you, failed to acknowledge your contributions to the nation; sorry that we drove you away and murdered your families. But, hey, look, everything’s alright now: you can celebrate Imlek, with shop attendants and TV newscasters wearing ersatz Chinese costumes, your dragon dances, and your Chinese newspapers and TV news broadcasts. You’ve even got Imlek nationalized as a public holiday. What more could you want? Surely it’s a reasonable swap for the continuing denial of your human rights, denial of access to justice, and denial of your right to be accepted as Indonesians? Not such a great loss is it really? What, you’re not complaining again, are you? Typical.
That’s how it usually goes, huh? Well, I’ve got news for you my fellow non-ethnic Chinese Indonesians: the real losers are us! Forget about being philosophical and losing-our-collective-humanity-as-a-nation, or even our diminished international reputation. No, let’s get really practical. How about losing much-needed capital, or human resources?
Let me tell you about a Chinese family I know. Living in Glodok, Jakarta’s Chinatown, they pooled their entire family’s resources to send their young daughter out to Australia when things started getting hot in 1998, to save her from violence and abuse. A stranger in an alien country, she struggled though high school there, found her way to university, earned herself a law degree, and now works for government there in a well-paid legal role. And she is just one of thousands who fled when we attacked and abused them and burned down their homes and shops. Yes, the Chinese are often accused of not being nationalistic and abandoning Indonesia but, sorry my brothers and sisters, it was we who drove them away!
Seems to me that way we treat our ethnic Chinese minority is a case of ‘too much, too little, too late,’ to quote Denise Williams and Johnny Mathis’ classic ‘seventies hit. Too much discrimination and abuse and too little justice and respect, until it becomes too late fix the damage done.
And who are the losers? In the end, it’s the rest of us, loosing in all the ways we can lose.
Again.
