Culture, Part V: Expectations

During my recent trip home, I was really shocked at the price of gasoline - more than $3.25/gallon US in most parts of Alabama. It's normal for gas prices to increase, and for Americans to grumble and complain about them. Olaf, my European friend, reminds me that we are complaining about nothing, as far as people in other Western nations are concerned. What isn't normal in the USA are long gas lines. In Pontianak, the city took to bicycles recently, when a local fuel crisis ensued as a result of an accident (never really explained) that prevented the state petroleum concern from delivering fuel into the harbor terminal. The result was something I hadn't seen since Hurricane Katrina paralyzed the southeastern USA in August 2005: marathon gas lines stretching several kilometers down the highway in front of every gas station. I was glad to be a walking, bike-riding foreigner who didn't have to worry so much, but also concerned that my friends and neighbors were spending so much time out in the heat. I could not believe that the international press had not picked up the story, but saw nothing on CNN or BBC. What I saw was a city of almost a million people, where everyone was leaving work at five o'clock in the afternoon, having dinner in line, and arriving home at around 3 A.M. the following day. Ten hours to get your fuel for the week. I began, at last, to glimpse our own future absent alternative fuels, mass transit subsidies, and a national energy policy for the USA. Folks, this is where we're headed, and you can make book on it... But beyond the politics of the impending U.S. fuel and transportation crisis - "Without Trucks, America Stops!" says the bumper sticker - lies the lesson for cultural studies. Why are people forming a line in the first place? Queuing up for gas or any other goods or services isn't an expectation with which we are born, and doesn't happen by instinct. "Every man for himself" or in other words, a melee, would be the natural state of things in this situation. We form an orderly line based on the cultural expectation that we will do so.

Lesson FIVE: Culture establishes the expected behavior for most any given situation, both positive and negative.

Of course, it's not all unpleasantness, like a terrible gas line. Culture will make you do a dragon dance, too.

Culture, Part III: Accumulation

Semester break, like life, is "nasty, brutish, and short." Getting to spend three weeks in America talking with family and friends was wonderful, but not so wonderful was my first experience in the wonderful world of extended stay hotel rates, and the realization that Tuscaloosa, for now, isn't exactly home, even though nearly all my stuff is still there. One would think that being without a family, I would have relatively few material possessions to weigh me down, but this is not the case. When I was preparing to come to Indonesia, I had to vacate an apartment where I have lived for more than 20 years, and had to do it in a very short time. Thus, all my possessions came to live in Unit A534.

I had to spend my last Sunday morning in Tuscaloosa rearranging Unit A534, so that I could reach books and computer software I thought it necessary to put hands on, and longingly survey the warm winter clothing that I was never able to reach, it being located all the way at the back of the damn thing, which is quite full top to bottom, front to back. When I had finished, A534 looked just as much in disarray as when I had begun. And the winter clothes were still beyond reach, unavailable for my three more days in freezing cold Atlanta in February. Last August, I just didn't think about this.

Why is there so much junk in Unit A534? Is it because of indecision, or a misapplication of values - the part of culture that tells us what to leave in, and what to leave out?

Perhaps. But that would ignore another terribly important principle for cultural studies - that of accumulation. Culture is not built overnight, or even over 20 years, the time it takes to accumulate 2000 cubic feet of useless junk.

Lesson THREE: Culture represents the accumulation of lessons learned by countless people we will never meet, and their life experiences piled one on top of the other for many generations.

This, of course, is possible because of sentiment, the idea that value can be assigned to places, things, and thank God, people, giving them value beyond their actual material worth. The paper on which all of my college notebooks are printed might be worth a nickel, but I doubt it's worth even that. The same is true of the couch on which I slept as a boy.

Culture, Part II: What's Always Been There

"If you drink the water from the River Kapuas," says the local legend, "then you can never leave Pontianak forever. You will always come back."

It's quite a pronouncement, but one that I have chosen not to resist. The idea is much older than I am, and I tell people that I will probably always visit Kalimantan every other year for the rest of my life, though I don't feel I should live or work here. But what, really, is the significance of a muddy river?

Plenty. It is around rivers that so much of civilization has grown up over thousands of years, and this is one important thing Pontianak has in common with my city, Tuscaloosa, located at the "fall line," or farthest point upriver (ulu, in Dayak) navigable to barges. Historically, this is where cities were built in Alabama. And like our people, the people of the Pontianak Sultanate depended on their river, an ancient source of water, life, and transportation.

