Chapter 3. Corporeal Market and Discourse of the Private
p. 47-70
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1 - Corporeal Market: Solemnity versus Banality
1Bettina David, a researcher of Islamic fashion, has observed that the market for the jilbab has undergone a dramatic transformation since Soeharto’s fall. In Islamic thought, the corpus is considered as inferior to the ruh, the spirit or the soul, and the jilbab has been employed to sanctify the corpus. Yet it is very much a player in the capitalist market, and immeasurable gimmicks have been used to boost its sales. The marketplace, with the invisible hands of God, allows the pious consumer to ‘serve Heaven’. Vulgar consumerism is not limited to worldly hereand-now stuff but also includes ‘spiritual goods’.
2The last 13 years have been witness to an explosion of the jilbab market, proving that it was not merely a novelty. It has penetrated every nook and cranny, from vendors in traditional market to malls and hypermarkets. It has built on and superseded the market for the traditional kebaya. Now there is even a jilbab version of the kebaya, which accounts for the majority of sales; trendy and gaul (funky) jilbab, though increasingly popular with the youth, has a relatively small market share. The jilbab is no longer the exclusive privilege of the religious but has been embraced at all levels of society. Islamic magazines such as Annida, Sabili and Noor prescribe rightful behaviour in many aspects including language usage, food and apparel. The fashion of Islam is a kaffah choice, offering total redemption under the rule of the market.
3This type of market, or call it simply Islamic capitalism, is driven by spiritual fervour, peer pressure and probably even a desire to stray beyond secular norms — funky jilbab as counterculture. This is a windfall for the capitalists! Even the non-Muslim capitalists are rejoicing. What started out as a minority trend has gained strength, fuelled by many religious congregations aired on television (for example, those of Mamah Dedeh, Ayu Qowantinah, Hajjah Luthfi, Hajjah Masenah and Neno Warisman), firmly anchoring the jilbab in society. From absence and scarcity in the 1980s to its shaky beginnings after the 1998 movement, the spread of the jilbab has been aided by technology.
4The meaning and symbolism of the jilbab has also evolved. In the 1980s the jilbab-wearer was haunted by fear and the jilbab was not considered as high culture. Then it was the kebaya, as personified by Ibu Tien, that was widely favoured, affirmed and reproduced among Indonesian women. It was as if the Javanese kebaya were the very definition of Indonesian formality and state ceremony. Today the tables have been turned and the jilbab has entered popular mass culture. It is not difficult to see why — the jilbab is not something dictated by the outsider, much less the West. It is authentic culture for the women in Indonesia, a local variant that is unique and locally designed. Solo, especially, has emerged as a hub for designers and batik creators of the jilbab.
5There are so many ways to define the Muslim woman, yet with the arrival of the novel jilbab in the 1990s, the Muslim woman is often defined solely by her donning or not of the jilbab. There is no doubt a political dimension to Islamic popular culture and we can observe in this a manifestation of the Gramscian hegemony theory. Funky jilbab is the site of struggle between subordinate groups in society and forces of incorporation operating in the interests of dominant groups in society, which I call the major Muslim group. The jilbab no longer vacillates between high and popular culture but is a here-to-stay fashion code that interlocks nilai keislaman and nilai ketimuran.
6There is a discernible crisis in Islamic culture evident in the displacement of spiritual culture by the dictates of entertainment. Hannah Arendt called it a crisis while Susan Sontag lamented it as undermining standards of seriousness. In the 1980s the jilbab-wearers were activists who fought for a democratic Indonesia at their own risks. Dete Aliah (former director of 4INDEV, a Jakarta-based organization working for development) and Vera Kartika Giantari (former director of SPEK-HAM) were part of this group of women. Present jilbab-wearers are likely to be indifferent to critical engagement against a failed government, living as we do in a dumbed-down culture where we are immersed in trivia about celebrities and asinine soaps on TV. The blingbling jilbab as fashion statement has replaced the jilbab as political statement. Activists have lamented the replacement of the critical attitude and authentic ethos of 1998 with the mass manufacture of a tasteless, industrialized artifact of Islam in order to satisfy the lowest common denominator. The young are alienated from others, from reality and from themselves.
