Warisan dan Impian

On November 7, 2010, one of Indonesia's top sinologist passed away.  Ignatius Wibowo, who was lovingly referred to as Romo Bowo, left behind many friends, students, proteges, and family members who had found in him a symbol of honesty, intelligence, hard work, and humility.  

I had been introduced to Romo Bowo by my good friend, Victor, who was a former student of Romo Bowo.  I, myself, never had the luxury of being his student. Even before meeting him, I had read so much academic literature written by this man of cloth, who had also dedicated his life to making China studies more accessible to all Indonesians.  Of course, I was nervous during that first encounter.  But all of that disappeared, as I quickly learned about Romo Bowo's kind and generous character.

I had had the chance to visit him during his bout with cancer.  And even during those times, he had acted as if nothing could prevent him from continuing on with his passion for the academics, especially for the study of China.  Such fighting spirit was what stayed in me after I last talked to him.  And, almost two years since his passing away, that spirit remains alive, not only in me, but most likely also in the hearts of his friends and colleagues.

A short while after Romo Bowo's passing away, Natalia Soebagjo and a few of Romo Bowo's colleagues decided to compile a Liber Amicorum, a tribute to this good man.  Victor and I were more than happy to be part of the project. Below is our contribution to that effort.

When the Ideal Seems Far from Real

I first met Aimee Dawis last month, in an elevator in Guiyang, China.  It was in the morning before the China-ASEAN Symposium organized by Guizhou University.  

Least to say, it was a brief encounter, probably uneventful.  I thought that Aimee was Chinese, like the other 1.3 billion people in that land.  Then again, it is possible that Aimee may have also thought that I was Chinese, from somewhere in Guangdong, where the people can sometimes be of darker skin.

Now, when looking back, having just finished Aimee’s book, I can say how appropriate that encounter was. 

The confusion of identity.  And thus, the struggle to resurrect, rediscover, redeem this identity.  This is the underlying theme of Aimee’s book, titled “Orang Indonesia Tionghoa Mencari Identitas” (Chinese Indonesians In Search of Identity). 

The book looks at the experience of Chinese Indonesians during the New Order era of Soeharto’s dictatorial regime (which ended in 1998).  An era when freedoms were limited, and more so, expressions of Chineseness, through written and spoken literature, performance arts, traditional ceremonies and the media, were simply not allowed.  They were all banned.

Forced into assimilation, the Chinese Indonesians were legally stripped off their cultural ties to Mainland China, the land of their forefathers.  However, Aimee argues that within such an environment, Chinese Indonesians managed to find semblances of their Chinese identity in the form of Chinese drama series, which were contraband items, whose possession could risk legal penalties.

Many who watched these drama series (most coming from Taiwan and Hongkong, two entities that were always careful to maintain a distance from Communist Mainland China) found some comfort in the values, ideas, and images projected in the series.  They gave the viewers a sense of what it (probably) means to be of Chinese background, in a surrounding devoid of any Chinese cultural symbols.

To those who felt prejudiced by the New Order’s dictatorial regime, the Chinese drama series gave their viewers a sense of a “desired other”, and imagined escape from their daily hardship.  To those searching for their cultural roots, the series gave them a sense of an “imagined homeland”.  And to those feeling disjointed from the Indonesian community at large, the Chinese drama series provided a feeling of “imagined community”, a feeling of belonging to something.

While appreciating her insights into the connection between media (as represented by the drama series) and identity, I also enjoyed Aimee’s discussion of the plurality of Chinese Indonesians.  Indonesians too often like to see the Chinese Indonesian community as a single, exclusive identity.  Many times, this has been to the detriment of these Chinese Indonesians.  Resentment towards affluent Chinese Indonesians often results in hardships for the poorer ones, just because they are of the same descent.  Therefore, recognition of plurality is a step towards breaking down exclusiveness, and the prejudices that come along with it.

