First published on Alterity

Incredible as it may seem, but just 120km (75 miles) from the bustling metropolis of Jakarta live an ancient tribe of people who eschew the modern world entirely. They are the Amish of Indonesia and are known as the Badui (although they call themselves Kanekes). They number only around 6,000 and live in villages in the Leuwidamar Sub district, Lebak Regency.

The Badui are divided into two sub-groups; the Badui Dalam (Inner Badui) and the Badui Luar (Outer Badui). Members from each group are easily distinguishable since the Outer Badui wear only dark colours while the Inner Badui wear rough white cloth that they weave themselves.

A member of the Inner Badui
What are the taboos in Badui land? Well virtually anything you can imagine. No vehicles of any type are permitted and neither is machinery nor electronics. There is no electricity and farming must be done without using irrigation. Houses have no water and bathing is done in the nearby stream (without soap naturally). There is no education, no healthcare and no government. There is also no alcohol. In fact about the only thing that does seem to be allowed here is smoking – and sex of course (although the Badui may not be having too much of that either as there aren’t too many of them left).

Smoking is one of the few things allowed in Badui land
Nonetheless, a visit to the Badui is a truly rewarding experience. It’s as if time really does stand still. There is only here and now; the future and the past and the outside world have simply ceased to exist. Welcome to the forest.

For all their apparent aloofness and complete indifference (the Badui won’t speak to you), the Badui do seem to find foreigners as curious as we find them (they will often watch you from a distance for example).

But what could these strange people of the forest – with their ultra simplistic ways – ever find unusual about us? Don’t they realize that the only thing that matters is money and that it’s fun to spend precious time in a traffic jam and that we’re obviously going to live forever – aren’t we?

The practicalities of a visit
You can visit the Outer Badui villages after obtaining a permit and provided you go with a guide, but no foreigners are allowed to enter Inner Baduy, a sacred place, and home to a mountain which, if not looked after, the Badui say will mean the end of the world…

Getting there

By car
To get there takes about four hours from Jakarta. Get on the Jakarta-Merak Toll Road and later take the Serang exit. From Serang you’ll have to put your map reading skills to good use to get to Rangkasbitung. Then from here follow a very scenic road to the small border town of Ciboleger which is the entrance point into the wonderful Badui forest. At Ciboleger there are plenty of guides hanging around willing to help you. You’ll need one to get you the requisite travel permit and to take you into the Badui forest. The permit is usually ready in less than an hour or so. It’s also worth hiring a porter to carry your stuff. If you plan to stay the night(s) tell the guide and ask him the price of renting a simple house in one of the villages (should be around Rp.150,000/night and can sleep around 10 or more) in addition to how much his fee will be.

By train
Yes, it is possible to get there by train (if you have masochistic tendencies of course). The train departs from Tanah Abang station in central Jakarta (heading for Merak). Get off at Rangkasbitung. This will take about 1.5 hours. From Rangkasbitung use public transportation to get to Ciboleger. This may take some time – but probably not more than three hours.

An easy and enjoyable trek is to follow the path to Gajeboh Village where you can see Badui women weaving clothes. Cross the wobbly Ciujung River bamboo bridge (made without any nails) and feel your heart beat like crazy. After a couple of hours you’ll arrive at Cicakal Village where you can spend the night.

The Map of Badui land (click on it for full size image)

Stuff to bring
• Backpack
• Enough food AND drinking water
• Small stove to cook
• Hiking shoes/trainers
• Raincoat
• Jacket or sweater
• Enough clothes to wear
• Sleeping mat (plus sleeping bag for additional comfort)
• Basic medicines
• Sunglasses

Things to leave behind
The attitudes of an ignorant and selfish city dweller.

Things to buy
There are no supermarkets and there aren’t even any shops but you can buy some of the best natural honey this side of the equator.

Wine is the only subject that I can’t handle as the “Grumpy French Man”.

Wine is not only alcohol for me. It contains alcohol, nobody can deny this point, but it contains much more than that and it’s why I don’t drink beer or strong alcohol. Wine is a sharing drink that fills your mouth and your mind with extraordinary flavours, which makes you a bit dizzy but not sick, which brings you to some others worlds without being dead drunk on the floor. I am not really proud to be French for hundreds of understandable reasons. But if I have to choose one thing to be proud of from my country, then it will be wine. All real connoisseurs won’t deny that the best wines on earth are French. Of course you have amazing wines from Australia, Chile, South Africa, Italy, Spain or even California (I can tell you that for a Frenchman it’s extremely difficult to admit that they can do premium wine in the US) but, there is a but. Such quality and diversity on a small territory like France is simply unique. It’s also the way we handle our culinary culture with wine, and this is again more unique.

