Intercultural (Mis)understanding

Intercultural understanding. What a bizarre concept. During my days off here in Madiun (of which there are many), a few times a month I accept invitations to speak at local private and public high schools and colleges. What, might you ask, do I, a newly minted college graduate, have to offer? It turns out, in the eyes of Indonesians anyway, a lot. Early last week, Pak Suprianto, my favorite teacher at SMA2, informed me that should I wish, I had an engagement lined-up at SMA1 in Ponoroggo, an hour’s drive from Madiun. The night before the talk was to take place, I received an SMS (text message) from Pak Pri. “nick, my friend will pick up u in mdn tomorrow at 8 o’oclock at school. but I want to contact first, i’ll contact u later. u prepare cross culture understanding amrca and indonsia and education.” Okay, I thought to myself, and promptly fell asleep.
In the car the next morning, despite the eagerness of my escorts to talk with me, I couldn’t help from falling asleep. It had been so long since I had been in a car with seat belts, or at least one not packed full of Indonesians, that I relished the thought of unencumbered leg room, the uninhibited ability to drool at will, not having to wear a cumbersome helmet, and the undeserved feeling of security that comes with riding in a car after spending months on motorbikes, rickety buses, and vomit lined ferry boats. I think they took my silence as haughtiness. In reality, the pair of middle-aged men just didn’t understand what I meant when I had said that I really needed coffee.
There we have a perfect example of intercultural misunderstanding. Coffee drinking here is seen as a social activity, where it can take hours to consume a single cup while bercakap cakap (chit chatting) over cigarettes and flip flops. In the U.S., coffee drinking is serious business. Yeah, people might get together to talk over a cup of joe, but more oftentimes than not, it’s the consumption of caffeine that really drives the conversation. I’ve weaned myself down to a cup or two a day here. Maybe the inverse proportion of lethargy-to-caffeine-consumption has helped me chill out a bit, but still, in a land whose namesake appears over Starbucks counters around the world, you would expect coffee on demand 24/7. Unfortunately, my pining after the black gold usually just ends in snickers from my hosts, who admire my intestinal fortitude, but look down on my perpetual quest for caffeine nonetheless. In any case, by means of a long-winded explanation, my sleepy demeanor should not be attributed to self-perceived cultural arrogance, but rather a lack of chemically induced vim and vigor. But I digress.
We arrived at the high school to an eruption of cheers. Two hundred students dressed in tan blouses and chocolate brown slacks and ankle-length skirts were waiting in the musholla, or prayer room, where I would be speaking. Unlike my school in Madiun, where only one in ten girls wears the female headscarf (the jilbab) in Ponoroggo, over half the young women were covered.
Before addressing the crowd of students, I met with the headmaster and a handful of English teachers, who spoke to me in Bahasa Indonesia for ten minutes. They wanted to know how they could get a “native English speaker” like me to come to their school, and how they could send their students to America to study. I gave them the AMINEF web address, and wished them luck, not sugarcoating the fact that competition was fierce.
I was ushered out to the musholla, where after saying “Good morning” I was met with rounds of applause. Every day in class, I receive the same treatment – cheering, yelling, clapping. There is no doubt in my mind that such veneration is contributing in large part to the inflated sense of self-worth that I have been accumulating here. Imagine what a different world this would be if inner-city teachers in New York, LA, and Chicago were cheered before starting their every class.
Sitting on the floor in front of a divan and two hundred wide-eyed students, I was brought bottles of ice tea and Fanta, bananas, salak and rambutan fruits, and after half an hour, a box filled with Indonesian deep-fried snacks and sweet cakes. I was introduced by Pak Hasim, an English teacher who, as he explained to me, had already made the hajj to Mecca, fulfilling one of the five fundamental pillars of Islam. At one point, he asked my religion, and as recommended by Fulbright, I replied “Kristen, Christian” not wanting to spark some sort of problem. Instead, he went on to give me a lecture about Abraham, Isaac, and Ishmael – the normal spiel that I give people who return blanks stares when I state that I am yahudi, Jewish – and he informed me that he had done a master’s thesis on Christian-Muslim relations. As he began enumerating passages from the New Testament, I quickly changed the conversation, not wanting to be called out for being a “bad Christian.”
After Pak Hasim’s introduction, two students gave opening remarks in English, thanking me for coming and wishing me a pleasant rest of my stay in Indonesia. “Oh, and yes Mister Nick,” continued Rosa, a pretty girl in the eleventh grade with glasses and long black hair, “before I allow the other students to ask you questions, may I ask you a question?”
“I don’t see why not, Rosa,” I said smiling, expecting some sort of question about Hollywood, New York City, American education policy, George W. Bush, or my opinions on Indonesia more broadly – the traditional Top Five Questions asked by groups of students. “Well, Mister Nick, what do you think of Indonesian girls? Is their skin too black?”
“Ummmmmmmm,” taken off guard for the umpteenth time, I stalled with mumbled answers and throat clearing coughs until I could reply. “Well, Rosa, I don’t think it is advisable for girls or women to use whitening products of any kind. Indonesian women are very pretty and smart already, and they don’t need to change their skin. You know, this is crazy for me, because in America, everybody – except maybe Michael Jackson – wants their skin to be dark like yours!” With that comment, the audience erupted into hollers of approval and bursts of laughter.
The remainder of the session was pretty straightforward. As the cut-out letters from my name fell onto my head from the welcoming sign behind me (see photo), I answered questions about education disparities, my favorite national park, my favorite Indonesian food, and how the students could receive scholarships to study in America.
Just as I thought I was in the clear, a jilbab-clad girl with thick glasses approached the microphone and said, “Mister Nick, why does President George Walker Bush hate Muslims? Now we hate him too. What do you think about President George Walker Bush?” This sort of question requires a fair bit of diplomacy and chutzpah to answer without putting yourself in a trap. Noticing the rapt attention of many students who had begun to doze off or chat with their friends, I made a concerted effort to realistically set forth my own thoughts and represent my country and President while providing an answer that would not just duck the issue, but would hopefully add some new light to what is undoubtedly a very lopsided discourse.
“Well, like most of you, I think, that President Bush’s war in Iraq was a bad idea.” Several mumbled words of approval drifted towards me from the crowd. “I do, however, feel that President Bush is trying to do the right thing. Most Americans do not hate Muslims, and President Bush does not hate Muslims. America went to war with Iraq not because we hate Muslims, but because our government received bad information from the FBI and CIA.” More mumbled approval, mostly from the male students, as they recognized the American intelligence community acronyms. “President Bush and the United States want to make life better for the rest of the world. Just like SBY (Susilo Bambang Yudyhono, the Indonesian President), President Bush wants to make more democracy, less poverty, and more opportunity for people everywhere in the world. I disagree with Mister Bush that war can make these things come true. That is why I was happy to see President Bush promise SBY almost 200 million dollars for education, healthcare, microfinance, and the development of infrastructure in Indonesia. War will never help or force people to like or understand one another. I think that by learning more about each other, we can help one another solve the world’s problems. That is why you must all continue to study English, and not be afraid to try using your English when you have the chance to practice with a native speaker. Great question, next!”
Phew. I thought I did a pretty good job dodging that one, although it certainly didn’t hurt that ninety percent of the audience could only understand half of what I said.
After some closing remarks, group photographs, and a lunch on what is reportedly Indonesia’s most tasty goat sate (it was enak sekali), I got back in the car with two new escorts, and promptly slept the entire way home.