The importance of the river "spills over," pun intended, into the spiritual, as well as the physical world. People today are connected not only to the natural world, but also to their ancestors and each other by the knowledge that they have lived their lives looking at what has always been there for those who came before them, and pray it remains for those who come after.

Lesson TWO: Culture is the source of the meaning we assign to what has always been there, for as long as anyone can remember.













As for me, my culture has changed, because I will go through the rest of my life never quite sure whether to think "Kapuas" or "Warrior" every time I hear "river."

Culture, Part I: The Haunting Past

Rushing to catch up with blog postings so that those long overdue don't spill over into April hasn't been the best thing I could have done, but is necessary. Until completed and up-to-date, this blog is a potential distraction. Currently, there are no time slots available for distractions. And, there is a cross-cultural understanding course that's tanking rapidly because so little was planned in advance, and I had no heads-up that I would be mainly on my own. So, let's "kill two birds with one stone." We can incorporate basic lessons about culture into this blog, and have both the "front burner" and the "back burner" available for planning activities for 18 class sessions each week.


Sound the bell, school's in! Our first basic lesson about culture is that it is a force that drives human beings to create collectively, and what has been collectively created will be left behind for others to discover and analyze. Quite unpredictably, what is left behind takes on a significance for each generation that may or may not resemble what its creators intended. Our mid-year conference in Surabaya came just before my three-week home visit to the USA, and while the timing was great, I was not prepared for the unfamiliar sights we saw while driving through the East Java countryside on the day we were able to escape from duty long enough for sightseeing. Candi (that's CHAHN-dee) are Buddhist-Hindu temples left behind by the Majapahit civilization, an ancient Javanese kingdom that "lost the war" with the advance of Islam at some point during the 14th century. Candi are everywhere in East Java, and an archeological enthusiast would need a month to satisfy curiosity about all the types and variations that exist across the tropical landscape.



Lesson ONE: Others will see what you leave behind. If you know that, and you act on that knowledge, then the ideas you use to decide what to leave are part of what we call culture.




Our outreach reception in Surabaya was warm and welcoming, and probably caused me to talk a little too much about the MLK holiday, which was our theme for outreach this year. Conservative Islamic magazines are letting parents know that when you choose a school for your children, it needs to be one where the Americans have not been giving teacher workshops and spreading "liberalism." At least someone's taking notice ;)

Buddhist Sunday School Road Trip

So, let's begin with November 28th, the week after Thanksgiving...

My best friend in Pontianak is a fellow English language teacher who is completely self-taught in English (high fluency), and supplements his income by offering private lessons to kids whose parents want them to learn our language. To protect his privacy, I'll call him by his Chinese name, Lim.

Chinese people are said to be the single largest ethnic group in the city of Pontianak, though they are not in the majority. Pontianak is anywhere from 25 to 40 % Chinese, depending, of course, on whom you ask. Half Christian, half Buddhist-Confucian, the Kalimantan Chinese speak two languages that came to Indonesia from southern China - Teochew and Hakka. Hakka is also known as Khek, and its classical form, the Haklo dialect, is still spoken in Singkawang, a Chinese-majority city not far from here. Pontianak, in contrast, has slightly more Teochew speakers than speakers of dialects derived from Hakka. And I'm boring everyone except those whose hobby is linguistics or anthropology. You want to know about Lim, my Buddhist Sunday School Road Trip, and everything they both have taught me about myself and my surroundings.

When I first met Lim, he was doing the same thing many other young men in Pontianak do that no one in America does: offering a stranger (me) a ride home on his motorbike because I was walking through the neighborhood late, and it was starting to look like rain. Of course I hesitated to accept, but something told me his only motive truly was charity. I've been right about that, and he has been my friend ever since.

After we had discussed English language teaching several times, I was invited to his home, met his brother and parents, and began to learn more about them and their lives here in Pontianak. Lim's father has sour memories of times past when being Chinese in Indonesia was even more difficult than it is today. But he has raised two sons who seem, in their late 20s and early 30s, to be the very definition of hard work and talent.

Lim is a Buddhist, and while he likes to have fun as much as any other young single guy, he also takes his faith very seriously. Like most Chinese Buddhists here, he belongs to the Maitreya movement, a messianic form of Buddhism that draws a lot of criticism from Christians in my part of the U.S., many of whom list it among the "cults."

Those types of arguments were part of my old life. I can see that it's long gone. And now?

I'm a Christian, and I have no intention of converting to Buddhism, but if time allowed, I would probably study the religion - with a view toward understanding, not converting. My old college roommate already offered his two cents worth, saying that Buddhism interested his Southern Baptist self simply because he had always noticed how among the Buddhists, there were very few "freaks."