What I like about this book is the honest tone with which it is written. Aimee doesn’t pretend to know it all, admitting that as a “native ethnographer” she is more susceptible to getting things wrong (in the guise of supposed truths) than right.  As a result, she allows the facts to speak, and the opinions to surface without major adulteration.  Aimee merely provides a framework of thought to guide the reader into understanding the underlying theme of her analysis.

Employing narrations obtained from focus group discussions involving Chinese Indonesians growing up during the New Order era, the book does not shy away from the stereotypes, prejudices, and feelings that color the uneasy relationship between Chinese and non-Chinese Indonesians.  It contained accounts of Chinese Indonesians from Sumatera to Papua, those who regard themselves as “totok” and “peranakan”, those who speak Chinese and didn’t.  In the end, the book says things the way they are, and not the way most Indonesians often prefer to.

So honest was Aimee that she wrote this at the beginning of the book: “Ini baru sebuah awal”.  This is just a beginning.  And if this is so, then I certainly am looking forward to what’s to follow.  Not only the views that Aimee would develop in the future, but as a whole, the body of literature on Chinese Indonesians, identity politics, the diaspora, Indonesian studies, China studies, and even diplomacy.  A body of literature born in a freer Indonesia, based and carried out by people relishing in these new freedoms. 

Aimee actually outlined some of the possible directions for such studies.  The possibilities are endless.  Maybe, just maybe, I can be part of this movement. 

I think that the notion of “a confusion of identity” will never wholly disappear.  Not with the Chinese Indonesians.  Not with every Indonesian in general, who live in a country so diverse and various.  For identities are never singular, and people are free to assume multiple identities in this globalized world.   

More studies on this theme, however, would raise greater awareness of the values, the prejudices, and the sentiments that we live with every day.  To make us feel more grounded, and assured of each and one of our identities. To make us recognize that what we deemed to be truths are sometimes actually far from it. 

At least, having read this book, the next time around I will know who Aimee Dawis is.  And that’ll be something, ‘cause that’s one identity I would not be confused of.

The China-ASEAN Symposium in Guizhou

Clipping from Indonesian Mandarin-language newspaper, Guoji Ribao,1 August 2012

On 27-28 July 2012, I was invited to participate in the China-ASEAN Symposium held at Guizhou University, Guiyang, PRC.

It was my first trip to Guiyang, a city in the southwest of China which has been left behind by the progress of today's China.  A city colored by the diverse traditions, languages, and customs of the Miao, Buoyi, and other ethnic minorities.  A city which often calls itself as the "reddest" (i.e. most Communist) in the country.  A city which is only now catching up to the economic miracle already savored by China's coastal cities.

The symposium itself was quite a productive occasion.  At the heart of the discussions was the progress of cooperation between ASEAN and China as well as the state of studies in China, ASEAN, and ASEAN-China relations. In addition to Southeast Asia and ASEAN experts from all over China, the symposium organizers also invited experts from all ASEAN member countries, except Vietnam (apparently the Vietnamese had been invited, but couldn't respond in time).

I found the discussions, including during coffee breaks and meals, very honest.  The Chinese academics spoke their minds, which often is a more flowery regurgitation of the government's position.  However, many times these academics also talked about the worries China live with, thus showing a more human face to the rising power that China is.

At a time when China-ASEAN relations seem to face a slight hiccup, following incidents in the South China Sea and the recent AMM debacle (in which the Cambodians have been accused of succumbing to Chinese pressure in its handling of the ASEAN Chairmanship), the symposium provided a means to once again recognize the benefits and value (as well as challenges) of the ASEAN-China partnership.

I had a good time there.  Both because of the conference, but also because of the chance to visit yet another part of China which I had never been too.  I've studied this country and lived in it for some time.  I'm no expert, but I'd like to think of myself as an avid observer.  And yet, there are always surprises around the corner; places, people, and things that make me marvel, raise my eyebrows, smile, and what-have-you.

I love this job...

Way to go, Guizhou...

