Between Jakarta and Bogor

Summer holiday is getting close. After all, this is the last week of school. As I looked at my friends’ MSN nicknames and some discussion, the interesting lines are something like where to go for the holiday, going to Bali for a SPA leisure treatment or some other places. As I read on their nicknames, I begin to think of what I did last summer, on a train carriage bound for a city on the south of Jakarta called Bogor.

I was helping my parents to market some products. My travel there, partly official partly for fun, was meant to look at my own city from a layman’s perspective. I would take the car to travel usually, but since I was sick of the same old scenery on the expressway, I decided to take the train.

When I arrived at Stasiun Kota or Beos, I could feel the collision of…. The station was meant to be a splendid building as shown from its grand architecture. It was supposed to be the pride of Jakarta. It was supposed to reflect the economic development by the son of the soil that would match the level of accomplishment of the equally grand old colonial building across it. The buildings were built by the Dutch during colonial period. Alas, it looked pale in comparison. Not because of the architecture or design, but rather because of the fact that it looked like an uncivilized market rather than a proper station.

As I strode towards the Pakuan Express, I was amazed at the number of people in the station. They were not passengers. They were not the station’s staff. They were making a living there! I could still remember vividly how a group of homeless would walk around looking for recyclable items. I could still see the somber face of the drink seller, who would earn perhaps Rp 1000 for every Teh Botol or Coca Cola they sold. There were many children risk their lives, jumping from train to train to sell the newspaper and home-made food. Sigh. 60 years of development brought us nowhere.

The train moved swiftly leaving the train station and before made a brief stop at Gambir Station. At this point, I witnessed a stark contrast in the living condition between the urban poor and the upper class. The skyscrapers that graced Jakarta’s landscape supposed to be the evidence of the Indonesian success stories. Who would imagine that behind the modern concrete jungles laid the invisible sufferings of million others. Small dilapidated complexes of houses were clearly visible from the train.

The train moved at a higher speed now. The small number of passengers were either sleeping or reading newspapers. The tall towers of Jakarta’s skyline had faded away. The only visible “image of the moment” was the houses and tents of the underprivileged. They carried out their daily activities: cooking, washing clothes, preparing food for selling without paying attention to the loud thug of noise of the train. Perhaps they had listened for so long that they grew immune to the noises, that they did not find the noise disturbing anymore. This is no different from the rich and privileged class who grew immune to the suffering of the masses.

I was sick and disturbed by the scenery. This was one of the many instances where my conviction was shaped. I felt that it was the obligation of the privileged ones to help the underprivileged. I promised I would answer the calling.

Time passed quickly as I thought of the myriad of problems faced our society. What I saw was a minute portion of the predicaments of the people. What about the others in other part of the city? What about others in other parts of Indonesia?

These are the masses, some of them poor from birth, some of them 'nouveau-poor' from losing their jobs, who witness the astronomical sums of money being circulated among the political and business elites. These are the ones who know, from long experience, that the rich and powerful elite always looked upon them as having neither capacity for feelings nor the need for respect.
The government and politicians were well paid and forgot about the people who elect them. The business people were busy with their bottom lines. The religious leaders were busy preparing sermons. All were No Action Talk Only. Nothing more than a mere political rhetoric. As the chasm between the haves and have nots widened, it made the Indonesian society more polarized like oil and water. The ignorance of which would push Indonesia to another brink of revolution and chaos.

I hope that by writing or reading this blog will opened our eyes to the social issues that are getting worse. We should spare some thoughts for the poor and needy in our own perimeters. Our survival depends on the survival of the millions of our brothers and sisters. We have all that we have and more than what we need. Giving some to those who could not go to school, pay for their medical bills and have a proper meals will not cost us a fortune.

For us, the Chinese, we should try to use this opportunity to express our kindness and concern to our poorer brothers and sisters. That will make the people respect us, not hate us nor jealous of our wealth, and see us more of an Indonesian rather than a Chinese.