There are things that nobody can copy, and about wine, it’s the ground and the centuries of savoir faire (knowledge). From the fantastic white wine in the eastern part of France (Riesling,  Muscat,  Gewurztraminer), to the Champagne (no need to explain Champagne), to the Burgundy (my favorite, Romanee Conti), to this tiny area of Côte Rôtie (what work they do over there!), to the fruity and festive Rose wine in the south (Tavel is still the best), to the prestigious Bordeaux (Chateau Latour to talk about something amazing, just try it if you are rich and lucky!), until the centre with the magnificent and simple Vin de la Loire (wine from the Loire river area surrounded by the most beautiful castles on earth, not a joke). Each region has its wine; almost each village has its own wine. Sometimes some bad ones that we still enjoy with a slice of saucisson, jambon et fromage (French sausage, ham and cheese) given by the proud small producer of this tord boyaux (“twisted casings” wine in English), sometimes some basic ones that we enjoy in a simple restaurant and sometimes (most of the time), some fantastic and affordable ones that have been made with lots of passion and love. Yes, because wine is not simply alcohol, and it’s what we learn in my country from very young. Basically, we learn it too young as our parents don’t hesitate to make us taste wine at the age other kids are begging for their first Coke. But, it’s also why most of the French people appreciate wine properly. It doesn’t mean that they know wine (that’s a big legend, and I am a part of it) but it means that almost instinctively we can estimate if the wine is bad, medium, good or extraordinary.

When we grow up, we of course become a bit more curious about taste, and wine is a fantastic base to discover new flavors. We have hundred of expressions to describe a meal without wine like “a meal without wine is day without sun”. We use this expression at the beginning of the meal when everybody is sober. Then the expression changes to something much ruder that I even cannot write. Because yes, food without wine is nothing. It can seem arrogant to say so as most of the people on earth don’t drink wine with their meals. But each kind of aliment has the perfect wine for it. It’s one of the magical things about wine. It brings flavors to another level which makes your mind ready to travel around the world. This gorgee (mouthful) of liquid mixed with a nice piece of cheese…how can I describe? It’s just something we have to experience. It’s just, how can I say? I even don’t know how to say. It’s unique. It’s my ground, it’s France. It’s just great.

Maybe the most important thing about wine is the memories, memories of joy, sadness, confusion, and extreme happiness. But in any case, it’s sharing time with friends, family or beloved people. When the taste and the flying mind come, then you catch something different in the moment and this time stays engraved in your life forever. Strong alcohol makes you forget the evening or even the entire night. It will never happen with wine. Wine is our roots, not the French roots, it’s the planet roots. How come such a nectar can come from our ground? Simply because hard workers, in France, Australia, Chile, South Africa, Italia, Spain and in so many other parts of the world, work so hard, every day of their life to grow the best grapes. We should pay tribute to all these guys everywhere on our planet, a tribute to all those guys who make us dizzy with their nectar.

Wine is not something posh, but it is in Indonesia because of the price. But in my country, it’s maybe the last luxurious thing that is affordable for people with financial difficulties. Sometimes the rich people in France have horrible words about this. Like, “How come this guy buys a bottle of wine for 3 Euros when he cannot even help himself to survive”. I will tell you why, because wine brings joy in the hard times, not only because of the dizzy side, it brings you joy and flavour, and flavour should be universal. Flavour is not supposed to be only for the elite.

To finish, I would like you to read two fantastic quotes about wine from famous writers.

HEMINGWAY Ernest 1899-1961
“Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world and one of the most natural things of the world that has been brought to the greatest perfection, and it offers a greater range for enjoyment and appreciation than, possibly, any other purely sensory thing.”

PASTEUR Louis 1822-1895 (French chemist and microbiologist)
“Wine is the most healthful and most hygienic of beverages. A bottle of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the world.”

THE GRUMPY FRENCH MAN 1972-????
Not that easy to find a quote from a grumpy French man who lives here. But, I will say “without wine, I will never have written this article”.

If I had no sense of humour, I would long ago have committed suicide.

~ Mahatma Gandhi ~

 Is there any real correlation between higher acquired intelligence (through education) and sense of humour?

Research has it, there is. But maybe not really? Time and again, hundreds of thousands of taxpayers’ dollars in industrialized countries had been put into various researches trying to figure out the relationship of humour to intelligence and creativity. In researches that are frequently done by psychologists – generally people who are not known to be in a very ‘funny’ industry – the conclusions are usually a combination of some sort of statistical numbers, matrix or fancy graphs, and wordy essays of why there are either spotty or small correlations between the two.

