Going Native

In this previous post along with this one, I've tried to discuss my ambivalence on the subject of immigration. Lacking clear opinions is a weakness of mine, although I do now feel that I've affirmed my stance on the subject as one where I believe that open borders are the only answer. My position as an inhabitant of two disparate worlds has helped persuade me that I am right, because like many foreign passport holders living in Indonesia, those rubber stamps are essential to my peace of mind, and so are never too far from it. But while I am technically a British citizen, at this point in my life, I have lived in Indonesia longer than anywhere else, having spent a year as a young child in this country, and almost all of my adulthood here.

I've watched many friends who've stayed or are staying here for shorter terms struggle with the perplexities offered by Javanese life, and while, for obvious reasons, I may be regarded as a good source of information,  I find myself often at a loss if asked to provide insight on the daily peculiarities of life here. It is very likely that this is partly what makes life so much more attractive to me in the country of my mother. Never a dull moment. Certainly, when I meet friends, none of us ever appears to be lost for an anecdote; a tale of the unexpected. One general observation which I am surely not the first to have made is that we pay much closer scrutiny to the actions of others when we are an outsider.

Of course, the seemingly inexplicable approaches to the conduct of the mundane can just as easily become a drag as they can be funny. While I have lived here for longer than any of my expatriate friends, I may be the least tolerant when it comes to jam karet, or literally, rubber time. In fact, I'm chronically nervous about punctuality, and am prone to arriving for appointments far too early. This has led to my having had to wait around for hours for appointments at times, and I do mean hours. What I continue to fail to comprehend is if it is considered undesirable to be on time, then what time is one meant to aim for? Ten minutes late? Half an hour? An hour? I suppose these questions bear little relevance when juxtaposed with the concept of elastic schedule-keeping itself, and it must be concluded that at least one party is going to have to wait under such arrangements.

Despite my brain apparently not functioning in a way suitable to academia in the strictest sense, I do seem to have been born with a gift for mimicry, which led me to absorb a practical understanding of Indonesian early on. Naturally, this has often been to my advantage as, when coupled with my ambiguous ethnic appearance, it has allowed me to navigate the country and its culture unimpeded. Something that makes me very happy is my large network of 'ordinary' Indonesian friends, as opposed to the creepy characters who seem to make a career of ingratiating themselves into the lives of some expats.

However, since I am meant to be a native speaker of English by profession, speaking Indonesian in a way that sounds as though I am a native speaker and looking sort-of Indonesian can work against me, as those who are partially gaining the benefit of my linguistic services can feel ripped off if they suspect I'm simply an Indonesian who speaks English well. I've learned not to try and show-off too much at work of late, but still have raised eyebrows when I've performed simple tasks like ordering food in Indonesian. There's not much I can do about that other than order food from a developing country minimum-wage worker in an exotic language, or try downgrading the standard of my Indonesian. Two options which I find patently ridiculous. When I entered the language business, I naively thought that having decent spoken Indonesian would help me in the eyes of my employers. I've learned not to assume the obvious since then.

It's difficult to put a finger on exactly why I prefer Indonesia to my father's country. It's mostly a feeling perhaps, usually a feeling of great depression when I'm back in the UK, although I haven't been back in over ten years, so the time is ripe for re-testing the waters. One of the prime movers of depression is boredom, and it's probable that this is a contributing factor. You can do more with less in Indonesia - although I'm under no illusions about the fact that my standard of life is far superior to the majority of Indonesians. I'm also partial to warm weather and sunshine, and when versus the UK, Indonesia definitely wins in these respects. 

That's not to say there aren't many things about Indonesia which I don't wish were more akin to a developed European country. Constantly having religion and the supernatural (listed here separately, but they don't necessarily need to be) in your face is something I find to be trying indeed. New York Times columnist Charles Blow's findings on religion's relation to wealth were a cause of consternation to me, given Indonesia's high ranking on his chart. 

Indonesia is vastly over-inhabited, and while I prefer the liveliness of Java to the long silences which are to be found in my father's native Scotland, the evident social problems caused not only by over-population, but also by a very uneven distribution of population make me yearn for a happier medium. Nowhere are these issues more apparent than in Jakarta, with its unmanaged urban sprawl and hordes of densely packed citizens. 