7Many feminists, activists and educators have argued that the quality of the output on television has been diluted as stations pursue ratings, focusing on the glitzy, the superficial, the popular and fluff. The tack, it seems, has changed from creating formulaic shows to pandering to mainstream Islamic values and fears. Unhealthy TV soap operas labelled as Islamic — Puteri Yang Tertukar, Anugerah, Wanita Solehah Yang Didholimi oleh Suaminya, Nada dan Cinta, Cinta di antara Dusta, to name but a few — flood homes. The plots of these soaps are often too simplistic, using a standardized template with minimal dialogue. Characters are black-and-white, shallow and unconvincing, more symbols than real characters. Values of humanity are subdued by archaic text that does not match reality. The world of these soaps is a Manichean one. It is always a conflict between dark and light, good and evil, reflecting none of the complexity of the social, economic and political problems of our world. Worse, they reinforce fears of hell, prejudice against other faiths (Christians and the Ahmadiyah), paranoia and aggression.
8It is a game of who can scream louder, who can be heard above the din. Even mosques are not exempt. Almost all mosques now compete to make the adzan call louder and louder. The sacred call has been degraded as sobriety and solemnity give way to pride and chauvinism. It speaks volumes about the state of Islamic popular culture today, one that has encroached into every realm of collective experience. For instance, instead of discussing the very real problem of poverty, most media devote and sell poverty as one of its commodities.
9Islamic popular culture is not merely a symptom and side effect of mass consumerism. It has its own vibrancy and vitality, but is characterized by a fundamental paradox — advances in technology and cultural sophistication, combined with an increase in superficiality and dehumanization. Nonetheless, it should still be seen as having a totality of ideas, perspectives, attitudes, images and other symbols approved by the mainstream. Islamic popular culture is thus authentic and original. It is certainly related to other Muslim countries in Central and South Asia as well as the Middle East and North Africa, but stands distinctively as Indonesian. It also acts as a unifying factor in a land where race, ethnicity, gender, customs and traditions are so diverse. The cultural icon of the funky but syar’i jilbab conveniently draws these streams into one ocean of Islam.
2 - Under the Shadow of the Male Governor
10Ibu Rustriningsih was born in 1967 and was elected Bupati Kebumen when she was still a 33-year old single in 2000. She was belittled by her political rival as cah wingi sore (merely a child, immature). She was also undermined due to her sex — not unlike the treatment received by Ibu Rina Karanganyar. Yet she has won an “Outstanding Women in Local Government and Recognition” award from the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific, as well as strong support from her people in the second election of 2010, garnering 77.8 per cent of the votes. Her arduous work building infrastructure and a clean government during her first term had paid off. It is no mean feat that she has been profiled by CNN, New York Times and the Straits Times for her clean image while Indonesians are increasingly frustrated with the corrupt rule of their leaders. She even became and remains vice-governor of Semarang. The fact that her status has plummeted stems from the decreasing authority of provinces compared to regencies in the face of regional autonomy. She really ought to have been leading Kebumen rather than residing in Semarang — much to the regret of people in Kebumen.
11“There was one golden rule in politics — ‘only the tough make it’ — and I was not regarded as tough due to my sex and age,” said Ibu Rustri wryly. Tough need not mean ruthlessness; it could mean steadfastness and stamina, in which case, she thinks women have every right to be in power. “And women can learn from testosterone-fuelled politicians like the Gubernur Pak Bibit Waluyo! When I came into politics, I was the good girl from Kebumen, graduate of Universitas Gajah Mada. The years in office have toughened me up,” she confesses. As Partai Demokrasi Indonesia (PDI) leader in Kebumen, certainly she is not as easily intimidated as she used to be. When she was younger, she was impressed by raised voices and table banging, but as she got older, she realized this was just meaningless bluster. Now people even say that she has become a relatively cold politician. She considers this a compliment rather than a criticism. If she thinks something is right, she will try to push it through politically. She has bravely revised political decisions that were criticized by the people. During her time in power, she built and renovated the infrastructure of 695 elementary schools and raised the PAD (Pendapatan Asli Daerah/Regency Gross Income) from Rp 6 billion to Rp 23 billion. Nothing has been heard on her vision for empowering local women but there is no doubting her bold ambition as a female politician.