“In September 2005, the Peace Corps sent Mike Levy to teach English in China’s heartland.  His hosts in the city of Guiyang found additional uses for him…”

Those couple of sentences on the back of Michael Levy’s Kosher Chinese: Living Teaching, and Eating with China’s Other Billion were enough to make me feel that despite its Rp 175.000 price tag, this book was going to be worth all of it.  I didn’t even think twice.  There were two copies on the shelf; I decided on the one with less cracks on its spine.  And with a swipe of my HSBC credit card, a copy of Levy’s biography/travel writing officially became the newest addition to the robust China Studies section of my personal library.

What a coincidence, I figured. 

A week earlier, I had received an invitation to take part in a China-ASEAN Symposium in Guiyang.  I had never been to Guizhou before; it never crossed my mind.  I’ve had dreams of going to Tibet, Gansu (Tibet’s next door neighbor), or probably even Jilin in the northeast.  But Guizhou somehow had never registered in my long “To Visit” list.  And so, just like my decision to buy Levy's book, I didn’t think twice before accepting the invitation. 

Like many foreigners living in big cities in China, my three and a half years there were spent mostly trying to discover Beijing (in itself a gargantuan city) and take trips to China’s coastal, eastern, and more modern parts.  I did visit Chongqing and Chengdu, but these were hubs of China’s western economic development.  So, while the pace of life there was slower than in Beijing or Shanghai, there were enough Starbucks, McDonald’s, and Audi dealerships to make sure that I always felt strongly the imprint of westernization, or globalization, if you may.  Probably my trips to Xinjiang and Ningxia would be the furthest I’ve ever been away from the glitzy glamour of China’s “peaceful rise” and economic prowess.

And so, what should I expect from Guiyang?  I’m willing to let myself be surprised next week when I actually set foot there.  Then again, there have been many times when nothing could’ve prepared me for any particular trip in China.  I remember the time when I went on a familiarization trip (paid for by the Chinese Ministry of Trade) to Xuzhou in Jiangsu Province, thinking all the time that I was going to Suzhou, the more popular city of the same province.  I can’t forget the shock on my face when discovering this the next morning.  The funny thing was that I would later find out that I hadn’t been the only foreigner in the group to make this mistake.

Therefore, I made the choice to seek guidance from Levy’s book, which described the lives of “the other billion” Chinese.  Which other billion?  The other billion whose lives rarely make it to the western media.  These are the people who, in 2005, remained beyond many western pundits’ frame of reference.  They are not whom we refer to when describing China’s economic boom and reform.  We know little about them; and thus, it is almost certain that they would most likely know little about us.  Of course, that’s until one of them show up to a coffee date wearing the latest Prada knock-off, putting away her iPad, while humming to Justin Beiber’s “If I Was Your Boyfriend”.

Indeed, during my stay in China, I experienced enough of this supposed gap between globalization and tradition, between modernity and backwardness, between those who continue to live by Mao’s tenets and others who prefer to realize Deng’s vision.  I only had to turn the corner from my apartment to understand the stark contrast in livelihoods between my perfume-smelling neighbors and those living in makeshift houses in the outskirts of Beijing.  However, in spite of all of this, I knew very well that I lived within the comforts of Beijing’s abundant resources, facilities, and services.  I had in my power to turn away from discomfort if I ever wanted to.  And I knew enough foreigners to live in a bubble and be shielded from China’s other reality.

However, looking back, I do realize that I’ve been in too many foul-smelling toilets and seen too many scary traffic accidents to know that China is a place of two faces.  And that, while there is a Shenzhen that is as modern as any city in America, there is also a Guiyang that is probably a few light years behind.  Realizing this, I felt that Levy’s book would somehow provide me with yet another eye-opener into the Chinese way of life.

Kosher Chinese was an easy read; I finished it in 3 days, mostly during breaks at work.  It was a fun and insightful account of life in a part of China that I don’t really know.  Levy lived a life completely immersed in Chinese.  He spent days after days with his students, who would confide in them the many challenges they faced in life.  He ate many local delicacies, which I never dared going near.  And although he never mentioned any romantic episodes throughout the book, I find it a bit difficult for anyone to have never been in any way allured by the beauty of almond-shaped Chinese eyes. 

