Freedom, Struggles fromm the Periphery

Freedom, Struggles fromm the Periphery

When I learned that the French government had honored Goenawan Muhammad, Indonesia's premier journalist, poet and writer and freedom fighter, with the Chevalier dans L'ordre des Arts et des Lettres on June 25, 2007, I was glad to know that his steadfast struggle against Suharto's despotic regime and any form of injustice had once more met world recognition.

The news brought back Indonesia and its memories of Suharto's New Order (1966-1998), which was at its dictatorial peak during the last years of the 1990s. Goenawan Muhammad, long known for his critical and defiant stance against the regime, was part of the popular uprisings through his political activities, artistic engagements, investigative journalism and intellectual prowess.

Freedom during these years seemed so elusive. And Indonesia is engaged as a freedom house among the nations.

I still remember reading his famous "Catatan Pinggir" ("Sidelines") in TEMPO magazine that has been long admired as the gems of his life. The column that he wrote every week since 1976 that challenged staid thinking became a political-cultural education for many people who meditated its multi-layered meaning. I believe, along with many other influential journalist or columnist, that he was partly responsible for heightening the spirit of resistance among student activists and the general public that hastened the freedom Indonesia was seeking after fromm Suharto administration.

Even when TEMPO was finally banned on June 21, 1994, true to freedom his spirit aspired, his column appeared in an underground publication through Independen (Independence), a brochure-like magazine that was printed in small numbers but photocopied for thousands and secretly distributed. He was also involved in organizing the Indonesian Journalist Alliance (AJI), the first Indonesia's independent journalist alliance, and also participated in the establishment of Liberal Islam Network.

Reflecting on activism Goenawan Muhammad engages both as a journalist and a freedom fighter, I inevitably thought as well of the neo-Freudian Erich Fromm, especially his groundbreaking work "Escape From Freedom" that enlightened many readers on the Hitler phenomenon. Overcoming Sigmund Freud's biological determinism in the making of man and Karl Marx's economic determinism in the formation of human consciousness, Fromm brilliantly blends the Freudian individual and Marxian society by adding the unthinkable: freedom as the central aspect of human nature.

Fromm based his concept of "freedom" from the Renaissance's notion of freedom that puts man, instead of God, in the center of the universe. Since then, man became an individual who determined his own destiny without the need for institutional structures to dictate on his actions. Paradoxically, this same freedom has also given way to an unbearable alienation as it creates a world without anchors.

Within this context, authoritarianism, according to Fromm, fills in the need of the masses for a meaningful existence and a determined future. In a way, Fromm implies that the masses are also complicit in building an authoritarian rule. An escape from freedom starts its fatal drama.

Hence, if freedom can alienate and may pave the way for an authoritarian regime, how can we appreciate the practice of awarding somebody for a cause like "freedom?"

It seems to me that the making of a modern hero is achieved through the negation of power that suppresses freedom at whatever cost. I am sure Goenawan Muhammad is familiar with the dictum that power tends to corrupt and absolute power tends to corrupt absolutely. I wonder if his being a multi-awarded writer indicates the inevitable pairing of power and human response that Fromm has painstakingly theorized. It seems problematic to me that human capacity for noble deeds reaches its greatest height proportionately to how power may turn into evil.

I wonder if it is possible to come up with a different view to Goenawan's recent award by the French government. To think of him merely as a surviving subversive voice to Suharto's regime will be an injustice to what he really aims to achieve in his life and to what other less recognized subversive voices have achieved as well. I am speaking of the many freedom fighters on the grassroots level like the legendary rickshaw-driver poet Wiji Thukul whose poetic mantra "There's only one word: Resist!" has inspired the resistance movements in Indonesia even up to now. More than that, how about the commoners who fought injustice, who fought for their everyday freedom,  in their modest but effective ways?

One possible way of looking at the matter is by acknowledging the cooperation among the various sectors of the society. It would be misleading to put Goenawan Muhammad or anybody on top of the list in terms of political changes, for there is no such hierarchical structure despite many attempts to establish one. A struggle is much more dispersed than imagined. The many voices of the people create a chance for leadership.