Frankly speaking, I don’t really know much about that correlation, at least not scientifically. But I can never forget about many of the not-so-funny-jokes that got my daughter laughing out loud, sometimes to the border of being hysterical, when she was about three to six years old. I took it as her feeling relieved of having passed the notorious year of The Terrible Twos, when ‘yes’ was a ‘no’ and ‘no’ was obviously also a ‘no’.

“No. I do not want to go to bed. No, I’m not hungry. I don’t like you!”

“So, do you want me to leave the house and leave you alone, and never come back ever again?”

“No!”

I could understand why for three years afterwards she decided that she was just going to laugh at everything and anything even when I begged her to stop, as her sense of humour began to disturb my sense of tranquillity.

From the age of seven until about 11 years old, my daughter was such bliss. She had the best sense of humour a mother could hope for. Her mother was a goddess that she utterly worshiped. Daily. And not because her mother’s middle name was “Dewi” (goddess), but in her honest opinion her mother was always humorous, forever pretty, and eternally smiling (now I know where I got these wrinkles from).

Or her teacher! Because everyday my daughter also wanted to become like her teacher, with long blond hair parted in the middle, sitting nicely with one leg crossed over the other – and my daughter would act her out. To further my daughter’s educational experiences, her subsequent teachers were also mostly comical, even when I saw that from the more serious educational point of view she didn’t really get much out of her classroom time. But she was honestly a very happy kid.

Teenage years. Four of those years of learning about a sensible and settled sense of humour that made any proud mother, well, proud… for sure my daughter would carry her inner happiness and contagious outer joy all through teenage-hood.
She certainly did. No matter what bright red colours of grades and scores were on her report cards, what was more important was her ability to take life not too seriously. I guess, after all, intelligence cannot always be measured by numbers and the alphabet.
“Mr. Purtee told me that I’m weak at Maths.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t like Maths.”

“Well, if you don’t know Maths, how are you going to figure out all the sales at the Mall?  What’s the final price for a 70% off of a nice t-shirt, and if you belong to their Rewards Card you’ll get an extra 10% again?”

She pondered.

I grinned.

My daughter, who’s no longer a teenager and now maturing into adulthood, did not always have it easy. Growing up as her was tough, with huge emotional ups and downs, in a fast moving world transitioning from the 20^th to 21^st centuries, experiencing multi-cultural lifestyles, and several changes of schools and homes.

During many instances, either she was going to lose her conscious mind, or her mother thought she’d lost all her marbles. But hopefully, that happy and healthy part of her earlier childhood, when simply making a silly face or blowing a raspberry could produce glee, when telling the same jokes would provoke contagious laughter, are part of the reasons that we’re both still standing. Giving children the gift of laughter and humour, experts say can be a very important part of social and intelligence development. After all, there is correlation between education and sense of humour…

So Mark, what were you doing before you started Equinox Publishing?

I started working in Switzerland after college with a bank and they moved me around a few times from Zurich to Hong Kong, back to Zurich and then finally here in Jakarta in March 1997. You know – young, dumb and full of…ummm…energy – so I thought it was great. When I left the bank a year later I wanted to stay in Indonesia (it was a fascinating time) but wasn’t keen on starting a new job. I was the editor of my high school yearbook and for some reason I thought that qualified me to write a book (it didn’t). I spent a year and a half researching and writing and in March 2000 we published Kretek: The Culture and Heritage of Indonesia’s Clove Cigarettes.

What prompted you to go into publishing, and what were the initial challenges?

I was in a fortunate position that I didn’t need (or want) to pitch my book to a publisher so I set up a company to do it myself. I didn’t have any intention of getting into the book business with the exception of this one book. After the book was published I discovered I wasn’t such a great writer after all but did like the business of book publishing. The book market in Indonesia was just taking off in 2000 and I was lucky to ride that wave. And 12 years later we’re going strong.

What types of books does Equinox publish, and how many titles do you currently print?

We have over 100 books in print and we focus on historical non-fiction. The range is pretty extensive though, basically everything besides cook books, children’s books and poetry.

As a publisher, what do you look for in a submission?

I look for manuscripts that I would like to read myself. I seldom try to figure out what the market wants as I am not sure they even know. I like to see manuscripts that are organized and polished – it makes reviewing them much easier and shows the writer actually cares about his work.

What would you say makes Equinox different from other publishers?

Being an English-language publisher in Indonesia is, by definition, a niche market inside another niche market. There aren’t many publishers that do what we do so I am not too concerned about competition. We tried publishing some Indonesian-language books in the past but simply couldn’t compete with the other 1000 or so publishers on content, editing and price. Interestingly, I recall asking a local-language publisher how they price their books, and he told me they look at the cost to photocopy it and add a small premium. That’s when I decided I should really focus on English-language books.