12Ibu Rustriningsih has declared that women should not apologize for being ambitious. When she was new to politics, she was stuck when asked how she could manage three children and a husband. Such questions arise from disbelief that a woman with three children could possibly seek a powerful position. This is why she no longer likes talking about how she organizes her days, only about her political objectives. Her husband, she stated, let her be the leader, and that is enough for her to go full steam into politics, representing PDI (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia), a party known for its secular mission, as compared to PKS (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, representing the Islamic Brotherhood). The veil, exhorted by PPP (Partai Persatuan Pembangunan, a political party in close affinity with the Muslim community) has since 2000 been adopted by even the most secular Indonesian parties such as PDI. Ibu Rustri herself is more stringent in the wearing of the veil than even Ibu Rina, who can sometimes be seen singing a Campur Sari song on local television (TATV and Jogja TV) wearing a simple head veil that covers only her hair, leaving her neck bared. Ibu Rustri is all in favour of women conforming to proper adat ketimuran; sexy dressing has no place in the office — for men or for women.
13She used to think that female leadership is a sort of style: women communicate better, show more compassion and are better at getting people to follow them. She went on Kebumen Radio Indraloka FM every morning in a programme called “Selamat Pagi Bupati” to listen to the complaints, stories and input from the people, and became an expert at talking to the public. But the older she gets, the more she feels that it is not about a uniquely female leadership style, but something expected of both men and women, to be practised on a daily basis. She believes that men in particular fall for the cliché that leadership requires toughness and a rough attitude. Women are at a disadvantage in that they cannot use classic power gestures as they lack the build and deeper voice of men. Many female politicians make the mistake of speaking loudly and end up sounding shrill, although the problem resolves itself as their voices become rougher and deeper as they age. She believes that the country and the economy would be better off if there were more women in the upper echelons of power. She was recently quoted as saying that the corporate Indonesian politician is like an old Javanese man. Many Indonesian girls want to be outstanding, and the route to fame is faster and less arduous as a model than as the president or a political party leader, heart surgeon, professor or rector. Many look up to Inneke Koesherawaty, a clever businesswoman, but it is thanks to Ibu Rustri and Ibu Rina that young women can now imagine becoming bupati one day. And the good news is that more and more women are becoming role models through their achievements in traditionally male-dominated fields.
14Indonesia has made real progress in recent years. Women have reached the top of the political ladder, and almost 30 per cent of the members of parliament are women. In addition, there has been a mushrooming of family-run companies and SMEs led by women. It is only in share-listed companies where big money and power come together that there has been little or no progress for years. Management and supervisory boards have always been male strongholds in Indonesia and little has changed. Quotas should be introduced in Indonesia; equal opportunity will only mean that women have to negotiate harder with their husbands about who looks after the family. The traditional role ascribed to women as caretakers is still intact in our modern era. By becoming a top leader while also nurturing her family, Ibu Rustri has made a great impact on women. Her success in reforming the political system to lead the cleanest, almost corruption-free, regency in Indonesia is exemplary for other woman leaders, and Ibu Rina Karanganyar, Ibu Risma Surabaya and Ibu Atut Banten are following in her footsteps.
15Women politicians face key challenges that may adversely affect their career. Because women have only recently gained access to positions of power, they are relatively lacking in training and training. As a result, women politicians face a serious shortage of competent, experienced cadres. This is a fact acknowledged by women activists, as well as senior movement leaders. Women are not being trained to become strong political actors or efficient administrators. Many activists complained in interviews that the readings the movement routinely provides for its female members are outdated and fail to address the challenges and problems faced by women today. These readings still emphasize their roles as wives and mothers. Much of the administrative training has been taken out of the curriculum assigned to female students, on the basis that women are not represented in the political movement hierarchy. Despite these obstacles, some women activists — Dete Aliah, Vera Kartika Giantari, Indriyati Suparno, Soe Tjen Marching (of Lembaga Bhinneka) and Nong Darol Mahmada — have proved themselves capable of playing leading roles. Their success, however, has been the result of their individual efforts and abilities, not of an institutionalized process to prepare women for leadership. The rise of a new generation of young women activists has sparked a debate on the type of training and socialization that women activists receive.
16While debates on women’s rights and empowerment taking place in the broader society or even internationally are important, it is internal pressure that will determine if attitudes and perceptions are to change. Although some women maintain that their roles and influence cannot be measured by the size of their representation, other strong voices contend that representation cannot be ignored. In 2000, Central Java province got its first female bupati, Ibu Rustri. This paved the way for other female leaders such as Ibu Rina from Karanganyar, Bu Ambarwati Kabupaten Semarang and female bupati of Kendal and Demak. It also revived old debates about the extent to which these developments are expanding and challenging the traditional Javanese vision of women: that they serve the cause best when they fulfill their customary roles as mothers and wives, summed up by the old Javanese sayings “macak, manak, masak” (making up, giving birth, and cooking) and “olah-olah, umbahumbah, isah-isah, korah-korah” (cooking, washing the clothes and dishes).