This way, contrary to what a despot believes, there is no leader or hero in purest sense as more and more leaders at all levels naturally emerge. Nobody can claim heroism as freedom is defined by the many voices that characterize the whole spectrum of struggle. Resistance is collective and transforms collectively as the people clamor for change. Freedom becomes a productive force in itself, the ultimate principle in making the world a productive living ground for everyone and not a necessarily negative creation of power. Power in turn does not have to be a breeding ground for corruption. We can talk about power and freedom fully in positive terms making despotism a lonely, strange reality.

For his courage and personal commitment to promulgate freedom and free thinking, Goenawan Muhammad deserves the praise and recognition. Nevertheless, if the seeds of freedom that he has sown have not grown in a fertile soil, it would not have been able to reincarnate in flesh. He is greatly indebted to the very society that has helped him cultivate his human nature for freedom to the maximum.

Kobe, 2007

The Paradox of Affluence

[Investigation] Why are the wealthy Japanese so unhappy?

It may have come as a surprise to many that, according to a recent survey, Japan ranks 24th in happiness compared to those countries enjoying far less economic progress. Indeed, despite the many reports of Japan's unequaled postwar economic miracle, increases in hiring of university graduates or a recovery from the recent recession, there seems to be a bit of a backlash from the affluence the Japanese have been enjoying.

To be sure, all countries want to achieve a certain degree of prosperity. Especially for those coming from impoverished regions, material want on many occasions might serve as the driving force for success. I still remember meeting Nigerians (number 2 in the survey) in some big cities of Indonesia such as Yogyakarta, Semarang and Jakarta who traveled the entire world looking for cheaper but quality products to be shipped back to their country.

For them, poverty was a blessing in disguise, for it encourages migration and entrepreneurship. So much so that even in Tanjung Priok area, Jakarta's export-import port, one can find Nigerian cargo offices that take care of the shipping of purchases back to their country. Once the goods reach Nigeria, family members operating a variety of business will resell them at a higher price.

What is not conveyed then in the smile of the smartly dressed generation of Japanese young adults? Or am I mistaken in calling it a smile? To wit, even a part-time job in Japan can earn you enough to have fun with friends. Otherwise, there would be no good reason for the influx of Westerners allured by the millions at stake in the English-teaching industry.

How should we correlate Japan's low level of happiness and its well-known economic prowess?

I tried to talk to some of the Japanese I have befriended in the last 6 months. In sum, their attitudes to the affluence may be seen in two ways. For the older generation who are in their late 50s, there is a tendency to consider the young adults as "floaters." They state that the young Japanese have no memory of the hardships following the end of the Second World War. In my Japanese teacher's words, the youngsters do not really share the collective social responsibility of taking care of the elders. She expressed her concerns over the evident reluctance among the young to work hard the way the older generation did to pay for public services and retirement funds. They simply had a vague notion, she concluded, of "filial duty."

On the other hand, one of my younger Japanese teachers, who is a university student, fretted about job security. She pointed to the discrepancy between her generation and the more powerful and financially secure elders. The youth tries to seize the opportunities their rich country provides. But at the same time, deep within them, there is always a question of how far they can survive the ever-widening earnings gaps that make them anxious about a bleak future.

I could not believe what I heard. True, finding a part-time job is easy for the average Japanese. Also true however is the fact that earnings can not always pay the rent. The older generation financially established themselves at a time when Japan still firmly held to the lifetime employment system. Things are no longer the same nowadays for the 2.81 million unemployed. Meanwhile, jobs are on a much shorter contract basis, extendable if deemed appropriate by the company. These multitudes are consequently forced to work as temps. As such, they have to deal with the unavoidable fear of being laid off the moment the contract is due.

Upward mobility is an illusion when a full-time job career is nowhere to be found. As my Japanese student teacher confided, she has sent applications to many companies both in Kobe and Osaka and has also attended job seminars. So far, no promising results. She feels deeply disappointed as her final days in the university draw near. She can surely grab any low-skilled job as a "freeter" or freelance worker or even get a position as a salaried employee. But still, the problem remains whether it is on a short contract basis only or if it does provide a sure step to a permanent job. The cycle of anxieties starts from this point. Simultaneously, these colliding concerns split the younger and older Japanese into a different set of worries but with a common trait: the paradox of unhappiness.