Who’s your favourite author, and why?

For non-Indonesian writers it’s a toss up between Ayn Rand and Milan Kundera. Both authors have deeply influenced me in my younger years, and continue to do so even today. Among local authors, it would have to be Pramoedya Ananta Toer. I was privileged to get to know him quite well before he died, and was always humbled by the humanity in his character and writing.

When you’re not busy with work, how do you usually spend your free time?

I’m blessed with a wonderful, energetic 4-year old boy and try to spend as much time with him as possible.

Having lived in Jakarta for quite a while, what would you say are the best things about life here in the big durian?

Jakarta has a very steep learning curve. I don’t know many people who move here and immediately feel at home – especially if you have a family. Once you get used to it, though, you can begin to appreciate some of the charms – the biggest one for me is being able to do just about anything you want. I tend to think of the rules or laws in Jakarta are more like guidelines or “best practices” and am always amazed how many different ways you can get things done here. The problem is it just takes a while to figure these things out.

Last question! If you were to be stranded on a desert island indefinitely with only one book to read over and over, what would it be?

Without a doubt it would be Bule Gila: Tales of a Dutch Barman in Jakarta. I forget the name of the author though.

Ian Burnet, a former geologist and avid historian is visiting Jakarta, he spoke to us about his recently published book Spice Islands.

Spice Islands takes the reader on the historical quest for spices. The book starts with the fact that cloves and nutmeg only grew on a few tiny islands of Maluku in Eastern Indonesia, this is then followed by the little known fact that

some cloves were found in an archaeological dig in Syria that has been dated to 1721 BC. The book tells of the history of the spice trade over a period of more than 2000 years from the Arab, Chinese and Venetian traders to the trading conquests of the Portuguese, Spanish and Dutch. The fascinating history of the spice trade is told through the stories of the great traders and explorers including Marco Polo, Zheng He, Christopher Columbus, Vasco da Gama, Ferdinand Magellan, Sir Francis Drake and Jan Pieterszoom Coen.

What first brought you to Indonesia?

I came here to work as a geologist in 1968, after foreign oil companies signed the first production sharing contracts in Indonesia. Growing up in Australia in the 1950s we were taught European history. It was as if Asia didn’t exist, so Indonesia was all very fascinating to me.

How did your fascination with the Spice Islands and the spice trade start?

Before I came to Indonesia, I read up on the history of the archipelago and the Dutch East Indies Company, but I was surprised to learn after I arrived that the Portuguese and the Spanish had been here for 100 years before the Dutch. So my interest in the Spice Islands started there, and in the year 2000 I realised that there was an untold story waiting to be written.

How did you do the historical research for the book?

When the idea came to me I was working in London, so I had access to the British Library, I then travelled to the Netherlands, Portugal and Venice to collect a lot of additional research material.

In your view who was the most admirable and courageous of the early traders and explorers?

The Pepper Prince or Pierre Poivre. He was brave enough to challenge the all-powerful Dutch East Indies Company, who had a complete monopoly over the spice trade from Indonesia.

And the worst?

Jan Pieterszoon Coen was always the villain. His attack on the Bandanese earned him a place in infamy, but his wrong-doings were washed over because there was a general feeling that if you indict Coen, then you indict all of the Dutch East Indies Company.

Tell me about some of the remarkable people you met while researching this book?

The sister of the Sultan of Ternate. She is a marvellous woman. Interestingly, when the Japanese invaded during World War II, the Dutch evacuated the Sultan and his family to Brisbane, so that’s where she went to school and learnt English.

Where can we pick up a copy of your book?

Copies can be purchased from Periplus bookstores in Jakarta or from Bartele Gallery in Kemang (021 719 0087) who can deliver the book to you free of charge.

‘‘I believe the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way’’.  I couldn’t agree more with this excerpt from the first verse of an 80’s hit song performed by the late Whitney Houston.

In the urban areas of Indonesia, a growing middle class backed by rising incomes has increased the demand for high quality education at International Schools. If we were to walk into any International School today, we would notice a sizable number of Indonesian students. A decade ago, the sight of an Indonesian student here was as rare as an UFO sighting.

Many parents believe that enrolling their children in an International School would help them develop the necessary knowledge, skills and to some extent, the right network of rich and affluent classmates – something that is worth paying for, even if it means Mummy has to sacrifice buying less Italian handbags.

While things may look bright and rosy for those enjoying the air-conditioned classrooms at an International School, the vast majority of Indonesian students still learn their ABCs in government schools, whose standards are a far cry from that of International Schools.

