Queer? Religious affair!

Reading Donald E. Halls' Queer Theories, I felt like being slapped in the face. He said that recently most queer theories are confined in a discussion of sexuality only. Meanwhile, with Hall's presentation of the real background in Queer Theory, I realized a wider implementation of the framework. Why was I trapped as well in the same way of thinking?

Before I go to writing the implementation of this framework to criticize the social condition in Indonesia, let us just see what upholds the theories. The basic of queer theory lies on how we define queer itself. Thus, that is the question. What is queer?

True, many people would just answer that the term queer connote to the concepts in sexuality, be they sexual orientation or sexual deviance. But before that, queer denotes the term of weirdness, or borrowing from Said's concept, "the others". Hall said that Queer represents the oppressed groups by the "regime of the normal".

Whoop, wait! Do not fall into the pitfall that "normal" here refers to mere heterosexuality! Michael Werner in 1993 define "regime of the normal" as a mode of government, a form of management of people, their activities, and expressions of selfhood. With the existence of "regime", logically there are oppressed groups. And these oppressed groups are referred to as "queer", the groups with potential to disrupt the hegemony of the "regime". With "regime", it means Foucauldian power hierarchy took place in ruling the relationship here. Foucault once proposed "domination-repression force", a domination by the power ruling over economy. Furthermore, there is a power struggle / dynamics here to determine which power should be on top, which power has the ability and capability to dominate. The dominance power then decide what are the "natural" and "normal" according to their standard. Thus, the repressed ones are the groups deviating from the idea of "norm". Interestingly, Werner said that these groups also include feminists. ethnic minorities, and activists of all persuasions. They are the groups that people are not supposed to be. Thus, for this groups, a change is strongly advised. If they can't change, they'd better be silent. Ooops, silence? Again you can refer back to Said's post-colonialism.

See, quite clear though that queer in Queer theories can be understood in a broader sense. The basic premise here is the power relation over these groups. How the powers are maintained through some kind of struggles or dynamics.

Interestingly, as I read the book, an idea popped up in my mind. What if we put religious affair in Indonesia into the framework? Let's just assume that Nietzsche's "Gott ist tot" has not really penetrate the mind of people. (No need to assume though. It is considered as a forbidden view already. LOL) Well, I've just realized that for many people in western hemisphere (and some from eastern part), the control over religion by the government is indeed a bizarre idea. But for years (and for majority, for their whole life) that kind of idea seems really 'normal' for Indonesian. True, most of us just take it for granted. For some people, they confess a certain faith only because they have to, only for the formal reason. Seen from Judith Butler's perspective of gender trouble, this is similar to the concept of drag, how people perform gender (a.k.a. religion) parodically. They create a satyric performance of (un)expected gender/identity. The difference with Butler's concept, people surround them are not really aware with the drag performance.

Recently, a dear ex-student also posted a question over the religion hegemony, how religious people are trying so hard to maintain the coverage of religious values over the whole country. Now, referring back to the queer framework of power, there is always an effort to keep the hegemony/supremacy. In this case, the religious people are imposing the idea that the truth lies in confessing religion. People without any religious beliefs are satanic, evil, demonic, and corrupted. Well, logically that makes sense. As the "regime of the normal", they would try to make everybody "normal", even if they have to 'demolish' the Queers. Afterall, Halperin (1995) said that the concept of queer is whatever is at odds with the normal, the LEGITIMATE, and the dominant". See, pay attention to the terms 'at odds' and 'legitimate'. It makes sense that to maintain the power and throne, one should not hesitate to destroy opposing force. And by sitting on top of the power pyramid, this 'regime of the normal' loses the ability to reflect on their own flaws and fails to see the others' perspective.

However, since the power dominance is in the field of identity, then for people who are still 'at odds' with the 'regime of the normal', just be a drag. Sorry Lady GaGa, this time I am against you. 'Don't be a queen, just be a drag'. Identity is just a matter of a term in national ID Card.