Umm...okay, man, thanks for sharing. I will now share what I have seen during the time I've spent around Lim, his friends, and his family...

The first meal I ate in their home was in front of the television set in the living room where many family friends had gathered on a Sunday evening. His mom had cooked for anyone and everyone who might drop by, and it was quite an eclectic group - all Chinese, but both religions and both languages. My couch-mate was a teacher who was physically challenged - by multiple sclerosis, I think, though I cannot be sure. As we all watched a movie, Lim's friend, Eddy, began to share with me his experiences teaching English. Several people exchanged glances across the room, as the Sunday School Guys (for there's no better name to give them) made a quick plan to use me as a walking, talking motivational device for the kids they teach - kids who study English, but have never met a native speaker. Classes are taught weekly by Buddhist university students who volunteer to travel to Kumpai, a remote Chinese village two hours from Pontianak by motorbike. I was asked to visit Kumpai the following Sunday, and without knowing what to expect, I agreed.

Later that evening, when I said I might also like to learn more about the Buddhist faith, I didn't have to ask twice. While still plotting my appearance in their English class, The Guys placed me on the back of a motorbike for a visit to the neighborhood extension of their viharra, or temple. Maitreya worship spaces contain an altar on which a figure of the "laughing" Buddha (quite familiar in the Chinese culture) is placed, with offerings of incense and the words TUHAN MAHA ESA (Almighty God) posted on the wall above. The religion teacher at the temple explained in flawless been-to-America English that the Maitreya are distinct among Buddhists as acknowledging One God, all powerful, all knowing, all forgiving, and conceived in their minds as "Mother" almost as often as we call God our "Father." Still, TUHAN MAHA ESA places them squarely within Indonesia's legal formula for "recognized" religions. More on that issue much later :) Worshipers bow but do not prostrate, and pray on their knees using "box kneelers" covered in vinyl, such as you might find in a Catholic or Anglican church meeting in a storefront.

Having been exposed to many Christian opinions about his faith, Lim seemed uncomfortable when I entered the worship space. It was not that I was not allowed, I was told, but rather, was I really sure it was okay for me to be in here? I assured him it was, but this was only the beginning of my self-discovery. I listened to an explanation of Maitreya Buddhism while a Mandarin language class studied in the next room. According to custom, The Guys got a bucket and sponge and each took turns cleaning a section of floor or wall in the viharra.

Fast forward almost one week. Eddy picks me up at seven o'clock the following Sunday morning, and we ride on his motorbike to Kumpai. The weather and drive are beautiful, and I wish I had a camera in hand, but holding on to the bike is the first concern. About two hours later, we arrive at a house belonging to the temple, where children from the Chinese Buddhist community are taught English, Mandarin, and religion. Lim and the others are not there yet. Eddy sits me down in the kitchen, and cooks my breakfast in a wok over a gas burner. He does a damn good job too, and the food is delicious.

I am embarrassed when I am finally led into the room filled with 15-20 children and teenagers gathered for an English lesson. These classroom visits are almost always organized in question-and-answer format, and you would think I'd have learned by now that preparing an activity is the way to go, even if they tell you it's not necessary. I wind up talking the entire time about the reasons why I look "different" to these kids, many of whom have only seen a person of European descent on television or in movies - never in person. One or two of them are brave enough to introduce themselves in English.

When my talk was finished, the real learning experience began. As I looked around the room after Lim and the others had arrived, I truly began to see his friends with more than just my eyes. In their starched white shirts, they had a look about them that was very church youth group. As my gaze fell toward the spotless wooden floor, I was struck by how they functioned together as a group of young men dedicated to a cause. And that's exactly when, in the most deferential, indirect, Indonesian way possible, they let me know that I needed to leave for a while. The reason?

It was time to pray. Buddhist worship involves concentration and focus, so that the presence of an unusual stranger can be distracting during prayer and meditation. But more than that, they were preparing to go, as a group of young men, to a spiritual place I could not follow. Two young women were chosen to be my "tour guides," and we made our way up the main street to the Confucian temple. But my spirit was right back in Alabama, the unmistakable karmic imprint remaining stuck to the forehead of a "soft" liberal Christian who needs to find something else to do while the real men pray, just as surely as if the Sunday School Guys has been Baptists, not Buddhists, or a bunch of orthodox Wesleyans on the way to a Promise Keepers' meeting in a football stadium. Spirituality as a spectator, not a participant, for the first time appeared as my permanent destiny, and not as a mere accident of life in Alabama as a non-Evangelical. My sad destiny had positively followed me all the way to Indonesia, and this was a stark revelation.

