The Meaning of Apologies

Iedul Fitri, or the end of the fasting month of Ramadhan for Moslems, is marked by asking each other for forgiveness, normally by saying ‘mohon ma’af lahir bathin’ (forgive me body and soul.) This is supposed to be the time when past wrongs are exonerated, sins forgiven and everybody starts the new year with a clean slate, innocent like new born babes.

Which begs the question, if everybody every year says sorry, but then continues with their bad ways, what is the point of apologizing or asking for forgiveness? Unless of course, they’re not really sorry or don’t understand the meaning of remorse. Or worse, since they know they will be forgiven at the end of day, might as well use the rest of the year to pack in as many sins as possible.

Hence, it is no surprise that although Indonesia has the largest Moslem population, it also ranks high on the list of most corrupt countries and probably the most tolerant of preventable human failings such as lacking in discipline and irrational and irresponsible behaviours.

Since every year we are always asking each other’s forgiveness, what is that we’re actually remorseful about? Certainly not for anything specific, I’m sure, such as ‘sorry for stealing the company’s money,’ or ‘sorry for being too lazy to get my work done,’ or even, ‘sorry for being a nasty boss, a nagging wife, a cheating husband or a good-for-nothing son.’ (Or if you’re in Aceh caught canoodling in public with your paramour, ‘sorry for showing affection, please don’t stone me to death.’)

No, for these would be an admission of actual wrong doings and personal failures.

While we are good at asking for forgiveness in the general and rhetorical sense, such as during the Iedul Fitri or at the end of pompous speeches where we apologize profusely for words wrongly spoken and feelings unintentionally injured, or on invitation cards, for names and titles misspelled, wild horses will not be able to drag out an apology when it comes to real wrong doings for which sincere apologies are required.

As a matter of fact, I cannot recall any public official calling a press conference to apologize over personal failings, corruption and misdeeds that come under his responsibility, let alone entertain the thought of resignation. Apologizing is seen as an act of weakness rather than strength. There’s more honour in defiant indignation and vehement denial than in the humble admission of guilt.

The standard responses for real misdeeds are feign ignorance, deny responsibility or point the finger at somebody else. If really pushed to a corner, when an apology is warranted, we could always blame the Almighty for making us imperfect creatures. It’s not our fault that we’re a bunch of lying, cheating and weak-willed lot, but our Maker’s.

When pushed to a situation where we have to say sorry, our ego’s impulse is to reject the notion that we might even be the slightest bit in the wrong. When it comes to our own failings, remorse seems to come below indignation and self-denial.

This is a pity, because a well-honed and properly constructed apology can actually go a long way in furthering one’s interests and transform a personal weakness into public magnanimity.

Celebrities and public figures for instance are normally quite good at airing their apologies. After all, for people living in constant pursuit of paparazzi and who feed off the media for their fame, there is no such thing as bad publicity and a beautifully crafted display of regret can generate a lot of mileage in the media.

For example, for all the amount of bile and antipathy directed at singer Kanye West on his rude behaviour against Video Music Award winner Taylor Swift, the singer’s public outburst during the show earned him the enviable top spot in Twitter’s trending topic for a few days.

As a matter of fact, public apologies by public figures are often a good way to put a closure to scandalous behaviours (especially where exposed marital affairs are the issue) and for putting the onus on the public to let the matter go one way or the other. Our public officials would do well to learn from them. A contrite face, a public mea culpa, some verbal self-flagellation can be an effective character boost to a flagging popularity for our politicians and public officials. Especially if nobody else is doing it.

At least this type of apologies actually have a more beneficial purpose than the general, rhetorical ones we hand out on an annual basis.

(Desi Anwar: First published in The Jakarta Globe)

Political Soap Opera

If there is anything to be learned from the bad blood between President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and Vice President Jusuf Kalla and the rift within the Golkar Party, it is that although loyal partners are getting more difficult to come by these days, politics is certainly becoming more riveting.

If anything, Indonesian politics is getting more and more like a daytime soap opera; a sinetron of political elitism and ambitions played out in a bubble, quite separate and out of touch with the real world of pragmatic and disinterested voters. It’s low-quality entertainment but addictive all the same, with the viewers wanting to know what other dramas lie in store in the next episode.

Even though they generate media excitement and influence TV ratings, those mindless soap operas that fill our TV schedules could learn a thing or two from our politicians about developing plots, crafting characters and creating dramatic suspense.

We know that in the world of politics there are no such things as permanent relationships, just permanent interests. Politicians fight, compete, carry out smear campaigns, form coalitions, seek out old enemies and then shake hands graciously, supposedly in the best interests of the country. As the saying goes, “He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.” Parties lose but democracy wins. Today’s losers could be tomorrow’s winners.

Except, that is, when nobody wants to lose and parties care less for democracy than they do for power; when they care less about national interests than personal interests.

Politics does make strange bedfellows, but it looks like it also makes for very bad breakups and bitter divorces

Here on top of the political chess game of strategies and calculated moves, we also see an embarrassing display of overt emotions and personal sentiments: disappointment, bitterness, injured pride, betrayal, opportunism, backstabbing and the pursuit of revenge in a never-ending saga of broken trust, conspiracy and hubris.