At the end of the day, I can't call myself Indonesian as I'm neither a full-blooded Indonesian, nor a citizen. Only the latter has scope for change, though it would seem a low priority despite this still being the age of reformasi. While I can do an extremely good impersonation of an Indonesian, I am still not wholly familiar with its language or any one of its many cultures. These aspects of my existence may well be what have led me to a serious distaste for nationalism and man-made societal divisions. For having only lived eleven years in the country whose name is emblazoned across my passport (a document envied by most Indonesians), how can I call myself British? The internet, ultra-cheap airfares and the globalized workplace have been making borders increasingly meaningless, and I can only hope that they continue to do so. 

What is a culture anyway? To my mind, it cannot exist as a list of characteristics defined by experts, otherwise, what would be its point? Rather it should be a living, evolving, undefinable entity which serves to enrich our lives and not restrict them.

In the meantime, I will continue to muddle my way through life here, and hope that I don't get booted out of a country that at least never fails to be interesting.

Debriefing

I've been back in Indonesia as of last night, after spending a grueling three days in Singapore, and have been trying to collect my thoughts about the ordeal. After sustaining excessive mental anguish, there is some light at the end of the tunnel which I've been trying to exit to escape my immigration woes, at least for the next eleven months - after which point I may very well have to relive a similar experience.

The assignation of blame throughout the process has come up frequently, and I feel like I've been targeted for far more than my fair share by those who've been bearing the brunt of the costs attached. Not that I haven't been left far more out of pocket than anticipated. As in my previous post on the topic, I balk at describing all the sordid details involved, complicated as they are.

What I have definitely learned is I don't enjoy being stuck in Singapore with a small child who has an unparalleled ability to generate commotion. We seemed to get far more dirty looks on that well managed island country than on this wild sprawl of an archipelago, indicating that perhaps a tolerance for a lack of order does have its benefits after all.

I received no hassle from public officials on either side of the crossing, but I can't help but feel that making tired travelers jump through at least three different hoops while they're worried about making that flight on time is an unsuitable solution.

Money lost, my son's lost school days, the stress of uncertainty, having to go on an unplanned trip to another country - all caused by man-made markers, rubber stamps and a paper trail.

All of the above brings me to one conclusion and that is that after all, I agree that a world without borders would be a far saner one. I mentioned this to a friend whom I met on the plane to Singapore (who didn't have a very different reason to me for his journey). When I included the possibility that such a scheme might have a negative impact on the world economy, he replied 'who cares?'. Callous and seemingly unthinking maybe, but who really does care anymore about preserving an economy in the manner designated by those in charge? Can they really claim that it's been working?

There could well be a period of adjustment, collateral damage, and a lot of angry nativists (nationalists, whatever, take your pick of euphemisms for veiled bigotry). I don't even enjoy traveling much myself, all I'm asking is for the right to stay put where I have lived for approximately half of my thirty-one years, in the country which is my mother's native land. Preservation of ways of life be damned, culture is not something that exists by design, and only becomes richer with diversity. I have no British friends who don't rate curry among their favourite cuisines.

Who do the controls help? If they are helping anyone at all, it is obviously not those who need help the most. Instead there are people literally dying around the world due to restrictions on freedom of movement. Children going mad in detention centres for boat people. And my own hardships which are so relatively paltry that I hesitate to draw any kind of comparison. However, the fact remains that they are woven from the same cloth of absurdity. 

 

Immigration is a Four Letter Word

It undoubtedly is to every expatriate worker I've ever met in Indonesia, the overwhelming majority of whom are regular people whose only ambitions are to enjoy the experience of living in a foreign country and earn an honest salary. Some go home after a year, but many stay for much longer, marry Indonesian citizens and persevere in the face of a system that has been designed to ensnare people with red tape in one way or another. 

I am a long time resident of this country, indeed I am half-Indonesian, making my son three-quarters Indonesian, however, while these factors would seem like normal claims to automatic acceptance by a country's government in a reasonable world, the reality of our surroundings is quite different. My son is eligible for dual citizenship until he is aged eighteen after which point he must decide between East and West, and as far as I can tell, I'm eligible for eternal visa renewals. While Alex's dual citizenship papers are pending, he must also get renewals. The convolution of the way things have been set up means that companies - like my own - who are charged with sorting out papers for their employees ,outsource the work to third-party agents who have experience dealing with such matters, and presumably know how much grease to apply to which wheels.