17The experience of this sole female candidate from the 2000 elections up to the present time shows that women who managed to overcome internal resistance in the community faced yet more formidable opposition from other political organizations and, above all, from the state. Many skeptics felt that this was just an election stunt and that it did not reflect a genuine will to allow women politicians a broader space in politics and power-sharing inside the government. Other political party leaders, mostly male, dismissed the claims, citing security risks as the reason why women are not pushed to the frontline.
18Women activists’ struggle to carve a niche inside the political arena with its myriad power structures reflects a close interaction between structure and agency. As an increasing number of women leaders and activists have become aware of their contribution to the movement and of the centrality of their role as political actors, they have demanded more recognition. Almost all the female bupati and gubernur are jilbabwearing Muslims who uphold the view that Islam is a religion that has done women justice. Any injustices inflicted upon them, they insist, are due to cultural, political and social realities. A review of the general cultural values governing the movement’s outlook regarding the role of women as political actors show that they are not far from the truth. A conservative culture, coupled with an oppressive sociopolitical environment, is responsible for women being denied the representation that would reflect their actual contribution to the political struggle. Women activists therefore choose to engage in the mass politics of presence to make up for their absence from the elitist politics of representation in the higher echelons of the state. An important conclusion emerges from long hours of talking with and interviewing many women activists. Despite their awareness of the significance of their contribution to the movement’s survival and political influence, and despite their demands for a wider role and positions of power, they remain unwilling to go so far as to sacrifice home and family.
3 - The Personal is Political: New Social Media and the Discourse of the Private
19An engrossing collection of girls’ narratives can be found in new social media such as Twitter and Facebook, with a constant flux of riveting cries and mesmeric proclamations of identity. The power of these girls lies in their stories. “This is not theory, these are real lives that are being shared,” said Dini, a 19-year-old student of Universitas Muhammadiyah Surakarta. She shares veiled photos of herself with friends across Indonesia and Malaysia. Contrary to Dini, Tabitha was subjected to cyber assault from her ultra-orthodox male peers for displaying photos of herself bareheaded and in sexy apparel. Tabitha has to wear the head veil in her Islam-labelled university but goes unveiled otherwise. Sexist comments and Quranic verses litter the comments box of her account but she is indifferent and goes angst-free.
20Social media has brought together many veiled and bareheaded girls to share their private stories and connect with people they would never have met in the real world. The Muslimah girl circle considers this media as being invented in the West, as if it has emerged out of nowhere with no previous technological precedent. Among the ultraconservative, hate speech and misogynist messages are as prevalent online as in real life. Other more progressive and rational girls credit social media for changing the dynamics in their country, down to the provinces. They believe that social media and digital media will bring positive changes and manifold benefits in their lives. Nonetheless, they also acknowledge the pitfalls of social media — the laying bare of lives, voyeurism, jealousy, and potential addiction. “Voyeurism is widespread and creates addiction,” Dini and Tabitha confessed.
21“I could not have known about global warming without social media. The world would not have known. Youth like me would not have been able to obtain the information without Google,” enthused Tissa Sasnida, a 20-year-old Jakarta resident who describes herself as passionate lover of water and caves. During the floods of 2011 in Jakarta, she began using Twitter extensively to disseminate information on the ecological problems of Ciliwung River. She spammed her peers to drive into them the message of tackling global warming through their own behaviour. “All the female members of my family wear the head veil but me. I didn’t adopt it. My mother used to force me but I have ways and means to counter her,” she recounted. In a panel on “Youth Defending Water”, Tissa declared, “Now the girls are outspoken in social media because it is the cheapest and most affordable tool. Moreover, there is no censorship from either the government or the family. It is a means to experience liberty and freedom of speech in a way that is impossible in the real world.” She continued, “It is always difficult to talk to family members or classmates. We’ve had clandestine discussions on sexual and reproductive health with senior feminists and others who know more than us. Or even about boyfriends. Many of us even get boyfriends via Facebook. Having a boyfriend from Facebook who is also a schoolmate is not dangerous anymore, it’s not like airing it on television.”