The government provides nine years of free and compulsory education for its citizens, up until the completion of Junior High School. After that, the number of drop-outs increase drastically as students cite the inability to pay the tuition fees as the main reason. An Education Ministry report in 2010 highlighted that as many as 1.26 million students did not continue into high school for that very reason. Low income families struggle to allocate USD20 a month (fees vary according to province) for their child’s high school education, yet many of us can easily spend that same amount on a steak or on a T-shirt that we’ll never wear.

From what I’ve gathered, public school teachers are paid a measly salary. According to newspaper reports, most only receive a monthly salary ranging from USD50 to USD150. I’m pretty sure we know of maids and waiters with bigger pay checks. That being said, many doubt the qualifications and the motivation of these teachers to impart knowledge to their students. The lack of monetary motivation causes lax disciplinary enforcement in public schools, bringing rise to several problems. Widespread cheating during the national examinations is as common as street demonstrations in Jakarta.

‘Hooliganism’ is another problem. While sitting through the macet of Jakarta, don’t be surprised if you see hordes of people behaving rowdily atop buses and trucks. Take a closer look and you’ll notice that they are all school kids, some still in school uniform while others don the colours of their favourite local football team. There have been cases whereby some had been arrested for possession of dangerous weapons.

The problems plaguing the public education system are aplenty and there have been numerous calls for the government to further invest in education. With Indonesia often being touted as the next big thing, there is a great need to properly educate the children of today to power the nation tomorrow.

Many experts believe that a child’s education begins at home. Rich or poor; nanny or nanny-less, we should still allocate time to spend with our children as we are their best role models. During a recent visit to an orphanage, some of the older kids told me of their ambitions of becoming doctors and pilots. Even without parental guidance, they had the vision and ambition to have high income careers. At a toy store a few weeks back, my daughter was asked to choose between a doctor’s play set and a janitor’s kit; she chose the latter. I guess I need to spend more time with my daughter too…

Alcoholics Bar & Grill
Jalan Kemang Raya no. 72N
Jakarta Selatan
021 7195675
info@alcoholicsbar.com

If you’re trying to wean yourself off the booze, maybe it’s better you stay away from this extremely pro-alcohol spot in Kemang which just opened on the 28th of April, apply named Alcoholics Bar & Grill. Run by duo, Chef Patrick and his wife Judith, they wanted to create something truly unique whereby every single thing served on the menu is cooked with alcohol. Their bi-line? “The only place where you can eat alcohol.”

This venue may be small, but it’s cozy, made up of two floors; downstairs the bar with a few tables for sitting and upstairs a dining area with a few booths, dining tables and bar-style seating. The interior is black and white with exposed white brick walls, black ceilings, black leather booths and large posters with alcohol slogans such as “Wine, Dine and Sixty-Nine” decorate the walls. The staff are friendly and speak English well.

“I love cooking and drinking,” says Chef Patrick, “That’s where the idea for Alcoholics Bar and Grill came from.” Chef Patrick worked in F & B in Sydney for many years and he created the menu himself by trial and error at home. Judith supported him the whole way and looks after marketing, customers and much more.

So what’s on the menu? Their signature Drunken Steak offers you the choice of Sirloin, Rib Eye, T-Bone, Tenderloin, Fillet Mignon and Lamb Chop and you can choose your poison, so to speak, of the infusion sauce: Bintang, Guinness, Red Wine, Brandy or Jack Daniels. Their signature chicken dish, Beer Can Chicken, is a whole rottiserrie chicken literally steamed on a beer can and served with chips, mushy peas and salad. This dish takes an hour to cook at exactly 175 degrees Celcius and a chef comes out to cut the chicken up for you. The menu is not vegetarian-friendly, but you can make requests and something like a Ratatouille can be whipped up for you.

Other creative dishes on the menu include the Guinness Mini Burger which was a real juicy hit, Salmon Tartar with red wine dressing, Brandy Garlic Prawns and Nachos with a zesty tequila salsa. Even the desserts are all made with alcohol. Our favourites were homemade Baileys Ice Cream and the Kahlua Chocolate Mousse.

Ok, so you can’t actually get drunk off of food that’s been cooked with alcohol, but you certainly can off their cocktails and shooters which are seriously strong. I’m talking two sips and you feel it go to your head. We were given a Bob Marley shooter which was tricolored and a concoction of Rum, Peppermint Bols, Banana liquor and Strawberry syrup. Then Patrick’s bartender created a new shooter made up of Bols Peppermint, Baileys and Grand Marnier which was named after us – the Flaming Expat!

During the weekends, space is cleared on the second floor by the DJ booth to have a boogie to house music. This is a perfect pre-clubbing joint. The promotional prices will carry on until May 13th and you can get an additional 10% off your bill during this period. Chef Patrick and Judith are keen on introducing their concept to expats, so do come if you’re curious but just be careful not to trip on the stairs if you’ve had a few too many. Their take-away bags have “I’M NOT DRUNK” printed on them so be sure to show this to your significant other if you get in trouble for staggering through the door late.