I think it is worth reexamining the "irresponsible floater attitude" within the context of what has been discussed above. It can possibly be symptomatic of a host of conflicting sentiments the youngsters harbor. With the uncertainties they face, the youngsters experience a strained dilemma. They have to live up to the tension of social obligation demanded from them while they see no real prospects at the workplace. The sense of malaise is demographically reinforced as the country is by 2050 expecting to support more and more people 80 years of age and older--a population that could be 37 percent larger than that of the country's total number of children.

How can the Japanese young adults shoulder the burden of keeping the economy afloat if they are deprived of the economic growth in the first place? How could they be expected to fill up the nation's pension funds if they are financially insecure and beaten?

Kobe, 2007

Encounter With Singapore's Sacrified Generation

Meeting a taxi driver on my way to Indonesia

A man looking deadly serious was the last thing I wanted to see after a three-hour flight from Manila to Changi, Singapore. He grabbed my heavy suitcase without word, opened the trunk with one arm and slid it in with the other. At once, I felt I was in the presence of the Hulk. Yet, everything seemed to lighten when he gestured me amiably into the cab.

I still did not know what to say when he began a conversation. He rambled on about nearly everything in sight: the unpredictable weather to seafood at the Marina, Singapore's sea-side strip. I was not really excited after recalling some memories of the country.

I listened to him while quietly admiring the colorful flowers on the way to the Water Front. The bougainvilleas were all blossoming. The glaring sun was sinking in the West right before our eyes. The combination of the blurred arrows of light and small canopies of colors made the sallow afternoon a most restful moment.

I tried to attract his attention to the beautiful scenery outside. But he pressed on in his hoarse voice with his stories. I noticed they were becoming more personal. He has two children, both already married. They were better off than him, he told me.

"At least they can buy some pleasure and know how to enjoy themselves, not like me."

I was curious to know about their relationship but hesitated to ask sensing the repressed bitterness in his eyes. Younger Singaporeans were making much more money today than people of their era, he went on. On the contrary, the taxi driver's parents were very poor and had to labor hard.

"We couldn't afford going to college," he told me. Money was difficult to come by.

I spotted many new little gardens since the last time I came to Singapore. Especially under the bridge, the brilliant red and yellow buds make for a stark contrast to Singapore's gray cityscape.

"You Singaporeans know how to treasure flowers. You seem to be a romantic people," I teased.

He sighed a bit but nodded in faint agreement. "We know how to romanticize our environment that is for sure." He stepped on the brake so suddenly it jolted me. Lucky me with the seatbelt, I whispered. "I am so sorry," he sounded very guilty.

"It was that little pothole," he explained.

Yet I knew there was no pothole at all. I was very familiar with the street. Singapore has no rough surfaces. Safety is its obsession. Order is the No. 1 issue. Everything is designed to fall into place. I still remember my wife's joke the last time we were there together. "I am sure we're already in Singapore," she quipped. "People are lining up."

In that taxi, on that day, I had some personal revelations. Here is a generation of a few decades ago which is at the point of vanishing. Singapore has secured its honorable place in the pantheon of the affluent. The driver's generation was part of the painful era when the city-state was then a struggling infant. They built the country with utmost dedication. They put an absolute trust in the nation's leadership under Lee Kwan Yew and his party colleagues in the 1970s to an ultimate result.

Singapore has been a merit-based country ever since. Everywhere we can find the slogan: to excel or excellence.

The people who founded the elements for the grandiose dreams are now in their retirement or -- like the driver --in their 50s. They were poor, unable to pay for their college tuition and have stayed poor ever since (as far as the Singaporean standard goes).

"But we excel in terms of political willingness for a better future. We have always worked hard to achieve the common goals. We have accomplished our generation's mission. Only some of us cannot keep up with the pace and left behind." he added.

The Harbor Front where I was to take a 50-minute ferry ride to Batam Island, Indonesia was in sight.

I did not pity this man. There was no need. I could see the sincere dignity in his eyes and voice. I knew he was only sharing some feeling of being dragged by the fast-paced wealthy Singaporeans of today; the generation who has everything but who possibly has little memory of the poor generation that has enriched and served Singapore with their bare hands.

At least, that was what I took from his stories.