I may have travelled to more places in China and lived there longer than Levy, but I enjoyed each and every one of the stories Levy recounted.  Probably because Levy never tried to sound smart, teaching his readers in a patronizing way.  His humor seems to come from the views of a generation of westerners that I feel a belonging to.  A couple of times, I couldn’t help giggle to myself while reading the book on my taxi rides to work.  Sure enough, the book was as much a lesson on the Chinese people as it was a confirmation of the similar experiences I had lived through before.

One of my favorite chapters talked about Levy’s frustration when trying to communicate in Chinese, particularly with those who just didn’t seem to have any patience in understanding his non-native accent.  No matter how hard he tried to churn out the tonal sounds of each syllable, the Chinese people would simply respond with ta ting bu dong, he doesn’t understand.  That encapsulated part of my life in Beijing, one of the most frustrating things about living in China.  Of course, that was until I began to learn the local drawl; something that I learned during drunkard nights coming out from Vics Nightclub.  Yet, somehow I have a feeling that the people in Guiyang would hardly understand my poor, accidental lao bei jing accent.

I also enjoyed Levy’s account of the ignorance, or lack of knowledge, that many Chinese seem to suffer from.  Yes, many know about Celine Dion and Arnold Schwarzenegger.  And yes, many know how important China is becoming in the global community.  However, many also believe that life in the West is simply decadent, dangerous, and unfulfilling.   Many generalize about things outside of China, like how Jews are superior in many things, and that Africans are not in many others.  Not many either knows the difference between Indonesia and India, or whereabouts Indonesia is in comparison to Malaysia.  Whenever I meet people like these, I instantly recognize that maybe those westerners preaching about the dangers of China’s rise is probably over-shooting their calculations.

All in all, as I finished reading the last emotionally charged chapter, I was happy to reconfirm that, yes, it was a book worthy of its price tag.  And as I pack my clothing for that trip to Guiyang, I realized that I would never be able to experience Guiyang the way Levy did.  I will be staying in Guizhou University’s accommodation for foreign visitors, probably a far cry from Levy's local apartment.  I will most likely be chauffeured around, and shown the nicer places in town.  And I will be surrounded by foreigners (as lost I would be) and locals who’d probably bend their backs over just so that my 5-day stay would be comfortable.   

Nevertheless, I am happy for this introduction to the city.  And that maybe, while seeing the city differently, I’ll be able to take in as many lessons as Levy had during his two year stay there.

(PS. Click here to check out Mike Levy's blog)

Cina, Tiongkok, China

The confusion in the use of the words "Cina", Tiongkok", and "China" to address the "Middle Kingdom" in Bahasa Indonesia has for long been a concern of mine.

In formulating a foreign policy towards China, it is clear that such a confusion symbolizes the lack of coordination, vision, and goal in Indonesia's approach towards enhanced diplomatic ties with China.  

Put it this way, if a person is referred to as Peter by one person, and then Paul by another, and James by another, then it is most likely that each one of them will view this Peter-Paul-James individual differently.  But if they all know him as Peter, than they can somehow at least see this individual through similar perspectives.

Here are some articles and blog entries worth checking out:

1. "Tiongkok, Tionghoa, Cina, China" by Professor Kong Yuanzhi, Beijing University

2. "Wong Chino" by Hermina Sutarmi, Universitas Indonesia

3. "Istilah Tiongkok Lebih Tepat Dibanding China" in Antara News

4. "Cina, Tiongkok, dan Orang China" by Paguyuban Sosial Marga Tionghoa Indonesia

5. "Cina, China, atau Tiongkok?" in Bangun Indonesia blog

6. "Cina atau Tionghoa" in Indonesia Media Online

I am a proponent of using Tiongkok in our diplomatic and foreign policy usage.  "Tiongkok" in Bahasa Indonesia and "China" in English.  This will require time to promote, as in the Department of Foreign Affairs, the use of Tiongkok, China and Cina remain prevalent without any institutional preference.  

Anybody wanna join my efforts?