(Gee, this is just a scribble produced from confusion of thesis writing)

Surat Terakhir Semar

Bagong menemukan Semar tergolek tak bernyawa di atas peraduan pada suatu pagi. Di sebelahnya, ada sepucuk surat untuk Bagong

Bagong anakku,

Bapak pamit mati, le. Ini keputusan sing wis dak pikir dawa. Lebih baik bapak mati baik-baik di rumah sendiri, di kasur sendiri daripada di tempat lain yang ndak ada orang kenal. Sejelek apapun pendhapa Punakawan ini, tetep aja ini rumah kita. Walaupun sudah mau rubuh, tapi ada banyak kenangan. Rasanya baru kemarin kamu nangis karena ditinggal kangmas-kangmasmu, Gareng dan Petruk. Ah, sekarang thole-tholeku sudah dewasa semua. Cuma kamu, le, satu-satunya yang masih mau ngerumat pendhapa ini. Bapak wis ndak berharap kang Gareng dan kang Petruk pulang. Mereka sudah bahagia di kota dengan keluarganya masing-masing.

Sudah beberapa minggu ini bapak dengar rasan-rasan tetangga. Mereka sudah sepet melihat rumah kita ini. Katanya, jaman modern kok masih tinggal di pendhapa kuno. Merusak pemandangan, menurut mereka. Eh, pas bapak jagongan dengan pak Tarno yang di sebelah, katanya banyak yang sudah pergi ke Dinas Tata Kota untuk minta ijin merenovasi rumah kita. Ealah le, renovasi itu jebul maksudnya mereka mau ngrubuhke pendhapa ini dan mbangun yang baru. Wah, bapak ya cuma bisa ngelus dada dengar cerita itu.

Yah, kalau dilihat-lihat, memang rumah kita itu sudah beda dengan rumah yang lain. Rumah pak Amat yang ada di seberang jalan itu kelihatan bagus. Catnya putih, lantainya keramik, pake hiasan di atasnya. Banyak orang yang sering main ke sana, jagongan tiap malam. Ketoke mereka pesta besar-besaran. Lha tiap kali selalu pake toa. Banter tenan, sampai bapak kadang ndak bisa nggayemi uyon-uyon kalau malam.

Yang di seberang kali, kalau kamu perhatikan, ada rumahnya pak Kris. Seminggu sekali juga selalu ada pesta disana. Kalau kata orang-orang, selalu ada makan besar. Musiknya macem-macem, le. Wah, sayang bapak ndak bisa dengar. Lha jauh je, di seberang kali. Anak-anak muda kalau dolan ke sana selalu macak. Wah, kinclong-kinclong, le. Coba kamu lebih sering ada disini, pasti seneng nonton pacakane. Rumahnya apik tenan, rumah kita kalah jauh wis.

Lha rumah kita? Dari kayu yang sudah hampir kropos. Gelap, ndak pake toa atau musik aneh-aneh. Yang ada cuma suara jangkrik kalau malam. Kadang bapak masih nyetel uyon-uyon kalau pas sepi, dari kaset yang dulu kita beli waktu jalan-jalan ke pasar Beringharjo. Kalo menurut bapak, itu bikin hati adem dan ayem. Eh, kata orang-orang itu, musik yang sering bapak putar itu medeni. Musik untuk manggil setan, katanya.

Wah, banyak yang ndak ngelingi. Dulu simbah-simbah mereka sering jagongan disini kalau malam. Rokokan pakai klembak menyan sambil ngeteh nasgitel. Kadang kita bicara tentang sawah, kadang kita bicara tentang hasil pancingan, atau kalau baru serius, mereka bicara tentang sejatining urip, tentang hidup. Wah, itu bapak paling menikmati. Walaupun mereka cuma buruh tani, tapi pemahamannya tentang urip dan Gusti itu dalam. Lha dasarnya mereka bergelut dengan urip itu sendiri, memelihara kehidupan kalau kata anak-anak jaman sekarang. Ndak banyak aturan, yang penting itu bisa merasakan Sing Kuwasa.

Eh, simbah-simbah itu sudah banyak yang seda, anak-anaknya mulai banyak yang ndak peduli. Sawah-sawah yang dulu menghidupi mereka mulai ditukar dengan mobil yang cemlorong dan cemolong itu. Sudah banyak yang lupa dengan tempat dolan mereka dulu. Beberapa orang masih sering jagongan kesini dengan bapak, tapi cuma segelintir saja. Lumayan, masih ada bapaknya pak Joko, ada mbak Sumeh yang seda minggu kemarin. Kadang-kadang pakde Jabar atau pak Basiyo juga mampir. Mereka itu yang masih nguri-uri sawah pada masanya, yang masih sempat ngaso dan jagongan disini.

