Indonesian Diary Entry
16 September 2001
This is the week of the terror; the week of the World Trade Center; the week of September 11. Those of us over the age of 45 talk about one of the defining moments of our lives as being the assassination of President Kennedy. All of us who are alive and alert at this time will have September 11 as a defining moment. For those of us over 45, we relive the events of that day with the assistance of still photos and grainy video, but mostly with the memory of the voice of Walter Kronkite and a few others. This week’s images are clearer – grotesquely clear. The old images were primarily mnemonics. This week’s images are a graphic record of the horror itself.
My own experiences of the week defined by the date September 11 are not much different from those of my friends and colleagues in the States. They differ primarily in place and environment. We saw and heard the same things on TV, and read many of the same stories carried by the print media. Since the other events of my week are pushed aside by the terror and aftermath, it may be of a little interest to record and comment on how a few things appear from Indonesia and to mention some personal experiences of the week.
Indonesia is the largest Muslim country in the world. I live with a Muslim family, work and am in constant contact with Muslims. Oddly, this has been on no significance to me. In fact, it took a day or two for me to relate the purported terrorists with the Muslim faith. When the news first came through (and by happenstance it came through to me virtually immediately because of the time difference – I turned on the TV just after coverage had begun but before the Pentagon was struck) I did think about being an American in a country and area where there has been some anti-American activity. The advice I received (the standard package) urged a low profile. So I kept off my running schedule the following morning, but only for one morning. Because I live in something of a bubble I can’t report on “how the Indonesian people are taking it.” I can say that the newspaper headlines were all of the tragedy on Wednesday morning, and that TV news broadcasts led with the story for twenty-four hours. However, by Thursday morning (thirty six hours later) the headlines were back to the familiar local issues (corruption, politics, and economics) and the international news slipped in stature and placement.
Distance from home can sharpen or blur one’s vision, and in this case I don’t know which of the two has dominated. I know that the amount of news I have received and been exposed to is much less that those who might read this. Consequently I am less numbed by it. (My move from hotel to house occurred on Thursday, and a minor consequence of that was the loss of any English language news on television.) What I see from here is an assault on the people of the U.S. and an assault on the developed world. I am conscious of the fears of Asians – of the closing and clearing out of buildings in Malaysia, Japan and other large countries. It is extremely significant to me to read statements of political leaders from this region (as well as the middle east) condemning the acts of the perpetrators and their supporters. Surely there were those who sought to “explain” the terrorist acts by looking at the policies of the U.S., but those voices appear to be very much in the minority. (This does not assuage my own disgust at reading the remarks in the Jakarta Post of a purported expert on international affairs who sought to explain the target as having to do with control of the financial system by Jews, and so on and so forth. Do others of us with advanced academic degrees and standing use our station and status as an opportunity for expressing personal positions that are no more astute than those of a sewer worker? Is a PhD really a license to twist the facts like a carnival clown works his thin long balloons?) While I see the attack as one on the people of the United States, I also see it as an attack on the system, on the developed world, on those who have in some sense “made it.” This may not have been the motive of the terrorists and their puppeteer (their dalang), but it is the consequence.
A few people have asked whether I am fearful for my safety. I would be dishonest if I denied that I was. After all, I came to Indonesia with a nervous stomach, and gave much thought about coming to Solo. But a little perspective helps me consider things. The likelihood of being personally damaged by people who might go after Americans abroad is still slight. I don’t know where it lies relative to the normal possibilities of disaster, including slipping in the shower (a personal fear of some magnitude), being struck by an auto or a two- or three-wheeled device, getting malaria or dengue fever, or I suppose being knocked over by someone looking for money, not to mention earthquakes, fires, or tsunami. I believe that some of those other perils have a higher probability of occurrence. Another comment that should be inserted is that professors enjoy more respect here than at home. This does not carry any weight when it comes to the pay of local professors, but it is clear that the position is viewed positively. Like many things, Indonesia is behind the U.S. in that regard, but in this instance I support the lag with whole heart.
When I came here I knew that the account of the time would be measured in personal and anecdotal experience. That has been the case for other places I have visited and for other endeavors. Apart from seeing the Grand Canyon, the Western Wall, and a few other sights, places generally have modest impact on me. It is no wonder then that the days after September 11 have an important personal side. It is a given that the first question one is asked in Indonesia is: Dari mana anda – where are you from? I generally answer: America, Boston. The first person to ask me that question was an older man on Wednesday morning, as I was leaving breakfast. It was odd, as he had been sitting with another man, engaged in conversation. He popped up and stopped me with the question. Without thinking much I gave my America, Boston reply, and he grabbed my hand and told me how sorry he was. He was. I don’t think of myself as primarily an American but at that moment I realized that that’s really what I was. Maybe not for long, and maybe not as much as others can claim, but that is what I was. And I appreciated that man’s handshake more than I can tell. Since that time, the situation has been repeated over and over. Taxi drivers, colleagues at UNS, and others have expressed their sorrow. Generally people express their feelings with a little smile, which at first I mistook for a lack of sincerity. Now I take it as something odd, something that doesn’t quite fit, but something that just is part of the culture.
We all need some type of catharsis to deal with situations of this magnitude. Writing this as a diary entry is my own way of trying to comprehend the 11th. In truth, I can’t comprehend it. I have always been amazed that systems of great complexity manage to work, much less to work well. All of our advancement and development leaves us vulnerable to natural and unnatural events. Ogres have always existed, in fact and fiction, and as we in the west have become wealthier we have become a bit more susceptible to their perverted desires. I hope this does not lead to other actions of evil, by us or by others. We are better than that.