One of V.S. Naipaul's travel books about India, An Area of Darkness, includes an unforgettable passage describing his efforts to retrieve some spirits which had been confiscated by customs and excise. I got the distinct impression that he went through with the exercise - which were enormously distressing - to find material for his book, either that or he is extremely fond of his drink. Not having the same gift for illustrative prose as Mr Naipaul, I won't go into all the details of my very recent travails with the Indonesian Immigrasi. While there has been less sweat and tears involved so far, what's at stake for me isn't a couple of bottles of hard stuff (although I felt like some during the immediate aftermath) but rather being able to continue living in the country I've called home for most of my adult life. In my case you could say the immigration were in fact playing by the rules, but the rules which they themselves created are so byzantine and, at times, utterly nonsensical, one hardly feels like vindicating them of any blame. 

My father, himself no stranger to the perils of the abovementioned bureaucracy,  has long argued that the best thing to do would be to open borders and allow people to move from one country to another as they pleased, as was the case as recently as the last century for much of the world. In principle, I believe this solution, as Utopian as it may seem, would solve a lot of problems. However, modern day forms of transportation and communication are space aged when compared to the equivalents used by our ancestors of the early 1900s. Nowadays the internet has made the world an increasingly transparent place to live, and long-haul air-travel is available to all but the poorest of the poor. Without the usual demands placed on visitors to have a reasonable purpose for an extended stay in a country, a likely eventuality is great armies of the downtrodden fleeing areas of widespread hardship to turn up on the doorsteps of perhaps...Costa Rica? I can also actively imagine a world without frontiers quickly making the members of the British National Party appear to be heroes in their midst, whose warnings should have been heeded long ago. As despite my own disinclination to live there, the allures of the UK for those hitherto residing in poorly governed states are still many and varied. On the same note, Singapore would probably just collapse into the sea under the weight of all the soul-weary dissidents of nations nearby controlled by malignant despots. 

But I digress, because this is not my lot. 

When not faced with the throes of immigration (at least once a year), I live a reasonably comfortable, lower middle-class existence in Indonesia. The weather and the people agree with me as do many other aspects of my life here. And I feel that I can tolerate other bureaucratic machines as being part and parcel of modern life. All the bits of paper that we must keep safely around the house to prove this, that, or the other. The endless forms that must be filled out, which often include a telephone number or an address being given to an office who can't feasibly have any good use for it. But the madness imposed when it comes to my simply being here confound me. I have a job with a respectable organization, and it is one that very few Indonesian citizens are able to do. I don't have a criminal record nor do I have any intention of starting one. I have already mentioned our ethnicity, but it seems worth reiterating: I am half-Indonesian and my son is three-quarters Indonesian. I have lived in Indonesian continuously for the last ten years, he has never lived anywhere else. Why must I jump through hoops once a year, with the constant fear of falling into a fire? Why can't it be a simple matter of filling in some forms and paying a listed fee?

Indonesia's revenue offices recently went through a great deal of reform, where they wisely decided to forgive all prior tax evasions, and start afresh (a policy popularized by Nelson Mandela, I believe). Despite the odd national scandal involving their employees since the start of their reforms, I believe they have a fair chance of ultimately gaining a full commitment from the public. Why? Because their design and implementation are based on commonsense. The process is fairly transparent, and great pains have been taken by officials with a socialization programme, which has included presentations to employees at private sector companies. Most people concerned know what to do, and how to do it. The same cannot be said of the immigration department at all. In fact, most people I know are divided as to even what type of visa they should be in possession of, and very few expats know how to get any kind of visa, instead relying on the previously mentioned intermediaries to get the job done. Much of the time, we have to go an Indonesian embassy in another country to get our visas. This means we have to visit Indonesian immigration officials in other countries so that we may continue residing in Indonesia itself, which I'm sure most people will agree is patently ridiculous.

As tax officials have been saying in their public service ads aimed at tax evaders: Apa kata dunia? or loosely translated: What would the rest of the world say?