Eh, begitu anak-anak mereka sudah gedhe, mereka dilarang main ke sini. Kata anak-anak mereka, bapak membawa pengaruh yang tidak baik. Lha, sudah dari jaman simbah mereka ada disini, baru sekarang bapak dituduh menghasut mereka. Paham sesat katanya. Padahal kan simbah mereka itu belajar tentang urip dari nguri-uri sawah, bukan bapak yang jadi guru. Guru mereka itu ya sawah, ya kali, ya urip itu sendiri. Anak cucu mereka ndak berurusan dengan sawah, malah menjual sawah itu. Mereka lebih terobsesi dengan pesta di rumah pak Amat atau pak Kris.

Padahal ya, le, pak Amat dan pak Kris itu juga pernah sowan ke rumah bapak. Tujuan mereka mengadakan pesta-pesta dan jagongan itu bagus, tapi banyak yang datang kesana tanpa tahu tujuannya. Mereka suka hura-huranya saja. Lah, dari hura-hura, sekarang tiba-tiba bapak mau diusir hanya karena bapak ndak ikut hura-hura.

Bagong, thole anakku, bapak minta maaf sekali lagi. Bapak mungkin pengecut menurutmu, tapi lebih baik bapak mati di rumah sendiri, daripada harus diusir. Selagi ini masih rumah bapak. Desa kita sudah bukan lagi desa yang bapak kenal, dan bapak juga sudah terlalu tua. Bapak capek, le. Mungkin kamu bisa menghidupkan lagi desa kita dulu besok. Bapak sudah berusaha, tapi tenaga sudah habis. Dari ketiga anak-anakku, kamu yang paling mirip bapak. Kamu tercipta dari bayangan bapak, jadi kamu itu duplikat bapak. Sebagai anak muda, inilah masamu, gong!

Semar

Ghost in Library

It was nine o'clock in the evening and I was still sitting in the corner of a dark library. The bright neon light above me was dimmed by the line of shelves behind. The magic of book always brought different atmosphere to a room. Sometimes they could bring a torch of enlightenment in the darkest night, but the shadow of old memoirs trapped in the musky yellow papers of antiquarian could also unleash a bleak shade over the blackest midnight. Yet, they were only words engraved by the ink over papers. Still images enveloping the frozen memory.

The bright screen of my laptop shredded a glimpse of white light, covering me in the bright side. Such a contrast. My fingers danced over the keyboard. Clikety clank! Clicking sound echoed in the air, touching every letter on the side of leather bound books over the shelves. Words by words flew from inside the old inscription, possessing my every finger, building a piece of symphony guiding the dance of the hand. The fingers glided gracefully with the still orchestra playing in the shadow of antiquity and musky fragrance.

PING! Suddenly a facebook notification disrupted the music of the words. A glance over the frame showed me a familiar name. A girl I fell in love with for the last twelve years. What a coincidence! She came back in the midst of my still library evening. Yet, she was the embodiment of library itself. I loved her as I explored the very soul of library, caressing every aspect of the shelves, books, scriptures, and inscription.

My mind was drawn back to the lighter library in my childhood. Her library. Yes, she owned a library in her house. A community library built for the sake of her neighbours. I could not help but smiling everytime my feet stepped into that small chamber full of books. Not as complete as public library, but enough to brighten the day of ten year-old boy. For a socially awkward bookworm like me, that face of her represented the desire of social acceptance. No, more like a social zone where bookworm could safely explore himself. The one that will not frown upon a seriousness and passion for books. The first girl with the same passion to talk about new series of novels or comics. A place of comfort.

She introduced me to the musky-chamomile-like smell of antiquarian books. A cup of chamomile tea then became my favourite drink for a quiet evening. With a nice book as a company, I could feel the warmth embrace of that chamber. It was like coming back again to my childhood, along with her smile and touch. Then my mind would reel back the bookish moment we had together. Browsing the antique shelves of her grandfather only to find books or going to the hidden shelves in the old book store. What a memory.

"I'm going to get married!"

