Let's Make Poverty History

We decided to have Soto Betawi Ayam, Sate Padang and Nasi Bebek Chabe Hijau for dinner at the food court in Plaza Indonesia. I remarked that Jakarta appeared to be much cleaner than I remembered during my past visits, when we were chaffeured from Suharto-Hatta Airport to Aryaduta Hotel. The condition of the road and the taxis too were much better than it used to be. Indeed times have changed. The popular Hotel Indonesia where I used to stay on my visits and several other buildings had made way for newer hotels and shopping malls, one of which is Plaza Indonesia.

I was hoping to immerse in the traditional batik, wood-carvings, paintings, kek lapis and other Indonesian knick-knacks when the Concierge at Aryaduta Hotel recommended Plaza Indonesia for our nightout. Far from a shopping spree, I had wanted to feel local in Jakarta. Hence the smalltalk with the taxi driver on traffic condition, jalan tikus as alternative route to beat the congestion and whether there are rumah makan Nasi Padang (eating places serving Nasi Padang) in the vicinity of Plaza Indonesia.

The friendly taxi driver obliged our 4/5th-Malay and 1/5th-Bahasa Indonesia to keep the smalltalk alive and meaningful. Halfway through the conversation he asked where did we come from. I had an uneasy feeling when we told him that kita dari Singapore. Such question and its reply frequently gave me a frisson down my spine. Why? You may asked.

Earlier on the way to the hotel Ustaz Mahmoud asked me whether I make regular visits to Sumatra, where my uncles, aunties and relatives on my mother's side live. I hardly remembered the last time I visited them, in Binjai, North Sumatra. But what I remembered clearly was that they imagined and believed that we were wealthy. Hence we were expected to be and behaved as generous philantrophists and obliged to meet their overt requests for financial help. Understandably, it may be an opportunity of a lifetime to meet close relatives from Singapore, and on top of that, who had also travelled and studied overseas - perhaps a proxy for "the haves" and wealthy, to them. How I wished they were correct and that was true.

As the taxi stopped for the red light at the traffic junction, street peddlers offered their wares - newspapers, magazines, masks and gloves, and bottled drinks - approached the stationery vehicles and hoped to make a thousand rupiah or two. I lamented over how fortunate our children are - not because they are fortunate to enjoy the little luxuries of life but the taken-for-granted attitude, instead. It is almost "by default" that they get what they desire, often without having to work for it.

When we arrived at Plaza Indonesia I was both disappointed and surprised. Disappointed because it was not what I had imagined, and surprised to see rows and floors of shops carrying branded products - Armani, Vuitton, Mont Blanc, Zara, Hugo Boss, among many other names. And the plaza was buzzing with shoppers both singles and families - young, trendy and affluent. Is there an emerging upper class or increasing number of the rich and famous? I asked myself. Not for us and certainly beyond our means, we passed by the shops without making a stop until we found Periplus, my favourite bookshop. We happily browsed the books from one cluster to the last.

As the taxi exited the Plaza and the adjoining Grand Hyatt Hotel, I saw street peddlers with their mobile warongs, and an old woman in rags, sitting with her legs stretched out on the pedestrian, catching glimpses of the passers-by between intervals of hopelessness. This sight gave me a second frisson down my spine - over how two worlds existed in a single city, just within metres away from each other.

I once shared in a lecture not so long ago of the danger of a socio-economic divide and widening income gap. Left unchecked, the poor will envy the rich, and consequently the rich will be fearful of the poor.

Not an easy problem to solve, I will be the first one to admit.
But still, a problem that requires solution.
Before vulnerability overtakes and compels the inhuman.

Allahu musta'an.

Aryaduta Hotel, Jakarta.