On Communism. (Yes, again. Blame my History EE)

Disclaimer: I'm not a communist. I'm not even a socialist. To me, Communism is (for lack of a better word) retarded.
This blog post is written without any evidence, and yes it is filled with hasty and broad generalizations. But as a friend said to me, "but opinionated articles are much more fun, so who cares"





I am annoyed, I promised myself and several friends that I would be for once positive this week..

Write a happy piece: complementing the world, complementing people and their ideology.

But no, far from the happy-go-lucky smiling me during the daytime, I can't write that way. It seems that all the joy in me cannot possibly be transferred to blogs in general.

So, please just bear with me as I, once again, am the whiny idiot ranting about other people's idiocy. (Ironic, no?)

It all started this bright and sunny afternoon, I just returned from my dentist with a delightful progress report , instead of just idly watching Heroes on DVD, I for once was sparked with a need to be productive, and so.. turned on my Internet and proceeded to research the G30S or Gerakan 30 September (My Extended Essay topic).

Alright, yes, I wasn't being entirely diligent. I Facebooked and YouTubed whilst researching, but the YouTube-ing was rather rewarding, I found this great (yet terribly sad) video of the 1965 Coup and the ensuing Anti-Communist purge.


I watched all 20 minutes of the video and soon happily commented; but what started as a grateful and filled with august comment turned, not so .. positive ..

You see, my outrage and most of my blog entries start with something – or to be more specific (suggestion: add 'to help those with limited brain capacity to process data' in brackets), imbeciles. I must once again apologize, for always (and somewhat conveniently) bashing random Internet people, but seriously...

Westaquil wrote:

"If there are people killed who are not Communists, I feel sympathy. If there are people killed who are Communists, there's nothing to be sad about. The Communists in Indonesia terrorized the rural areas in the lead up to 1965. Of course, this part is always conveniently forgotten."

To be less petty, this sort of sordid mentality is shared by millions of Indonesians. Years of hopeless indoctrination by the state and society has left us Indonesians irrevocably brainwashed and susceptible moronic rants filled ignorance.

But seriously, what is it with this country and its unfathomable hatred of all things related to Communism? Oh yes, they were at fault, oh yes, they have attempted a coup, oh yes they were scheming people all too happy to seize everyone's money and lands. Yes, they were godless people. But they were, and still are, not the direct spawn of Satan nor were they planning to kill everyone within sight.

After all, Communism is merely an ideology, an ideology, that in the hands of dictators and overly-zealous individual advocates, have troubled the life of many. But in the end, that is the works of a Communist, not communism itself. It's always those people in power that corrupts and destroys everything, whether they be a communist or a fascist.

So I'm so terribly distraught over the callous and idiotic fear that resounds every time the word COMMUNIST is uttered.

I questioned my cousin earlier today with a grin of what they taught when I said the word, communist. With a wince she quickly but somewhat hesitantly replied, "Evil, cruel". I just nodded and passed her a plate of Xiao Long Pao to eat, but inside, I can't help but be horribly dismayed at how even the most modern of teenagers today are still stuck in the *oh-my-God-there's-EVIL-Communists* mindset. It's not her fault, I know it is not; there is no one I can't direct all my anger too. But I can't help but be be aggravated by the fact that a single word can invoke such frantic and incomprehensible disgust.

Why are we so boggled up in our misconstrued conceptions? It was not until I choose to do my Extended Essay on Indonesian History that I was finally awaken of the numerous indoctrinations taught to me in my elementary IPS lessons.

An indoctrination still in motion, still unawakened in the mind of my peers, my cousins, my fellow countrymen.

Jaundiced Pigs Spitting

In May 1998, a series of riots took Jakarta by storm. Our eyes, flooded by tears, witnessed the violent abuse of the pribumi towards the ethnic Chinese, as Suharto’s regime came to its ultimate demise. In our metropolis, solace was nowhere to be found, as the rancid stench of grim suffering and odium poisoned the arid minds of the victimized. Our great Jakarta, past its façade of glass and steel, was reduced to social debris, as discord between the ethnic Chinese and the native Indonesians disjointed our people in an infinite void of grudge.

My people, yellow-skinned public spitters of horrid artistic tastes, pride ourselves for our cunning wit, perseverance, and willingness to do anything to achieve success. This is who we are, and for being who we are, we have achieved much in this archipelago of seemingly endless opportunities.