Indeed politics does make strange bedfellows, but it looks like it also makes for very bad breakups and bitter divorces with unlikely love affairs and some pretty rotten matchmaking on the sidelines as well. All of these provide hot ingredients for a juicy drama with shady characters and improbable plots. And the story goes on.

Let’s see what story we have here.

With the dust of parliamentary elections settling, the curtains opens to reveal the true drama of the Golkar and Democrat families, whose partnership has provided us with our leading men over the last few years.

After a shaky five-year union between them, however, fortune has shifted greatly in favor of the Democratic Party after it emerged as clear winner in the legislative elections. President Yudhoyono clearly wants to see more commitment and loyalty in the marriage than he has been given by the wayward partner he’s had to put up with.

Then in a fit of pique and fed up with having to beg, Golkar threatens a divorce to save the family honor and preserve whatever shred of integrity the party has left.

The plot thickens, however, when other members of the family choose their private ambitions over pride and honor and decide they want to retain their place in the sun rather than be left out in the dark to languish in oblivion.

So what do we have? A drama that promises to be long and dreary. A tragicomedy involving a bunch of grumpy old men desperately trying to cling to their power even as they’re slowly slipping into irrelevance.

Sometimes I wonder whether these politicians really know what they are doing and why, or whether they deliberately go about things in the most unedifying fashion solely for our entertainment because they have nothing better to do.

Various surveys have consistently predicted the outcome of the elections and yet most parties still act as if their maneuvering and wheeler-dealing is going to make a real impression on voters, not just cause apathy or provide wry amusement.

For not once has any of the contesting parties shown any interest or concern in the welfare or future of the country. Not once have they appeared to have given any thought to how their existence has any relevance or adds value to the quality of the nation’s life.

Instead, lost in their own comic dramas, they continue to provide headline fodder for the media like a cheap but popular serial.

What’s scary is we’re not even anywhere close to the presidential election.

(Desi Anwar. First published in The Jakarta Globe)

Picking a Face at the Quiet Polls

Exactly one day before Election Day my voter’s slip finally arrived, and thus I could well and truly take part in determining the country’s leaders.

I must admit that up until then my enthusiasm for this whole democratic exercise had been less than lukewarm. But when my driver proudly showed me his purple-stained pinkie and expounded at lengths — with the skills and cogency of a political analyst — on why he chose a particular party, suddenly I too felt fired up to do my bit for the country.

So off I went, barely a half-hour before closing time, expecting to find a long line of eager voters at the neighborhood badminton court waiting for their turn to vote.

Instead the polling station, housed under a makeshift tent, had only a couple of election officials with a big bag full of as yet unopened ballot papers in front of them, while the few plastic chairs to seat waiting voters were curiously empty.

Either I was very late compared to my neighbors or there weren’t that many voters who came to begin with.

Later I was told that out of the 400 or so registered voters in my area, less than 200 came. The rest had obviously decided to spend their long weekend on less democratic pursuits.

I was handed four sets of thick ballot papers bearing different colors and went to the booths, which were merely spaces separated by tin partitions set on a long table.

I’d come with a relative and since nobody else happened to be voting, we could easily hold a conversation and compare notes.

One candidate looked like she had had a nose job, so we decided to pass. Another looked like an aging nun with a creepy smile.

This was important since neither of us had a clear idea of what to do and had paid very little attention to the General Elections Commission’s voting instructions.

Once we sussed out the technicalities of it, which took a few good minutes and some verbal consultations with a skinny official in a green uniform, it was time to make our choices for local, provincial and national representatives.

I checked my mobile for messages sent that morning by friends who advocated such and such persons for such and such reasons.

I scoured the broadsheet-sized district representative ballot paper for some familiar names and found none. My area apparently just missed out on being in Jakarta.

Instead I am a resident of the city of Tangerang in Banten Province and since I didn’t know any of the names on the sheet, I just had to find a method of choosing that was more meaningful than random.

It was a good thing I was not in a hurry.

A voter at the other end of the table loudly claimed that since he didn’t know any of the candidates pictured on the ballot for the Regional Representatives Council, he wasn’t going to fill it in. Nobody paid any attention to him, but when I spread out the ballot I understood exactly what he meant.

Before me were rows of out-of-focus headshots of people completely unfamiliar to me.

My relative was similarly at a loss. But a choice had to be made for the sake of our precious democracy.

As there were only a handful of women out of the dozens of males on the sheet we decided that our choice would be for a woman.

This narrowed it down considerably to five or six candidates.

The question was which one. Since all wore headscarves and were heavily made up it was not as easy as we thought. One looked like she had had a nose job, so we decided to pass on her. Another looked like an aging nun from “ The Sound of Music,” all black with a strip of white covering on her head and a creepy smile.

Yet another had some academic titles behind her name that seemed a bit dodgy.

We hemmed and hawed for a few minutes and both agreed on No.14, the woman with the friendliest face, a relatively normal smile and a recognizable academic title.

We folded the thick ballot sheets and forced them in the slots of their appropriate boxes and dipped our fingers in the purple ink. It ran down my little finger in one long indelible mess.

But I felt satisfied. I had done my duty.