22Girls are blessed to have social media, especially in a country where discussions on the body are still very much taboo. Women’s bodies are battlefields, and girls are aware of this through underground discussions with their peers. They thrive on social media since many of their parents are technology-illiterate but have bought laptops or home computers for their children. Some parents are unaware that their girls are already well-versed in topics that are taboo at home, for example, sex and contraception. Tissa shared a moving story about how she met one of her favourite feminists on Twitter and how she learnt a lot about women’s bodies via @JurnalPerempuan, a leading feminist journal. The tomboy felt lost until she found these outlets. Inspired, she spread the word among other girls so they could learn how to defend themselves at home and in school, and how to speak out against molesters and classmates who harassed them sexually. “There is no law prohibiting women from denouncing sexual abusers whoever and wherever they are,” said Achi Dwi Astari, a close friend of Tissa. Many girls now join her in her efforts, calling themselves young feminists and running an earth protection campaign.
23From Tissa Sasnida, a young Indonesian feminist who has organized several youth circles on-and offline protests over the past two years, to the influential PRD activist Dhyta Caturani, who posted a halfnaked picture of her tattooed body on her Twitter account, @ purplerebel, to boldly claim her right to freedom of expression, women have adopted and adapted new media technologies in the pursuit of personal and collective independence and freedom. They challenge the different ways in which patriarchy oppresses every person who does not fit the norm. Veiled women, unveiled ones, tattooed women, covered-up ones — women of all stripes have taken to new media with audacity. The convergence of networked media and street protests have helped women shatter cultural taboos. Women are disproportionately the globe’s migrants, refugees and displaced persons, suffering most profoundly from injustices. Given the changes in the global economy, feminism must be revised and must recognize the complexities (class, race, practices) of womanhood while also embracing doubt. Vigorous debates take place online. Several of the human rights groups, including @Indoprogress, @Salihara and @PrakarsaRakyat Initiatives, have admitted that they struggle with how to respond to this freedom, but largely defend women’s right to freedom of expression, regardless of the content women choose to publish online on their blogs, Twitter or Facebook. Dhyta believed that this should not be the right of a privileged few; everyone should have the opportunity to create social and economic justice for women.
24There was consensus on the issue of quotas (30 per cent) for women in parliamentary elections, although some argued that elected representatives should be the best candidates regardless of gender while others asked why we should accept quotas of less than 50 per cent given that women make up half of the population. The intriguing debate and profound critical arguments that were generated by this issue have been well documented in the social media. The past year has been momentous for women activists in the regions outside of Jakarta since the 2000 Law on Autonomy has redistributed power from Jakarta to the regencies. One of the most remarkable achievements was the issue of many edicts protecting women’s rights-even as they were being undermined in other ways. As the percentage of Internet users who are on social networking sites continues to climb, women continue to flock to the Internet to participate in discussions they are unable to have in real life. Yet Mariana Amiruddin, Director of Jurnal Perempuan, a prominent feminist from the 1990s, worries whether the gains made by the women who took to the streets in 1998 and continued their fight via social media, will be sustained because the message in social media is extremely instant and short-lived. She is concerned that the spirit may not live on. “Women’s participation was valued during the 1998 revolution, but now, as top government positions are awarded to a corrupt regime, a female voice is seldom heard,” said Mariana.
25It is apparent that compared to women, it is mostly men who are creating the programmes and developing the social media universe. There is no female equivalent of Mark Zuckerberg. Social media is thus the product of masculine muscle in which women are setting the conversational tone in their own ways. Girls, for example, are extensive users of emotional cues-emoticons, smileys, cursive typefaces, expressive language, etc. This expressive style has also been embraced and practised by much older women, but not men. For women and girls, social media is their public diary. Yet more women are now talking about politics and social issues, especially activists, reformists, feminists and even those working for conservative religious alliances. Especially of concern to them is the rampant corruption they witness. Mariana is aware of these developments, she only laments the indifference of users who are taking this means of expression for granted. She feels that social media is no longer the means of revolution it used to be in the late 1990s; it is more about indulgence and excess today. It is no longer political, spreading the message of justice.
26Women’s communication style in social media has evolved; what has not changed is how they remain wary. Their circle of friends online is tightly controlled, with only the trusted confirmed. The type of language used depends on subjects. Women do not shy from details or very emotional language when recounting tales of abuse and sexual violence that are otherwise hidden from view. The pain and agony in these accounts are very real, and so is the solidarity that they arouse. This helps in the healing process.