Take an ambitious businessman drunk on being so close to power, a media baron who uses his political acquaintances to strengthen his own newspaper’s position, the highly idealistic radical who talks of empathy with the common worker with his middle class friends all the while telling said workers their leaders know best, and a civil servant knowing the only way to appease his ambitious wife is to turn corrupt.

No, these aren’t recent stories taken from the local English language newspapers. These are just some of the characters at the heart of Mochtar Lubis’ novel, Twilight in Jakarta, which takes place in the years after independence.

Mochtar’s work was considered highly controversial at the time and indeed was banned by a sensitive government with the writer spending time in jail. It was also the first Indonesian novel to be translated into English. Indeed, given that many viewed the book when it was written as a thinly veiled attack on the Sukarno government during the early years of independence, it was initially released in English and Malay before earning its release in the author’s native tongue in 1970, several years after being originally penned.

A political leader approaches a powerful businessman. He needs to raise big money for the party to fight the next election and they come up with a scheme where the businessman, his second wife and his son set up a number of companies to sell lucrative import licenses. The money flows in and the son gives up his job working as a meager civil servant to become a gentleman of leisure, frequenting high class prostitutes, buying expensive cars and generally enjoying the trappings of wealth.

He attends a small group who meet on a regular basis where they discuss the ills that afflict Indonesian society. This talking shop much resembles a scene from Monty Python’s Life of Brian where they gather round a table and talk a great deal about various problems to do nothing about solving them.

One of the group’s members is all for exploring Islam as a means to improve people’s livelihoods, another has very strong left leanings, expressing strong concern and links with the common working man but in fact looks down on them as much as the people he claims to loathe look down on him.

The book paints a picture of people out to enrich themselves as quickly as possible and while one or two of the characters start to have twinges of doubt it makes a depressing, yet enthralling read.

The famous old cliché says, “The pen is mightier than the sword”. That adage was proved correct when Max Havalaar was released towards the end of the 19th century. Written by a Dutch Civil Servant who had spent several years in the then Dutch East Indies, Max Havalaar created quite a storm in the Netherlands as it lifted the long, brutal and oppressive colonial system many thousands of miles away.

Written by Edward Douwes Dekker under the pseudonym Multatuli, a Latin construction meaning ‘I have carried much’, Max Havalaar recalls Dekker’s time in the region of Lebak, near Rangkasbitung in modern day Banten province. He was appointed Assistant Resident in Lebak after spells in Ambon, West Sumatra and Manado so he had grown familiar with the way of life in the colonies. He was no angel himself; an early attempt at marriage fell through when the prospective father in law found out about his penchants for fighting and gambling.

Lebak was known as a particularly unattractive posting with the Regent or local ruler widely believed to be taking advantage of his people for his own gains. Dekker’s predecessor, Carolus, had been investigating on the quiet but his superior, the Resident, had not been supportive.

Dekker, given what he felt was approval from the very centre of Dutch power in the East, set about unraveling the corruption and the abuses he had heard about. When he heard from Carolus’ widow she suspected her husband had been poisoned he went into overdrive and within a month of arriving in Lebak and scared he would be next, he immediately filed a report concerning the Regent’s activities.

Instead of getting a pat on the head and told he had done a good job, the Governor General ordered his removal from Lebak and assigned him elsewhere. He quit before taking up the new post.

He wrote Max Havalaar after returning to Europe, basing it on his experiences in Lebak and the frustrations he felt during those four or five weeks. But rather than coming across as the bitter rants of a crusty old expat with too many years in the tropics it brought about a rethink of colonial policy. For years after, Dekker tried, unsuccessfully, to clear his name and return to the Indies with a good stipend but they weren’t having it. Reform they must under pressure from home, seemed to be the attitude but they were damned if they were going to all that infernal whistle blower back in to their lands.

It’s not an easy book to read. In an introduction to the American edition, no less a person than D. H. Lawrence opined that, “As far as composition goes it is the greatest mess possible”, and certainly a casual first time reader can find themselves moving from a trading house in Amsterdam where the narration comes from a reluctant coffee broker to sitting in a coach on the road from Serang with no explanation. And from chapter eight we have Havalaar talking about himself in the third person before becoming an ‘I’ in Chapter 9!

And so it continues with the reader desperately gasping for air, wondering who is doing the narrating and where as he is zipped around the world with all the comfort of a frequent flyer but without the jet lag.