A Cinematic Way of Healing

Yogyakarta Earthquake: 10th Commemoration of the 2006 Disaster__

I have noticed that being psychologically wounded is at times more devastating than being physically wounded as the traumatized keeps on replaying the mental scars in various ways. This is made possible by a mechanism through which the memory that retains the emotionally charged details of the shocking event keeps reminding the victims. On one hand, this visual mechanism can be reversed to create the possible paths of curing.

Along this train of thought, film might be the most effective ways to tackle trauma as, during the viewing, the brain will be in a dream-like mode making possible the reception of a new idea with the least resistance on the part of the viewers.

Although I have not had the chance to see the film "Harap Tenang, Ada Ujian" (Be Quiet, Exam is in Progress), reading its various reviews, I can see why the film can help bring on healing to the lives of many people in Yogyakarta, Indonesia who were victims of the 2006 earthquake. The film has so far collected awards as the Best Short Film in JAFF 2006 Yogyakarta with the theme "The Role of Film in the Midst of Crisis", Konfiden Film Festival 2006, Jakarta and in Indonesia Film Festival 2006, Jakarta. It has also been screened during the Singapore International Film Festival 2007, International Signes de Nuit Festival Paris 2007 and Internazionale d'art Festivale Roma 2007. The last recognition the movie has achieved is a nomination in the Short Film Festival & ASIA 2007, Tokyo, Japan (June 25 - July 1).

Ifa Isfansyah, the Yogyakarta-based director, followed the experience of an elementary school boy against the backdrop of the devastating 5.9-Richter earthquake that hit Yogyakarta at 5:55 a.m. (local time) on May 27 last year when most people were still in their beds. The disaster struck the city exactly 10 days before elementary school children in Indonesia were scheduled to have their National Examinations and 14 days before the opening of the World Cup 2006.

The school boy has to prepare himself for the final exam. In reality, tens of thousands of students had to study under the makeshift tents without much light, books and, much less, food. The occasional rains made the situation even worse. But the city should observe the silence as the students were studying and, later, take their exam.

I was in Manila when the disaster killed more than 6,000 people and left at least a million people homeless. Deeply sad for being not able to do much for my hometown, I tried to follow the calamities' aftermath through the eyes of family, friends and neighbors who spontaneously organized search and rescue efforts. Most of them were also victims who had their own families fallen during the disaster. They grieved over hundreds of dead bodies scattered on the street as hospitals were already overcrowded. They pleaded for prayers as the city turned into a field of ruins -- wounded and struggling.

When I visited Yogyakarta in September last year, I once again had to deal with the searing wounds the disaster has cut deep in me and in the people. I saw thousands of people were still living in tents. Ruins of buildings were still piled everywhere. Relief workers from around the world have left and people were doing everything to rebuild their houses.

Talking to some of them, I realized more how the event has scarred people's lives in various ways. Their stories burst out giving me little chance to response. The same theme was repeated from one person to another. It always started with how the tremors shook the foundation of their houses and how they were stricken with utmost panic, fear and frustration.

Though the film runs only 15 minutes, I believe it can serve as the opportunity to refresh the visual memories of the disaster through a different lens. My friend told me how the World Cup 2006 helped the refugees forgot their sufferings however briefly when seeing their favorite players on TV. The voluntary groups working together also sponsored a variety of games or puppet shows to let go of the repressed emotion in a positive environment. Moving beyond being a mere distraction, the movie may do more by summoning a new courage and understanding for the people in confronting the event's memories.

There is something more in the movie than just the earthquake and its aftermath. As the boy struggles to overcome the hurdles of his misery, there come to his village a group of Japanese volunteers. Learning from the history textbooks that Japan once colonized his country, he thinks the Japanese are coming back for the same purpose. Out of nationalism, the kid with all the means he can think of strikes back at the "invaders."

At this point, the film mercilessly challenges how people think of the disaster. The visual memories of the ghostly earthquake are still vivid to many of the victims. On May 27 this year, people of Yogyakarta commemorated the first year of the disaster just to be reminded of the thousands who are still living in tents. But as I witnessed it myself, they are not loosing their hope. On the contrary, these "tent people" and people of Yogyakarta in general have been trying their best to stand back on their own feet.

Through the kid's childlike nationalism and self-perseverance to pass the national exams, the people can learn to voluntarily open their wounds once again but, this time, to be confronted with humor and healed through self-esteem.