27Indonesian girls in schools have come under the tyranny of adat ketimuran, which has extended to covering up the body, although historically many traditional ethnic costumes exposed even more skin. Balinese, Papuan and Javanese women traditionally bared their heads, arms and even breasts. Today girls face the prospect of being labelled a whore should they disobey the rules, and videos of arrogant men terrorizing frightened girls are widely available on YouTube. Vulgar sexual intercourse among youth is also widespread on the Internet and became the flashpoint in what some call a struggle to purify the soul of the country. The infamous law against pornography was passed, resulting in rampant, unbridled censorship, the suppression of much talent and creativity, and the curbing of freedom of speech. What is it about women that men and women of deeply conservative religions find so threatening that it justifies killing off creativity? Men of orthodoxy and corrupted politicians will not be getting together any time soon to swap philosophies since it is considered as haram or forbidden, which is a pity as they might find that they actually have a lot in common. In their subjugation and abuse of women, they are brothers united.
4 - Narrative of Manipulation of a Piece of Cloth
28Would you believe that even Catholic schoolgirls are still being forced to wear the head veil in several municipalities and districts in Indonesia? Since the move towards decentralization in 2000 and increased autonomy for the provinces, hundreds of legislation has sprung up, motivated by a rigid implementation of the Sharia. This includes obligatory wearing of the head veil for schoolgirls and female civil servants, as well as the prohibition and penalization of adultery, prostitution and alcohol consumption. Padang, Indramayu, Maros in South Sulawesi have also enforced the study and observance of the Quran as a condition for entering the civil service and for marriage, while Padang, Solok and Banten have imposed the head veil on women and girls in public spheres. In Padang, the mayor Fauzi Bahar has even passed a municipal bylaw requiring non-Muslim schoolgirls to wear a headscarf covering their hair, ears and neck, while schoolboys are required to wear the baju koko, a long-sleeved shirt and long pants. There is no bylaw, however, against corruption.
29When it comes to corruption, no lawmaker and none of the houses of parliament have ever given it much thought, even though it is a matter that affects the state much more than the covering or not of bodies. In 2005, a Catholic high school student, Nova Hingliot Simarmata, was forced to wear the head veil. As a non-Muslim, she felt humiliated and odd with the head veil, but was harassed when she took it off. Her father, who was in the same quandary, tried to ease her distress by urging her to think of it as just an accessory. All this affected her learning at school. Bonafisius Bakti Sirergar, a teacher in a Catholic school in West Sumatra, informed me that since 2005, many Muslim girls who refuse to wear the head veil have actually enrolled in Catholic schools, and that many girls attending the state school are there only because they could not afford to attend the Catholic schools or lacked the academic qualifications. In Catholic schools, girls are allowed to go bareheaded, yet the city mayor still insists that the Muslim schoolgirls in Catholic institutions abide by the jilbab rule. It seems that wherever Muslim girls live and study, they will not be let off the hook!
30The fate of schoolgirls have also befallen female civil servants, who are asked to wear the head veil as a parameter of their professionalism — an unprecedented phenomenon in Indonesia. Via bylaws and city mayors’ or governors’ edicts, women have had their say over their own bodies taken away. The jilbab is no guarantee of morality of course; on the contrary, it has served as a masquerade on many occasions. Nunun Nurbaeti, Malinda Dee and Angelina Sondakh, who were convicted of corruption, were canny enough to abide by the head veil rule in public or cover their heads each time the camera was pointed at them — a perfect example of the jilbab being used as a sign of repentance and meek obedience.
31When it comes to corruption, women are no more honest than men, although they are usually not the masterminds. In most cases, they serve as the middleman. Although the increased presence of women in politics is seen as having a positive effect in the fight against corruption, the many cases of graft involving women in high office have damaged the reputation of women in public service. It is a backlash and a slap in the face for the young Indonesian women movement that, less than a decade after the 30 per cent quota was approved, many women politicians have been mired in cases of fraud. Even as NGOs and women’s groups are working with the local government to address grave inequalities in the government budget process as well as to implement gender-sensitive budgeting, shocking evidence of bribery, fraud and graft have been uncovered. Millions of rupiah have been spent on toiletries, mobile phone bills, official cars and other dubious items while only hundreds are allocated for improving public nutrition or to support mothers and babies. It is patent that women’s aspirations are absent in decisionmaking whether at the central, regional or village level. Only recently have women started engaging in the public budgetary process, raising issues such as health care, education, and access to natural resources, water and gas. It is heartening that since 2012, the percentage of women working on policy and budget allocation has nearly doubled.
