Jakarta: on having servants

Bali 1995

In the pre-internet days, I was sent an Op-Ed from the New Yorker written by a woman who spent a holiday in Bali with friends living there. The focus was on how "strange" she felt living with people who had servants (a very guilty pleasure). I largely agreed with her take on the experience and wrote my own response. (I have edited and updated it)

1995

It is a hot summer day in Jakarta, but then again, every day is a hot summer day as there is little variation in the weather this close to the equator. Let's say it's a typical "dry season" day - the air is thick and humid without the hope of a late afternoon rain to bring relief. The mosquitos have reached plague proportions and dengue fever cases are on the rise. I sit alone sipping a gin & tonic at a beautiful desk made of teak with beryl inlay while gazing at a manicured garden surrounding a small pool. The melancholy sounds of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto No. 1 fill the room. In the background I hear the clatter of pans as the maid makes dinner and the sounds of spraying water from the gardener keeping all things green during the big dry. Our cat lies on a rattan sofa in front of me watching a house lizard intently. Here in a walled-off fortress of luxury, the hurly-burly world of Jakarta seems light-years away and I can almost believe I live in a tropical paradise. Another day is drawing to a close for me, one more expatriate living in Jakarta.

We come from across the globe to "help develop" this fourth largest country of the world - Koreans, Japanese, Australians, Dutch, English, French, Germans, Americans... everyone wants a piece of the pie. Some of the world's largest natural gas reserves, huge mineral deposits, the second largest (intact) rainforest after the Amazon, an endless supply of cheap labor: neo-colonials come to Indonesia to make a profit while it's still possible. The political and economic center of Indonesia is Jakarta of "The Year of Living Dangerously" fame. Perhaps not as deliciously dangerous as the movie portrayed, the city is also lightyears different from the tourist enclave of Bali. We go to Bali on weekends for R&R and look upon the Western "New Agers" living there with disdain. After all, they live in Bali, a small island with little economic significance compared to the capital of a fast-growing powerhouse nation.

As for those Westerners who take up residence in Bali: let them delude themselves into believing they are somehow being enlightened by the mystical "Island of the Gods". The Balinese at most tolerate them and their eccentricities. Hindu Bali has endured the onslaught of foreign religions, Dutch colonizers, and 20th century tourism and remained amazingly steadfast in their culture. New Agers pose little threat. The New Yorker article explains that a Western couple who never had a daughter decided to name their nanny's child "Sinead" because they had always loved the name. For low-caste Balinese (most people), there are only four possible names which are dictated by birth order: Wayan, Made, Nyoman, and Ketut (or variations thereof). Certainly little Sinead's mother goes home to her village and says "Misses is so strange - she keeps calling Made, 'Sinead'". As if a Balinese, no matter how weak economically, would allow a non-Balinese to name their child - the arrogance of the situation is not in the naming, but in being completely ignorant of the culture (that deeply spiritual one) within which those same expats specifically chose to live. What an irony.

I should not be too disparaging - some of the foreign entrepreneurs in Bali add to the economy (they have to earn some kind of living and hold a job that allows their visa status). Driving through the island at times feels like passing through one huge handicraft factory. The road from the artistic center, Ubud, to the volcanic Lake Batur passes by hundreds of small wood carvers' workshops. Many Balinese eke out an existence by selling their wares both in and outside Bali. Those foreigners (no matter of what spiritual inclination) provide an important niche in the local economy. Ultimately, the Balinese want to make money - like everyone else in the world. They are less concerned about the spiritual impact of their island on outsiders.

I digress...

Expats have servants in Indonesia. Perhaps a short historical perspective would help: Java (180 million) and Bali (3 million) were all Hindu for over 1000 years and lived in a caste system. Java converted to Islam (Bali did not), but the underlying belief in a caste system persists. For the peasants of Central Java, to be a servant in a "big house" in Jakarta is not a job of shame, it is something into which they feel they were born without hope of any upward mobility. More importantly, it is a job. In a country of 200 million and high unemployment, any job is preferable to subsistence farming on the slopes of an active volcano.

Some expats are dreadful to their staff. Horror stories abound of neo-colonial excess. Others treat their servants "too well" and the staff end up taking over the household until they must be dismissed (and a new batch arrives to repeat the process). However, one thing is certain - expats (even bad ones) treat their servants far better than the wealthy locals. Rich Indonesians treat their staff as little more than chattel. Of course, rich Indonesians will explain their staff are "like family", but ask any household head if they have invested time or money into staff development. One only gets a puzzled look in response or perhaps a lecture on what a waste of time that would be. Expats generally insist on increasing not only the training, but also the worldview of their household staff. The results of working for expats are unpredictable, but at least foreigners don't buy into the idea of "born to be" some rank in life.

Personally, I am proud of our maid. She married our gardener and came to live in Jakarta directly from the village soon after we took the house. She had never lived in the modern world let alone in the opulence of a "big house" with AC, swimming pool, and marble floors. When I showed her how to use the microwave the first time, she took a few steps back. I swear she thought it was "magic". She took a series of courses ranging from cooking to housekeeping and now is the undisputed mistress of the house. She can keep to the household budget, maintain records, shop comparatively, sew her own clothes, and make a variety of exotic foreign dishes. She has become an extremely self-confident woman who understands what possibilities exist for her and her children in Indonesia. We treat her respectfully and ask her opinion (taking it seriously). Our servants do not use the old term "tuan" (master) with us, but the more neutral "mister".

What evil lies here? The servants spend their free time chatting with friends or watching TV. They don't sit waiting for our next request with baited breath (as the New Yorker article implies) - I have never met a servant in Indonesia who does. However, in the end, we have chosen to abandon the luxury of living in a house and move to an apartment (which are not very common). Why? Privacy - a Western concept. Needing "personal space" or "time alone" is nearly impossible on a small island of 120 million. Even in a big house, the servants are always around - that is what they are paid to be. They overhear every conversation, they know everything you eat, they know every person who enters and exits the house, -- they even know when you have sex. Who wants to live with their employees? Alas, this is lost on anyone who visits and experiences the "automatic life" for a short period. Wake up - breakfast is on the table. Open the closet - all the clothes are clean and pressed. Walk to the garage - the car is running with a driver ready to take you anywhere. The price? no privacy, at all. For us, it was too dear a price, so we chose to flee to a life in an apartment with no live-in staff - a life that approximates America just a little more.

The woman who experienced her friends' beautiful life in Bali (and felt guilty) did not see the whole picture. In a two-week stay, that would be impossible. I found her reaction sincere - just incomplete.

In retrospect, I still agree with what I said many years ago. I believe Indonesia has developed and job opportunities are more plentiful now. There is less of a feeling of being "born into" some low-wage job (but it still exists). A few years later, our maid followed us to Singapore where she worked for only a year and left - she was too homesick. It was ironic that she came back to live in a house with us again - perhaps by that time we made our peace co-habitating with those who cared for us (and it was only one person).

I miss the automatic life, but I still cherish my privacy.