It is right that two of the greatest pieces of literature about Indonesia should focus on abuse of power and injustice. That is what literature does. It may not change things overnight but it does make people start to question their own ingrained attitudes. Consider, for example, Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist or Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. Both were books of their time. Catalysts for future change for a future generation.

Certainly Dekker and Mochtar never got to enjoy any literary fame their works may have deserved. They were too close to the truth but they opened many eyes to that truth and each new pair of eyes opened was a step closer to change.

The Raid: Redemption is an Indonesian film like no other. It’s a wildly exciting adrenaline rush of a punch fest that recently reached number 11 at the U.S. box office, a phenomenal achievement for an Indonesian film. It has electrified Indonesian audiences and injected new energy into the national film scene, standing head and shoulders above a recent slew of well made, internationally acclaimed releases. Sony Classics has snapped up the rights and an American remake is already in the works.

So what is the secret of The Raid’s remarkable success?

At first glance, the plot of The Raid seems too straightforward to sustain a full-length film. A SWAT team lead by Jaka (Joe Taslim) must storm a run-down multi-storey apartment block to arrest evil crime lord Tama (Ray Sahetapy). Things take a turn for the worse when Tama offers the apartment’s badass residents hefty rewards for killing his pursuers. They are happy to oblige. Now the vastly outnumbered SWAT team must fight its way out to survive. Much mayhem ensues.

What’s special about the Raid is how excitingly and compellingly this simple story is told. From the moment the fighting begins, about five minutes into the film, the combat is frenetic and relentless, with action scenes that put most Western films of the genre to shame for their sheer speed, brutality and inventiveness. The gritty look and the handheld camerawork put you right in the thick of the action, as if you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the SWAT team, wincing at every blow. At times it’s an almost exhausting ride, not for the squeamish or faint of heart. In the soon-to-be classic corridor scene, SWAT hero Rama, played by Iko Uwais, takes on an army of attackers using only his bare hands. The fight choreography is simply jaw-dropping as he punches, kicks, stamps and gouges his way through the massed assailants. The intensity, creativity and physicality of the combat – and its general lack of reliance on computer generated imagery – has prompted several American reviewers to complain that Indonesia is now better at doing action films than America, the genre’s pioneer.

Iko Uwais, tipped to be the next 'Bruce Lee'

It’s likely that The Raid: Redemption will propel Iko Uwais to some level of international stardom – there has even been talk of him being “the new Bruce Lee”.  He was a highly skilled but unknown martial artist before Gareth Evans, The Raid’s Welsh writer/director/editor discovered him. At the time Evans was making a documentary on silat, Indonesia’s brand of martial arts, but he was so impressed by the dramatic potential of his silat skills that he cast him in Merantau, his first major feature film. Under Evans’s excellent direction, and in his second major movie, Iko Uwais delivers an engaging performance as an actor. As a fighter he positively shines.

Iko is not the only stand-out performer in the Raid. His real life silat teacher, Yayan Ruhian, is terrifying as a Mad Dog, a villain who likes to kill people with his bare hands because it’s more fun. At times when he’s fighting he seems more like a supernatural monster than a mere mortal, with lifeless black eyes and straggly hair falling like curtains over his face. He choreographed all the fight scenes with Iko Uwais and will soon be doing the same for the American remake.

Ray Sahetapy also deserves a special mention. His Tama is a uniquely vicious and chilling Indonesian villain, who speaks with a quiet voice and carries a big hammer. The understated sliminess and uncomfortable humour he brings to the role are reminiscent of the best of Tarantino.

Aside from Evans and cinematographer Matt Flannery, everyone involved in the production of the Raid is Indonesian, including all the actors, the funders, the producers and the entire special effects team. The Raid: Redemption is a truly Indonesian film that has pushed this nation’s action films into exciting new territory.

See it when you can — if you dare.

* * * * *

Five stars out of five!
Rated R for strong brutal bloody violence throughout, and language.

My wife Srie and I, normally resident in Indonesia, recently spent four months in Sydney where our son is studying.

I’m British, and this was my fifth visit to Sydney and my seventh to Australia. My first reaction this time was “This is a nation of FOODIES!”. What a contrast to my first visit in 1989, when the dominating food smell was lamb chops, closely followed by fish’n’chips. Now Sydney must be the most culinary-obsessed city in the world, with a vast selection of restaurants and cafes, overflowing onto the pavements Mediterranean style, and day and night packed with patrons obviously enjoying not slaving away in 9 to 5 offices – I mean they can’t all be visitors. “Master Chef” and its companions dominate the TV screens. Well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with nutritious well-cooked food, and the Australians are definitely veering in the direction of the French/Sundanese  “live to eat” attitude rather than the Brit/Javanese one of “eat to live”. However, with the strength of the Australian dollar, food prices for us were high compared to Jakarta. An average food court/restaurant meal with drink costs about A$15-20 (approx rp 150,000 to 200,000). The cheapest deal I found was A$5 pie and chips on the UNSW campus.