Short sentence, but sharp like a knife. It shattered my nostalgia and brought me back to reality. Suddenly the library felt darker and cold, as if its soul and spirit went somewhere. An empty lifeless vessel. An unfinished symphony. My hand grew limp and wet. Suddenly a hole appeared in my chest. For a reason, I know it was hollow, but I could not describe its exact position. Something was missing.

"Congratulation!"

"Thanks!"

She's off.

The library grew bleaker. But my shoulder warmed up. The ghost of library patted and embraced me in stillness. Yes, I still have the books and library.

-Dedicated to University Library and other libraries in Cambridge-

Damn, I've just published my poem here in this blog several days ago about a girl whom I've loved for years and today she contacted me. She said that she is going to get engaged next month. Next year, the marriage is taking place. She easily asked me to come to her banquet next year, or else I will miss the wedding of one of my best friends. She joked, "Don't break your heart!"

W-H-A-T?? How could I not break my heart? My heart is never completed because of her. Everytime I tried to look for another partner, I always return back to her shadow. Deep inside my heart, I always hope that she would be the one for me in the end, that my love is finally reciprocated. Such a drama queen, I know. But I kept that dream all the time. If you can get the meaning of the poem below this post, you know that her shadow chained me, hinder me to move on.

What do I feel now? I don't know. I just don't know. All these times, she never really knows how do I feel about her. Some friends know my feeling, they know that my feeling for her is genuine. Thus they tried to comfort me. Yes, this is supposed to be a happy news, but I just can't hold my tears back.

Namamu adalah Lagu

Namamu adalah lagu,
yang sempat mengalun pelan dalam hidupku
dan masih selalu bergema di dalam jiwa

Mengucap namamu,
bagai mendendangkan jalinan nada
yang membawa rasa bahagia
tapi juga membawa galau

Ya, namamu adalah lagu
yang mengalun sendu mengikat kalbuku
tak lagi bisa membawaku melangkah
karena rantai lembut melodimu
memaksaku diam dalam kesunyian

Nada mengukir tiap huruf dalam namamu
notasi kesunyian yang tidak bisa terlupa
walau sang waktu telah berputar
dan tahun telah berlari

Nada menjadi bait,
dan lagu menjadi simfoni
memukauku dengan kebesaran dan keagungan
dan menjadi tolok ukur kemegahan

Konser telah lama selesai
sudah saatnya mencari denting piano baru
atau gesekan biola yang mengalir menyayat hati

Konser telah selesai,
dan tidak akan ada encore
yang bisa menyamai kemegahanmu

Tapi namamu telah terpaku
terpatri menjadi kenangan
akan sebuah lagu yang terlalu indah

Dan tiupan seruling bambu
atau nyanyi angin senja
tak akan pernah bisa menghapusmu.

Namamu adalah lagu,
lagu dari hidupku
lagu lama yang tak bisa terulang

Namamu
itu
lagu
hidupku

A Lost Home

Stumbled upon a nice article in Kompas about a teenage girl who cannot love Indonesia, it got me thinking. The publication of this article is a miraculous coincidence with my thought in the previous day.

Having too many things to do, I decided to open youtube and listen to some songs. Started by Geef Mij Maar Nasi Goreng, I got carried out to various national songs. One of them succeeded in forcing the tears to roll on my cheek. Indonesia Pusaka, a favourite song since I was in elementary school, brought back the sense of nostalgia and sentiment. One by one, the pictures of rice fields along my way home sprung into mind. Yes, I lived in a village, surrounded by the green fields and harsh karts mountain. Those memories took me to a deep contemplation over my hesitation of going back home. Do I really hate my country? Or is it the political atmosphere that I hate?

The article about Nawa, the girl who can't say she loves Indonesia, tickled my mind. In a way, Nawa is lucky. She still lived in Indonesia. The bond is still there. No matter how much she hated the country, it is the country where she stayed. But in my case, I've been away from my motherland for months. Yet, the more I stay away, the stronger the wish to remain adventurous, just because I got fed up with the condition there. Both Nawa and I (and probably more people back home) can't seem to find a nice figure there. All we know are chaos, riots, disputes, "civil war", and oppression. It may be true, we are thirsty of a good leader, an inspiring figure that can rejuvenate the nationalism.

