Julia Suryakusuma, Jakarta
""The more things change, the more they remain the same."" It was a Frenchman who first said that, but it could have been an Indonesian. Reformasi was a reaction to the New Order but in many ways it has become just a continuation of it -- sometimes in reverse.
The New Order, for example, was infamous for its efforts to impose uniformity. Today, eight years after Soeharto resigned, the new elites in our local governments are at it again, this time using Islam-inspired bylaws to impose conformity. Now it's not quasi-military uniforms but the jilbab (head scarf) and ""Muslim attire"" that women are being forced to wear. And just like the New Order, even when it's not forced, there is pressure to comply. So-called ""Muslim fashion"" has become a new ""uniform"" imposed by a new bunch of authoritarians.
The tragedy of these repeated attempts to create one-size-fits-all Indonesians is that it just doesn't jibe with the social reality of Indonesia, which is way too complex to be contained in small rigid boxes. It's like trying to fit an elephant into a shoebox. No matter what the authorities do, people are not what they wear, and clothes conceal as much as they reveal.
Take me and one of my best friends, for example. People are puzzled by our friendship, because on the surface we are so different. Let's start with physical appearance. I am 1.72 metres tall and at 1.53 Neng is, well, petite. I wear make-up and jewelry but Neng never does. Sometimes my husband Tim calls me ""sexypants"" because I like to dress up and wear figure-hugging clothes. Neng dresses in modest, loose-fitting trousers and tops, in plain colors. She has short hair that she covers with a jilbab. Mine comes down almost to my waist and is never covered. Together, we really are the odd couple!
Neng says that wearing a jilbab makes her easily accepted in Muslim communities when she does grass-roots gender training, gives seminars or attends Koranic recitals and other religious meetings. It's also part of her cultural background, since she hails from the Islamic stronghold of Labuan, Banten, and comes from a strong pesantren (Islamic boarding school) tradition. So she's used to wearing it and feels comfortable in it. Like me in my tank tops.
Neng's father is a landowner, a farmer, who only had an elementary school education. Despite this, he was an enlightened man. A kyai (religious leader), he believed strongly in education, establishing schools and even a university in Labuan. He urged his children to pursue their education to the university level. Today four out of five of them are graduates. Neng herself earned a degree in comparative religion from Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University and a postgraduate degree in sociology from the University of Indonesia.
Ironically, while I come from an international, diplomatic background and my parents, who are also from West Java, lived in a more secular world, they never stressed education. My father would have been happy for me to be a secretary, an interpreter or a flight attendant (what a disaster that would have been!). Luckily, my parents come from a part of West Java that has always been a source of rebellion -- including the militant Islamic group Darul Islam! -- and it seems I have inherited some of those genes. My rebellion, however, took the form of getting an education despite my parents and pursuing an intellectual jihad, rather than a bombing-people-we-don't-like jihad.
So Neng and I are two very different West Javanese Muslims. We may sometimes speak to each other in Sundanese, but it is not culture and ethnicity that makes us close; it's intellectual and spiritual connections. We share an appetite for knowledge and a belief in democracy, which despite its shortcomings is better than authoritarianism, religious or otherwise. And we belong to the same mutual admiration club!
I admire Neng for many things, including her understanding of Islam, both as scripture and practice. I admire the fact that because of her village origins and her academic achievements, she can straddle two Indonesian worlds, mediating and interpreting between the theoretical and the empirical. And I admire her role as one of the heads of the Fatayat NU, the women's wing of Nahdlatul Ulama, dedicated to empowering Muslim women in the villages.
Most of all, I admire Neng because it was through her that I first felt the beauty of Islam, especially its spirituality and subtle complexity in the Indonesian context. She believes that Islamic fundamentalism is ""desert Islam"", and inimical to Indonesia. She dreams of an Islam that is open, even to people with differing backgrounds, views and ways. This is why she says she can be close to me. If others see me merely as intellectual and sensual person, she sees the spiritual and even ascetic in me. Most of all, she admires my attitude of surrendering everything to God, which she says is the essence of Islam.
Could anyone perceive any of this if they saw us standing together? Could anyone guess that two Indonesians so different in appearance hold the top positions in each other's fan clubs? Would they even guess we share the same religion?
One thing I know for certain is that the narrow-minded men in Islamic outfits who drafted the bylaws that force women to wear the jilbab couldn't guess and probably couldn't care less either. And that makes them no different from the narrow-minded men in military uniforms who drafted the rules banning the jilbab under the New Order.
The only difference is that this time we voted for them -- and hopefully we'll vote them out one day!
The writer is the author of Sex, Power and Nation. She can be reached at jsuryakusuma@mac.com or jskusuma@dnet.net.id.
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