The next obvious difference is the refreshing attitude in Australia of minding one’s own business. In general, nobody bothers with or comments on what you look like, what you wear, etc. People get on with their individual lives. In contrast, it seems that hovering over Indonesia a huge gossip-fuelled incubus continually probing for and feeding on perceived negative behaviour. Is this the sign of a stupid level of intelligence, or a more noble concern with social cohesion?

It all comes down to whichever is stronger: individualism as in Western countries: social feeling as in Indonesia and other Asian countries. Both have their place in the world. The upside in Indonesia is that the sensitivity of feeling in Indonesia, manifested in the friendliness and hospitality of its inhabitants, does lubricate the land, and make it a far more pleasant place to live than some more individualistic and aridly efficient countries. I found myself crying with happiness as I returned to this land which has become my second home.

This reaction would be incomprehensible to the Sydneysider we met while flat-hunting there. When I told him that we lived in Indonesia, he countered with one word, “Why?” Not “Where?” but “Why? Both countries have a misleading impression of each other. Indonesia is generally seen in Australia as teeming with poverty and corruption, a base for terrorists and gangs of people smugglers.

This was illustrated by the recent case of the “Bali Boy”, the 14-year old Australian who was caught in Bali with cannabis, in fact boasting of it while the locals were telling him not to flaunt it. Cries of horror permeated the Australian press, and the Prime Minister herself was involved in a campaign to rescue the poor boy from what would appear to be a fate reserved for victims of the Gestapo or the Inquisition. Whatever one’s opinion about the criminality of using weed, the fact is that, as Bobby Fuller once said, he fought the law and the law won.  I never saw this once mentioned in the Australian press.  And while I’m on this, what about the Australian slobs who regularly turn Kuta into a toilet, especially past midnight when the bars secrete them into the streets. One such paragon was heard to say “I get drunk on the plane going there, I’m drunk all the time in Bali, and I’m still drunk on the plane going home.” There are three words for this kind of behaviour – stupid racial arrogance. What would happen if a bunch of Indonesians or other Asians behaved like that on the Gold Coast? –  they’d be cut to pieces.

This group, it must be said, is in stark contrast to the thousands of fine, sensitive Australian backpackers and holidaymakers who interact positively with Bali and Indonesia.

However, the Bali slob stereotype does reinforce an attitude in some circles Indonesia that Australians are crude and racialist. This is becoming rarer, although most Asian students I talk to say that they still experience racialism in Australia. Most countries in the world, however, could learn from the affirmative social programs, government and volunteer, that are in place in Australia. Medical and community welfare programs are at the leading edge. And on a more individual level, there is a quiet compassion and mutual respect among Australians, no matter what their racial origin. We were fortunate to find a flat in Coogee Bay, near the ocean and the whales and dolphins, and for some reason lots of Kiwis. It turned into a village for us over the four months we were there, and we got to know many of the people by sight and name – if it were Wales it would be Len the Bus, Kane the Hair, Kurt the Travel, Gerry the Heritage, Wayne and Nicole the Fish’n’Chips, etc. Yes, for me, the Sydneysiders, with their geniality, wry humour, compassion and underlying toughness, are among the finest people in the world.

And Australia, increasingly multicultural, has surely the potential to become one of the world’s really leading nations. Its values of true blue, mateship, and seeing the other bloke’s point of view, are a fine inheritance. It has traditional democracy and firm communal institutions in place, and can open itself up to a far greater population.

Jakarta by Darren Alderson

Indonesia, on the other hand, has the problems in reverse. It already had teeming centrifugal populations with all the attendant problems, a heritage of colonialism, and neo-colonialism, racial and religious divergence, poverty and corruption, before it gave democracy a real chance in 1998. I mean, who would you rather be, Julia Gillard or SBY?

Still, it’s great to be back in the Durian, with the friendliness of the people sparkling through the traffic snarls, the deafening mall music, and even the contrived unreal reality TV shows and sinetrons which promote the violent expression of personal emotion so alien to the Javanese and Sundanese.

In contrast, however, I think if the Sydneysider who asked me why I lived in Indonesia, were to see, for example, one episode of the hilarious  “Opera Van Java” which goes out every night on Indonesia TV, even if he didn’t understand it, he might realize that here is a people with a capacity for sophisticated enjoyment that compares favourable with the Sydneysiders’ obsession with the culture of food.

Anyway, I hope these contribution to the literature of culture and re-entry shock, admittedly full of steretoypes, by someone who has no national axe to grind, are useful.