32More sinister is the rising trend of women implicated in corruption. Indonesia’s recent score on the Transparency International’s Corruption Perception Index is 2.8, on a scale of 0 (most corrupted) to 10 (least corrupted). This is a slide from its previous score of 3.0. Bribery is so common that it is becoming culturally acceptable. The decentralization of governance and the introduction of direct elections for local and regional officials have created another major loophole in the government. For instance, a new programme called musrenbang has been implemented at the local level, designed to incorporate local input in the planning of the budget and improve on the opaque budgeting process at the central level. Aside from budget illiteracy, locals do not realize that they have every right to participate in the process and to watch over the transparency of allocation. Corruption is indeed rampant and rooted, and women in power are falling into the trap. In 2011 alone, there were some ten cases of women involved in bribery, money laundering, graft and other petty corruptions. Nor is corruption limited to the capital. Many other regions and kabupaten headed by female governors and bupati are similarly plagued. Ibu Rina Iriani, Bupati of Karanganyar has been charged with corruption, and so has Ratu Atut, Governor of Banten.
33Many of the head-veiled players in the game of corruption are only receiving a small slice of the pie. Women tend to play the role of the loyal entourage in corruption cases, such as shielding the party leader in the case of Angeline Sondakh, or protecting the husband in the case of Nunun Nurbaeti. Women are good at lobbying and being the middleman, which is why those involved in corruption cases are not really the ones pulling the strings compared to their male counterparts. Their skills in communication and stylishness have also been deployed to climb the echelons and amass money. Women are relatively new to corruption but they are already learning how to steal the money bit by bit.
34They are also new to gender budgeting, which they have only started to grapple with in the past five years. Feminists recognize that there is a need to study how budgets impact women and men differently due to differing needs. They argue that Gender-Responsive Budgeting (GRB) should be implemented alongside the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs). Both are highly contextual exercises requiring sensitive analysis and execution. GRB is a powerful empowerment tool and an efficacious use of public funds. There are signs of change everywhere. Budgets have been put aside for victims of domestic violence, building schools and health clinics, for reproductive health, etc.
35Women wearing the jilbab and found to be involved in corruption have given new meaning to the jilbab and put it back in the limelight. The donning of the jilbab by Nunun and Malinda signified a hijacking of the veil. Once again, the jilbab is used as evidence of professionalism and piety. It is as if by hiding behind the veil, the criminals were apologizing to society, seeking forgiveness from Allah, and hoping that this would exempt them from serving time in jail; as if the jilbab can restore their lives and reputations. The jilbab has entered the courtroom with a bang, seen on the heads of not only the prosecuted but also the female judge. One jilbab-wearer persecutes another. The jilbab is indeed multi-faceted.
36The raising awareness of money has influenced the way activists and feminists condemn women involved in corruption. Even the head veil cannot shield them from public condemnation. There is much sexism in the media, all too apparent in the different ways in which public figures involved in corruption are treated, depending on their sex. There is more focus on Malinda Dee’s jilbab and breast implants than on her misdeed. A look at some of the articles from the Jakarta Post confirms this: “These women are attractive, alluring and ultimately know how to use their charm to their advantage. But it doesn’t stop there: they also know how to bribe and take a bribe.” Or this: “The public was mesmerized when graft suspect Nunun Nurbaeti returned home for the first time since fleeing the country nearly two years ago, sporting a Louis Vuitton scarf to cover her face.” And the following: “Malinda is accused of stealing $ 5 million from the bank’s customers, money she used to finance an indulgent lifestyle that included the purchase of two Ferraris, a Hummer SUV and a Mercedes-Benz.”
37The discourse of the jilbab has re-emerged, cutting across the different political, social and economic classes. Those who wear it give it new meaning. In this narrative of manipulation of this piece of cloth, the latest twist appears to be the jilbab as a shield against misdeeds!
5 - Can Waria Wear the Jilbab? Under the Rites of Heteronormativity
38“In corruption indictments women can take part as both performer and prey,” a transgender in Pondok Pesantren Waria Yogyakarta commented when I interviewed her. She preferred to be called Mbak, the feminine form of address, rather than the masculine Pak, and to wear the head veil and white robe or mukena while performing shalat rather than the sarung and baju koko for men. Fatimah, a member of the boarding house for transgenders, the only one in Indonesia that does not enforce any particular attire for its boarders, said she would like to be in tune with her religion, Islam, as a woman. The transgender community has been offended by the ustadz and ulama forcing them to wear men’s clothes. When Islam is reduced to symbols, Fatimah feels that they are being discriminated against. Sexual minorities are vulnerable groups, and the battle of the sexes over the jilbab has touched them. As religiosity and spirituality gain in ascendance, the discourse of the jilbab has reached the waria (transgenders) as well, who have also succumbed to its spell, donning it enthusiastically with matching lipstick and accessories.