In our short time of living here, we, who constitute for just about two percent of the Indonesian population, have grown to dominate the Indonesian aristocracy, with over eighty percent of Indonesia’s wealthiest being of Chinese race.

Funny how the minority comprises for the majority of the privileged. They hate us, but it’s certainly understandable. Envy, after all, is among the most effective catalysts for strife. Throw in obese Italians and you have yourself an opera.

We whine about how we are not given equal rights – how Indonesia will never have a Chinese president; how we are viewed as treasure houses for which we are to be exploited with bribery and corruption. Taxation is targeted at Chinese people and we complain. Sure, it’s irritating, but it is only logical that they tax the people who actually have money to be taxed for.

The reason the Chinese people are so wealthy in this country is that we are selfish and devious enough to exploit the naïve pribumi. Our industriousness doesn’t purely owe to our natural intelligence and determination – it’s more about how fortunate we are that these people are gullible enough to tolerate THEIR underpayment; THEIR mistreatment; the harvesting of THEIR natural resources for our capitalist mindsets. Take a look at America, the capitalist haven where WE are the used ones – mere chefs, butchers, maids, and takeout boys confined to ghetto Chinatowns.

A chauvinistic Chinese idiot keeps on saying how we are the superior race; how CHINESE people are better at designing AMERICAN furniture than AMERICANS are; how sleazy and faulty every non-Chinese person is; how we strive while others fail. True, such is the case in Indonesia, where the natives are not fully acquainted with capitalist evil. But if his bigoted remarks are so true, then why does he continue admitting that he would not be able to do business in Australia – a land of capitalist Caucasians?

Our successes are based on their failures. We took hold of Singapore – Malayan land – and converted it into a thriving Chinese metropolis while its neighbors, Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur, remain overshadowed by the merlion. Worst of all, they didn’t even realize that we stole their land, and they remain kind and naïve enough to supply Singapore with water.

We ought to stop complaining that they’re not giving us enough rights or that they treat us as the filthy exploiters that we are. We ought to stop viewing ourselves as the finer people and realize that our cousins in Western Chinatowns aren’t doing as well as we are. We ought to realize that though we dwarf the Indonesians here, we remain overshadowed by Caucasians in their lands. We ought to end our parade of social superiority, sympathize, and help, rather than shrilly whining about the poverty and hunger that we – jaundiced, ravenous, conceited, spitting gluttons – have brought unto them.

Hindered by Heritage (alright that is by far the tackiest tittle I've Made COMPOSED)

You know what sucks about being Chinese Indonesian?

No matter how much we love our country, Indonesia, no matter how much we fight for it, and no matter how much we sacrifice for it (be it blood, sweat or tears) most Indonesians, still wont view us as true Indonesians anyway.

The paradoxical irony is that we often herald our Chinese blood and customs, but we are patriotically to Indonesia, which for the most part unacknowledged our citizenship. (It was just recently that a law was enacted that Chinese Indonesian can be president. (the irony lies in the fact that such a law was NEEDED)

With our narrow eyes, light yellow-ish skin tone, hard working mentality and gauche culture we have inherently given up the right to be 'truly' Indonesian.

Maybe it's just me, but don't you think it's true, despite being born, and raised here, we're not really INDONESIANS are we? We, despite not speaking Chinese are so obviously and often painfully confused by who we are, and to whom our loyalties lies to.

I suppose, we are not alone in this matter, Mexicans who have lived in America for years still suffers being called illegal 'aliens' though they are technically Americans. (I despise how Americans insist on bad mouthing them despite Latin American's contribution to their economy, and how they pompously complain that the Mexicans will 'ruin their 'native' American culture' (WHAT CULTURE, THEY WERE ALL EUROPEAN IMMIGRANTS!!! will maybe write a blog entry on that in the future))

Even in our own soil, not only the Chinese are suffering from this, Bule's who love Bali and Indonesia are still called Bule's and will forever be called so. (No matter that they have learned the language and lived here for decades)

This pattern is uniquely and sadly universal, occurring everywhere and in many different degree's.

Why are humans so obsessed and eternally entrapped with distinguishing people firstly and fore mostly by their skin colors and physical characteristics?

