The State of ‘Almost’ Anarchy
A testament of Chinese-Indonesians living in Indonesia, feeling detached from the government and public institutions.
Living my life abroad as a student made me realize that it is a sad state of affairs when witnessing basic acts of public service makes one feel like they’re living in a Hollywood blockbuster.
But as a Chinese-Indonesian who’s seen more than her fair share of apathy and discrimination from authority figures, such moments of a police retrieving a friend’s lost purse of lip tints, helping an elderly lady crossing the street, and resolving a dispute between UberEats drivers feels like a heroic act of chivalry. Aha.
The concept of detachment and acceptance has been a fundamental part of my upbringing as a Chinese-Indonesian, instilled in me from childhood. If this ‘ya udahlah’ attitude get us a penny, we‘d be Bezos rich in no time.
I recall being taunted by other children with racial slurs and eye-slanting gestures when my family moved to West Jakarta from the north when I was just nine years old. I was livid and reported the incident to my dad, who simply told me to let it go because “we are Chinese”.
We’ve developed an impressive talent for letting things go, including our stolen possessions. Reporting theft to the authorities is about as useful as trying to teach a cat how to play fetch — it’s not going to happen. Why bother? They won’t care anyway, especially when they see that we’re Chinese. Plus, even if we did report the theft, we’d have to pay a fee just to get our report “processed.” It’s like paying for a gym membership and never going — a waste of money and effort. So, we’ve learned to embrace our inner Marie Kondo and just let go of things that don’t bring us joy.
It’s a classic case of the apathy and “uh, no komen” for most Chinese-Indonesians when it comes to participating in politics. With a lack of representation in the legislative, stereotypes, and a daunting barrier to entry, it’s no wonder many feel like complete strangers in their own government. But fear not, dear reader, for we do matter — at least as convenient scapegoats when things go awry. It’s a tale as old as time, where Chinese-Indonesians have become accustomed to playing the role of the fall guy.
Our opportunities to work in government positions such as civil service, law enforcement, or the military are severely limited. The result is a culture of self-sufficiency, where we take charge of our own fate and build for ourselves what we need.
Our parents’ solution to the lack of opportunities was to establish their own businesses, which has led to a new stereotype of our community being labeled as “Cina toko” (Chinese shopkeepers).
It’s like the Wild West out here, but with more concrete and less tumbleweeds. No Sergio Leones’ tunes playing in the background too. The Chinese-Indonesians have learned to rely on themselves and their own resources to create thriving communities, complete with schools, hospitals, and even private planned communities and gated neighborhoods.
Living in a gated community can be a double-edged sword, and as a Chinese-Indonesian, I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, these exclusive enclaves offer a sense of safety and a direct line to the private developers who can quickly address community concerns. But on the other hand, it can create an “us vs. them” mentality and perpetuate inequality and social segregation with the surrounding areas.
Following the traumatic 1998 revolution, Chinese-Indonesians sought improved security in the city. Private developers responded to this demand by creating many gated communities with one-point entry and private security. The emerging middle class seeks a safer investment, making owning a home in a secure community an attractive option. Thus, the appeal of living in planned and gated communities like BSD City, Pantai Indah Kapuk, Lippo Village, Gading Serpong (hi, who lives there *wink* *with rizz*), and Alam Sutra is the sense of security they provide.
The location of these gated communities is often in close proximity to ‘kampung’ communities, highlighting the stark inequality and power imbalances between them. Unfortunately, the community outside the gates often faces increased social segregation and spatial inequality as a result.
TMI, but the idea of living in a gated community gives me major Truman Show vibes — like I’m trapped in a simulation. It all seems so artificial and manufactured. This has always been an on-going debate with me and my friends, but I can trace my preference for a living environment back to fifth grade, when I was indoctrinated with the utopian ideals of my PPKN (Pendidikan Pancasila dan Kewarganegaraan) textbook about neighborhoods. Can you dig it? I need that pos ronda, a diverse community, ibu-ibu ngobrol di luar pas beli sayur di gerobak and warga kerja bakti vibes, you know…
Many Chinese-Indonesians are also disillusioned with politics and have become apathetic towards it, feeling that their vote would make little difference in the system. Another concern is that as Chinese-Indonesians, we may not have the opportunity to fully participate in politics or government due to the fear of being targeted and made vulnerable because of our identity. After all, political instability is still very much exists here.
Have you ever tried to share your struggles as a Chinese-Indonesian, only to be shut down because people assume you must be living the high life? It’s like they think all of us are born with golden spoons and speak like socialites. Well, newsflash: we’re not all living like a ‘Michelle Tanoewidjaja’ or a ‘Kevin Jordan Oey’ (not a real person, just an example). Some of us are barely scraping by, and the discrimination we face is very real.
In a system that constantly excludes and discriminates against Chinese-Indonesians, we are left with no choice but to rely on our own community and create our own way of life. But we are also constantly bombarded with questions about our loyalty, nationalism, and belonging to Indonesia.
In this sense, we are trapped in a cycle of proving our patriotism to a country that continues to marginalize us. So what do we do?
