On Kites and Rallies
The juxtapositions in this city continue to awe me. I spent the afternoon with a group of Fulbrighters in Jakarta at the National Monument, a mile wide square with a 400 foot, gold tipped marble spire in the center. Yesterday I was walking through the square for the first time when a middle-aged Indonesian guy approached me. I wound up cruising the city with Moh for a solid five hours. I got a ton of great shots in off-beat sections of town like the Chinese shrine, a Catholic wedding procession, and the fishing slums. When we parted ways, he recommended that I go to the international kite festival at the National Monument today.
I’ve posted some of the better shots from the event above. Hundreds of little boys with homemade plastic doohickeys were running around causing trouble, and a few older guys were flying upgraded options over their heads.
After the pack of three Fulbright girls took-off to spend the rest of the afternoon at the hotel’s pool, my buddy John and I continued to cruise around the Monument. John is a freelance sound guy for NPR, and he was gathering material for a piece on the kite festival. We were getting sweaty and ready to head back when Moh called my handphone – a gift from the American Indonesian Exchange Foundation (AMINEF). He told me that we should meet him at the American Embassy, where an anti-Israel rally was taking place. We left the idyllic park grounds and made our way back towards the bustle of Jalan Merdeka Selatan, one of Jakarta’s main thoroughfares.
As we were walking towards the Embassy, John – whose Midwestern roots have so far proved him a bit more cautious than me – made sure that we had a gameplan should any situations arise. “You know, this might not be the best idea,” he cautioned. “Two bule gila (crazy foreigners), and Americans at that, walking into the snakepit.” I told him we’d play it by ear, and get out quickly if we felt the slightest bit of danger.
I knew the situation was a bit off before we even got close. Men were walking by draped in Palestinian flags, and street vendors were selling copies of what looked like Radical Islamist DVD’s and books. “Bush and Olmert are the Real Terrorist” headbands and posters were everywhere, and as we got closer, all the women were dressed in full body conservative white burkahs. As I snapped a few shots of people, John began to get nervous. “This doesn’t feel good, man. People are staring at us, and not in the normal way. No one is saying hello, and you’re getting a lot of angry looks.”
This struck me as odd. We’ve been in Jakarta for a week now, and not once have I felt the least bit threatened. In fact, most of the time I feel like screaming because everyone here is TOO friendly. “Hello, mister, where you go?” echoes after me as I walk down any street, even the busiest main drags.
But this definitely was different. As I looked up, I saw a man wearing a black Hamas military jacket and a ski mask. Groups of young men were militantly marching down the street dressed in conservative black clothes, brandishing large Palestinian flags and anti-American and –Israeli slogans. The next thing I knew, an Indonesian man was talking to us. “Where you from,” he asked, visibly hostile. John and I had agreed that we would tell people, if they asked, that we were from Finland. John spent half a year there studying, he has blonde hair and a blonde beard, and his bag is emblazoned with the Finnish flag. “Finland,” we both replied, a bit jumpily, in unison. The man preceded to give us a lecture, in Indonesian, on why he hates America, and why he wants to fight in the name of Islam. As he got more and more riled up, John and I realized that it was definitely time to leave. Those militant groups of young men were beginning to gather around us, and the hostility was palpable. No one except little girls was smiling at us as we walked out. A group of ten men wearing black Hamas jackets and ski masks walked past us as we hailed a cab and split.
The craziest thing was, we were still half a mile from the embassy.
I’ve posted some of the better shots from the event above. Hundreds of little boys with homemade plastic doohickeys were running around causing trouble, and a few older guys were flying upgraded options over their heads.
After the pack of three Fulbright girls took-off to spend the rest of the afternoon at the hotel’s pool, my buddy John and I continued to cruise around the Monument. John is a freelance sound guy for NPR, and he was gathering material for a piece on the kite festival. We were getting sweaty and ready to head back when Moh called my handphone – a gift from the American Indonesian Exchange Foundation (AMINEF). He told me that we should meet him at the American Embassy, where an anti-Israel rally was taking place. We left the idyllic park grounds and made our way back towards the bustle of Jalan Merdeka Selatan, one of Jakarta’s main thoroughfares.
As we were walking towards the Embassy, John – whose Midwestern roots have so far proved him a bit more cautious than me – made sure that we had a gameplan should any situations arise. “You know, this might not be the best idea,” he cautioned. “Two bule gila (crazy foreigners), and Americans at that, walking into the snakepit.” I told him we’d play it by ear, and get out quickly if we felt the slightest bit of danger.
I knew the situation was a bit off before we even got close. Men were walking by draped in Palestinian flags, and street vendors were selling copies of what looked like Radical Islamist DVD’s and books. “Bush and Olmert are the Real Terrorist” headbands and posters were everywhere, and as we got closer, all the women were dressed in full body conservative white burkahs. As I snapped a few shots of people, John began to get nervous. “This doesn’t feel good, man. People are staring at us, and not in the normal way. No one is saying hello, and you’re getting a lot of angry looks.”
This struck me as odd. We’ve been in Jakarta for a week now, and not once have I felt the least bit threatened. In fact, most of the time I feel like screaming because everyone here is TOO friendly. “Hello, mister, where you go?” echoes after me as I walk down any street, even the busiest main drags.
But this definitely was different. As I looked up, I saw a man wearing a black Hamas military jacket and a ski mask. Groups of young men were militantly marching down the street dressed in conservative black clothes, brandishing large Palestinian flags and anti-American and –Israeli slogans. The next thing I knew, an Indonesian man was talking to us. “Where you from,” he asked, visibly hostile. John and I had agreed that we would tell people, if they asked, that we were from Finland. John spent half a year there studying, he has blonde hair and a blonde beard, and his bag is emblazoned with the Finnish flag. “Finland,” we both replied, a bit jumpily, in unison. The man preceded to give us a lecture, in Indonesian, on why he hates America, and why he wants to fight in the name of Islam. As he got more and more riled up, John and I realized that it was definitely time to leave. Those militant groups of young men were beginning to gather around us, and the hostility was palpable. No one except little girls was smiling at us as we walked out. A group of ten men wearing black Hamas jackets and ski masks walked past us as we hailed a cab and split.
The craziest thing was, we were still half a mile from the embassy.
posted by Nick Taranto | 2:37 AM
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