And despite you inwardly disagreeing these blatant accusations, there is no denying that we all, are innately shallow! (well not ALL, several blind people and humanists can be exceptions , but how many are there really?)

What do you think?

Love, Steph

*not graded please, unless I don't post for like, the rest of this week*

WHEE! Bangkok, Thailand HMCA!

Indonesia's Incredibly Bright Future

Note: Somehow, this post (Indonesia's Incredibly Bright Future) written and posted on Wednesday was deleted accidentally. So I'm reposting it regretfully.

Disclaimer: I wrote this on caffeine high and this post contains broad generalizations and does not carry the opinions of other A1 HL-ers in my group.

As an Indonesian teenager who is more proficient in writing in English than in her own native language, I often feel ashamed of my incompetence in Indonesian.

I love writing in English, I hate writing in Indonesian.

I love English Literature; I often have problems reading Indonesian Literature.

It is a sad irony and predicament for many young International educated youths today.

I don’t know from where exactly this inadequacy comes from, nor when will it end.

What is the draw of the English language anyway? Is it naturally more beautiful, most audiophilically pleasing? Is it simply a matter of taste?

Are we, young Indonesians ashamed of our country, and thus our native language? Are we just too sick and tired in the reality of this country?

A gloriously corrupt nation whose ex-president (and probably our favorite) stole $35 billion from our country and despite all his crimes still lounges at his Cendana home?

Or is it something shallower, more sinister?

Maybe we decide, hey, English makes us special, makes us more exclusive. SUPERIOR even in comparison to the national school kids.

I think so.

Amidst globalization and the supremacy of American culture, us young people, gradually and not so gradually see our Chinese, Malay, Javanese, Balinese and our hundreds of cultures as boring, ridiculous, retarded and un-awesome.

We adore bule actors while we mock and laugh at Indonesian ones.

Seeing bule’s down the street we stare, we look, we fancy.

Who cares if they really are just average folks with different pigments? They are Caucasians and thus are cooler and awesome than we are.

Secretly we all want to be Americans and or Europeans, what’s so exotic in being Asian? Most of the countries in our continent are a third world country!

We aren’t Asian Americans, but as someone put it, we’re Americanized Asians.

Well, I am. I, sadly and shamefully am.

It a distressing and often irrevocable trait, I have been raised this way; all of my friends are this way. Apparently my love of English Literature is ironical. I may have read dozens and in a few years, hundreds of English Literature, but how many Indonesian books have I read? Probably less than a dozen!

I can name great writers whom I love and adore. How many Indonesian writers do I like? One.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer.

Even his work I first read in English, and then properly switched to the Indonesian version.

Even Pram, the Nobel Prize candidate whom I so revere, is mostly unknown and ignored by most of us.

Who cares? We say, he’s dead, and he’s irrelevant! He’s sooo boring.

But that’s not the point is it? He was someone who loved this nation, this country and the people of the Indies. He who spent so many years suffering and toiling for freedom, and wrote, just wrote for our country.

I called several bookstores searching for his most famous and prominent books today. It took me calling more than four stores to finally find it.

One of the person who answered my call and heard the title of the novels, asked me the author of this book! PRAMOEDYA ANANTA TOER! I almost screamed at her.

In Gramedia, Indonesia’s biggest chain bookstore, there are probably only two racks for Indonesian literature; half of it is used up for translated classics and modern works.

But there is dozens of racks for Japanese comic books, and mindlessly moronic Americanized chick-lits.

It has been sixty over years since our independence, almost ten years since the fall of Suharto.

No one cares about the future of this nation.

We all say, someone is going to come along and change all that. Someone is going to take care of it.

Time will fix our nation. Time will make this nation great!

I know sound like a rambling visionary screaming for a change in a world and society deaf and contentedly ignorant on such matters.

Nietzsche said Visionaries lie to themselves, and liars lie to other people only. Though he is right in certain ways, he’s still incorrect and the insane Nietzsche we all love.

We are already lying to ourselves anyhow. We’re ignoring who we are (genetically), and happily too!

So, to the foreigners I say with a dyed blonde hair, blue contact lenses, black tank top, jeans and a perky smile, “Hi welcome to Indonesia, we are the new generation of Indonesians, oh don’t worry we speak English, we live the American way! We don’t give crap about Indonesia!”