Travelogue I: Bahasa Indonesia in perspective.

Though it would be less forgettable to recount my eleven-day jaunt in Java in a day-to-day manner, I have to tell myself not to write a typical journal-like travelogue that only includes the details but misses the big picture. Thus, I’ve decided to pick three objects of observation--language, traffic, and books (the latter two will be written in the next posts)--and hope that they can adequately sum up my experience while at the same time enunciate some of the socio-political-economic forces that are currently at work in Indonesia vis-à-vis Malaysia.

My original plan was to encircle the richly diverse and breathtakingly beautiful island of Java via train—Jakarta to Bogor to Bandung to Jogjakarta to Solo to Surabaya to Semarang (including Demak and Jepara) and back to Jakarta—but by the end, it was more of a half-oblong-shaped journey that only managed to get as far as Jogjakarta in Central Java. There are few reasons for this aborted plan, of which I feel no need to divulge here.

Anyway, some of the major dialects in Java are Sunda, Jawa, Madura, and Betawi, along with the requisite Bahasa Indonesia. In comparison to Malaysia, whose different patois originate from the same Malay root, there are much less overlap between the Indonesian dialects and they all seem to operate in their own separate self-enclosed universe; to each his own, truth be told. Sunda is the local dialect of West Java; Jawa dominates as one travels eastward; Madura is spoken by the people of the Madura island, a hop, skip and jump away from the port of Surabaya in East Java; and Betawi is the fast disappearing dialect of the original inhabitants of Jakarta (Jakarta was known by the locals as Betawi back during the colonial days when the Dutch called it Batavia).

Like most Malaysians who speak rojak-style (Bahasa Malaysia/Chinese/Tamil interspersed with English or vice versa), Javanese have their own brand of language gado-gado: My relatives in Bandung and Tasik Malaya would seamlessly mix Sunda and Bahasa Indonesia in their daily conversation while the ones in Jogjakarta would deftly blend Jawa and Bahasa Indonesia—much to my occasional incomprehension and oft-repeated “huh?”. Still, I have no problem speaking and understanding Bahasa Indonesia alone; I even received compliments from my relatives for my good command of the language. It never ceases to amaze me how virtually all Indonesians regardless of race, religion and ethnicity are able to communicate fluently and effectively in Bahasa Indonesia despite the preponderant use of their local tongues. Juxtapose this to Malaysia, where the extent of the so-called national language is no where near the unifying, assimilating level of its Indonesian counterpart. I’m in no way advocating the supremacy of one language--by extension, its culture and traditions--over others, but language as a common rallying point that transcends communal differences is sorely lacking in Malaysia. Hence the focus of this post is a minimal attempt to capture the essence of Bahasa Indonesia as the main pillar of nationalism and at the very least, a brief insight into the Indonesian psyche.

One aspect of Bahasa Indonesia that strikes me the most is its vibrancy and evocativeness. Its choice words, compare to Bahasa Malaysia, are by and large more emotionally-laden and humanized. Here's an example of a newspaper headline and sub-headline from Media Indonesia on July 19, my first day in Jakarta: "Topan Terjang China: Sedikitnya 660,000 orang dievakuasi dari kota pesisir Wenzhou, China Timur akibat amukan topan Haitang." Notice the words "terjang" and "amukan." These are human-action verbs, used to describe the behavior of a non-human object such as the hurricane (topan). Another example: "Dua tewas bila sebuah motor ditabrak truk di Kepri (Kepulauan Riau)." Of course I just made up this fictitious headline but the gist of it is unmistakably this: Why use "tewas" instead of "mati" or "meninggal"? This choice of word is fascinating and dignifying as it symbolizes a person's constant struggle and unyielding determination to fight till his/her last breath, and not accepting his/her fate lying down. "Tewas," as one who is familiar with Bahasa Melayu knows, means "lose" or "defeated," often used in the context of a competition or tournament. Who, then, is the "winner"? Maybe life itself, or in a grimmer sense, malaikatul-maut (angel of death). Hence, I dare to say that this choice word is a reflection of the Indonesian psyche that is shaped and conditioned by her never-ending struggle throughout her long antiquated history. It seems that every single day is a battle to be won or lost, and every Indonesian, in a metaphorical sense, is a footsoldier in the grand national army that is perpetually fighting to prosper and to carve out its distinct identity in the face of life's challenges and its cruel, twisted fate. Life is hard in Indonesia, and each person who dies, dies fighting.

Another aspect of Bahasa Indonesia is its liberal appropriation of foreign words. In the aforementioned sub-headline, notice the word "dievakuasi." Though sometimes I find this excessive Indonesization of foreign words annoying, especially when there are comparable Malay words in place, for the most part, I think it's endearing and goes on to show the liveliness of the language, its joie de vivre, and its bold attempt to surf the wave of globalization, instead of standing timidly and isolatedly on its own shore. Another example of this is the word "kudeta." Yes, I can imagine how pissed off the French snobs would be when one of their most well-known and oft-used words--coup d'etat--has been Indonized.

Another aspect of Bahasa Indonesia that never fails to annoy me is the rampant use of abbreviations. I do understand the necessity to simplify some of the often-used words and to make them more relevant and memorable for the populace. Thus, the word like "pemilu" for pemilihan umum (general election) or "capres" for calon presiden (presidential candidate) or "parpol" for parti politik (political party) or "pilkada" for pilihan kapala daerah or "Kepri" for Kepulauan Riau (Riau islands) or "Jabotabek" for Jakarta-Bogor-Tanggerang-Bekasi (Greater Jakarta area). But the Indonesian intelligentsia is sometimes guilty of being too inventive and loosey-goosey in coming up with these abbreviations. I asked several Indonesians the meaning of some of the more obscure abbreviations and none of them were able to give me a definite answer. If the purpose of abbreviation is to make the language more accesible to people, it has certainly failed in this regard. Two-words abbreviation is still acceptable and might sometimes be necessary, but three- or four-words abbreviation is simply an overkill and a flashy redundancy.

One final aspect of Bahasa Indonesia is its peculiar, Dutchified way of pronouncing the alphabets.The letter "A" is pronounced "Ah"; letter "B" is "Bey"; letter "C" is "Say"; letter "D" is "Dey," and so forth. Imagine my sheer confusion--and slight horror--when I was asked to spell my name at the train station's ticket counter. "How the hell do they pronounce "Z"?" was what went through my mind as I was contemplating my reply. "Is it the American-styled "Zee" or British-styled "Zek" or some other weird pronounciation?" Ultimately, I ended up writing my name on a piece of paper and saved the grief for both me and the ticket cashier. I sympathize with Indonesians who want to learn to speak English as they would have to start from scratch by re-learning their alphabet soup. Only if it was the Dutch who ruled the world, then it would have been the exact opposite.

All in all, I love Bahasa Indonesia. Often times I found myself using esoteric Malay words that I thought I've long forgotten. It is the purity of the language that attracts me. It feels like being transported back in time to the bygone pre-independence epoch when the present line of demarcation between the two nations, and subsequently their distinct languages, was still blurry and the spirit of Nusantara was still pervasive. Read some of the old Malayan and Indonesian literatures and one would be hardpressed to tell the difference. I long for the olden borderless day.