But I haven't shared with you yet the other surprising things - the ones that can be illustrated by photographs...

Offerings of incense are placed at the foot of statues - Confucianism appears to have many saints, and their images are placed near the river bank in Kumpai for all to see.









Confucian temples have several altars at which incense is burned. A gong or bell is sounded each time someone makes an offering in the temple.











Confucian and Buddhist altars are never very far apart in Chinese traditional religion, though some ultra-devout Buddhists will occasionally say that this is not appropriate. It appears to be a fact of life in most villages.

Kumpai's waterfront is breathtaking...




















Elderly people serve the viharra by working as calligraphy artists. This gentleman is making Buddhist prayer flags that will be burned as prayers for the dead.







Kumpai is actually two villages, not one - there is Kumpai Besar (big) and Kumpai Kecil (little) each being located directly across a wide river from the other, and accessible to each other only by sampans with loud, click-clacking diesel engines. It's quite a ride!














The market and residential areas of both Kumpai Besar and Kumpai Kecil are beautiful beyond description. Our trip across the river had a purpose - some of the guys needed to be measured for traditional costumes worn during an upcoming festival, and visited the home of a temple elder to get this errand completed.













In fact, every space has a purpose. Most rice fields are also fish farms...















And all of Kumpai proved to be a place full of surprises, but never complications. The educational philosophy was a simple imperative of survival for the community: the children must learn! The children must learn English in case they end up in America, and Mandarin in case they end up in China. They must learn their Buddhist-Confucian spiritual values, so that they do not forget who they are. Young people who are able to teach must give their time to kids who might otherwise have little chance, and in so doing, bear witness to the necessity of people being there for each other. With care and sacrifice, everything beautiful about them shines through. That's why there will always be a Kumpai village, no matter where on the map it's located in our common, uncertain future. Take comfort, then, in the fact that somewhere, someone will always be preparing to dance in celebration.

Bali!

Four days was all I dared spend in Bali. Students would be back from the Lebaran holiday the following week, no planning was done, and my conservative hosts thought the whole idea of somebody actually going to Bali on purpose was just hilarious. I don't regret going at all, since most of my time there was spent with my new friends and colleagues, but a little background might be in order...

Bali is the exception to many of Indonesia's rules. It is a predominantly Hindu island in the middle of this Muslim archipelago, and has a well-deserved reputation for Hindus allowing Western visitors to do many things that would simply not be permitted to happen in Muslim communities. Use your imagination, or Google "Bali" without a filter, and you'll understand quickly :) I found myself thinking a lot about how other visitors from Alabama might react to Balinese culture, and learned from a tour guide that this isn't a matter for pure speculation. He called out the names of several Alabamians who had passed through his village, including a group from Birmingham.

I didn't have any of the theological concerns about demonic activity that might cause other Bible Belt Americans fear or discomfort around the temples and images. But the vibe I kept getting, while not evil, felt like "other than," which is a step beyond simply being unfamiliar.

Truth: Balinese Hindus are fine human beings, and their humanity manifests itself in every way that people in Alabama expect from their own families, friends, and neighbors.

Simultaneous Truth: If you tell me that a mountain is sacred, then tell me that animals are sacrificed to it by pushing them over the rim into its volcanic crater, as your faith calls for blood sacrifice, I will unavoidably feel the need to conclude that while you will reach the One who created us both by way of the same path I will, you are looking down a path I couldn't have walked in a million years. Literally. But more later on my own religious minority status back home - much later :)

Bali...not a Muslim sort of place...







I didn't see much of the island's beautiful beaches, but instead spent my four days with my friends in Ubud, a popular destination for art-lovers worldwide. There are carpenters, painters, stone carvers, musicians, and others with galleries, stalls, and workshops lining both sides of every street in Ubud, and the roads leading out of town, too. Ubud is recognized as Bali's cultural capital, and while I didn't learn as much about Balinese culture and language as I would like to, I wouldn't have missed it and I'll probably go back... Balinese architecture follows a basic theme of orange, earthen brick trimmed in grayish, carved stonework.

Some examples....















One feature of Balinese culture not to be missed is the kecak dance, performed in temples for worshipers and outdoors for the tourists...




























And...ahem, for the record, ladies, I do disagree with the rules for temple visiting concerning those five or so special days each month set forth here, but as a non-Hindu, I don't get a vote :(

















Kecak promotional materials reminded us how much English teachers are needed...







Kecak clip...