Yet, here I cried over those nationalist song. While scribbling this, my youtube playlist constantly playing Indonesia Pusaka, Rayuan Pulau Kelapa, and various songs about its nature. They took my mind wandering around the green fields, the mountains, the rivers, and the dream of peaceful country. Like it or not, the songs used to give me a very big pride to be Indonesian. A pride to live in a "great" country. But, what is so great about Indonesia anymore?

I burst into tears not because I miss going back home. No! The home that I recall through those songs is no longer there. I cried over the loss of my home. A home that I once loved and cared about. A place where everybody smiled at each other, along with the sweats running through their tanned skin. A place where children laugh happily while swimming in the clear river. A place where people greet regardless the different religions. Sounds utopic, eh? But I used to live in that situation.

Perhaps, one day that home will come back. Perhaps....

Scribble : Post-Colonial Theory and Jakartanian

Dealing with Post-colonial theory for my thesis has brought me into a deep thought about a condition in my own country. How people are still colonized by the colonial force from inside.

The background of post-colonial theory is Edward Said's Orientalism, which tried to convey the truth of colonial supremacy. The example that he gave at the time was the imperialism of western and white supremacy. Under this white supremacy, the western culture has crowned itself as the ruler of the world. Anything which is not coming from western culture is considered as "the others". Now, the term "the others" might not sound detrimental, but the impact of the term is the negative attitude towards them. "Others" are considered as low-class, and thus they need the upgrade from the "upper class", or "the average". "The Average" (Doty, 1995) itself consists of white, adult, middle-class, and heterosexual male. They tried to create a uniformity of the cultural depiction and forcing their values to the "Others". Thus, the homogenisation or appropriation to reach "oneness" or "sameness" was born. This homogenisation, in turn, creates a shallow miniature of "the average". The cultural-specific values from "others" are ignored or even worse, mocked.

Now, what does those things have to do with Indonesia? Isn't Indonesia a country where diversity is the ultimate power and distinctive characteristic?

True, we have tons of different races, local dialects, and accents. But, like it or not, there is an imperialist force putting itself on the top of power distribution. This force is called "capital culture". Well, not necessarily capital as in capitalism. What I mean here is the force of culture from capital city, or if I may coin the term "Jakartanian".

Since this (sub)culture exists in the capital city, it gains a dominance over other cultures. Without any doubt, it serves as the information source and cultural reference. However, just like what happened in the colonial era, it renders "other" culture lower compared to them. The negative labelling to the other cultures took place. The "others" are considered as remote, primitive, and uneducated.

Take a good example. I speak Indonesian, English, and Javanese. All these languages occupy different prestigious levels. Many people said that my English is "accentless", which they probably mean free from Javanese accent. However, my Indonesian is "contaminated" with Javanese accent. When most of my students heard me spoke Indonesian, they suddenly said, "Sir, you'd better speak in English. Your Indonesian is so bad!" Now, assuming that they don't have negative attitude towards Javanese accent, they still uphold the supremacy of "accentless" Indonesian. However, most of the facts say that Javanese, both the language and the culture, is portrayed negatively by the media.

So, does that mean that this is the colonization from the media? Well, what media are we talking here? As I mentioned previously that the media are centralized in the capital city, they do have a sense of responsibility to uphold such a culture existing in their area. Thus, they "label" Javanese people as innocent, uneducated, and simplistic. To be fair, they also "label" other tribes, such as Batak (harsh, rude, hypermasculine), Papuan (completely uneducated and unable to speak Indonesian properly), Madurese (again, harsh, rude, uneducated, wild), and many others.

Even worse, the negative attitude and labeling do not happen only in the media. With all the exposure to the media, people tried to attain this "oneness", to escape from the pitfall of primitive and uneducated. This resulted in the lack of interest for younger generation to preserve their tradition. Most of them refer to Jakartanian culture as the "main culture" a.k.a. "The Average" in post-colonial perspective.

Quite ironic, eh? People complain a lot about western imperialism in Indonesia, while they don't realize that the imperialism and colonization from within is even worse and can destroy the "Unity in Diversity".

Gee, sorry for this scribble. This is just a piece of mind coming to my head as I read Post-Colonial theory.