39If the West has terms such as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and Intersexual (LGBT), Indonesia also has its own terms such as carok, warok, and the more pejorative bencong, banci or gombreng. Historically, Indonesia has welcomed sexual minorities. They were not ostracized but lived side by side with the community. Even in pondok pesantren, homosexuals or mairil, as they were called, were accepted. Intimacy, sensuality and sexuality were acknowledged and carried none of the stigma that it does in the West. Such traditions are on display in the ludruk, a form of traditional East Java drama, with characters such as Bissu, Serat Centhini, Warok-Gemblak (man/boy lover), Sepeten (gay), and Induk Jawi-Anak Jawi (in Minang tradition). It was the arrival of the Dutch that brought along Western notions of homophobia.
40Tafsir and interpretation reform, with a more progressive and contextual system of understanding and the inclusion of more points of view, will improve the lives of those frowned upon by the religious mainstream. This is important if religion is not to repel sexual minorities. A more accepting environment will encourage the waria to embrace Islam. Whether it is part of the trend towards religiosity fanned by the media or merely an aberration, religion could offer a haven for this group of people who already face rejection by their own families, and to some degree, by the state, which does not acknowledge their status (jobs in the civil service and the army are out of bounds to them). Many workplaces are also not accepting of homosexuals unless they are able to conceal their sexual orientation. As such, they often end up in the service sector or as designers or artists.
41Their vibrant jilbab — on which they pin their hopes, trying to find acceptance and a serene life in whichever city they may drift to, under whichever identity they have taken on — often belies a grim existence. Many waria live in squalid slums across Indonesia and subject themselves to dangerous silicon breast, cheek and nose implants in a bid to transform themselves. The jilbab is adopted for the same reasons as the silicon — the pursuit of an idealized feminine beauty and the quest for an identity and acceptance. The juxtaposition of poverty, beauty and religiosity has produced a complex discourse on the definition of womanhood. “I have to earn a living. And no man would ever want to sleep with me if I have no breasts. So I went for implants, which, as I’ve just found out from you, are made of industrial-grade silicon. It hurts most of the time, these alien elements inside of me. Yet, somehow, I’m still proud of my silicon despite its risks and dangers,” said Sonia stoically. Sonia is one of the waria I’ve come to know after four years of befriending them and learning more about their lives. I’ve heard my share of the heartbreaking stories of these men and women who eke out a living as sex workers, threatened by HIV/AIDS, cancer from silicon implants and attacks by radical organizations such as FPI (Front Pembela Islam), which regularly harass sexual minorities and prevent them from expressing their identities, much less earn a living as a normal person.
42In December 2011, men from FPI attacked members of Talitakum (an NGO for lesbians) and Gessang (an NGO for sexual minorities) during a futsal match. The radicals smashed their ball and motorcycles, punctured the tyres, and hit them in the face and head with rocks. A crowd gathered, including the police, but no-one stepped up to help. Anyone could have easily informed the press of the dramatic incidents, but no-one did so. The oppression of sexual minorities is present in all cultures, driven particularly by orthodoxy and carried out under the protection of the state. The oft-stated justification is that they are protecting honest, law-abiding, God-fearing citizens, but in reality, these marginalized men and women could well be our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, mothers, uncles or fathers! So why do conservative religious cultures feel so threatened by the sexuality and empowerment of homosexuals? What would happen if the waria were free to choose their sexual orientation and express themselves? Would a free and active sexual minority group bring down a society or dramatically strengthen it?
43The religious right argues that society would be led astray. For them the obvious solution is to beat these men and women down and lock them away, converting them to who they should be. Those with penises are called men and should not be allowed to wear the jilbab. Thus waria are attacked in the streets for being prostitutes and rejected from formal office jobs unless they are dressed as men. They are browbeaten into conforming to norms as men.
44It is no wonder that sexual minorities hope to find sanctuary in a piece of cloth. The jilbab represents an escape from families and communities that have cast them out, from the plight of poverty and rejection by the formal economic sectors. The accommodation of ultraorthodox groups since the fall of Soeharto is a worrisome trend in Indonesian politics. As these groups occupy more formal positions in the government, they are in the position to impose beliefs on society. Recently, ultra-orthodox elements, labelled “thugs” by the Indonesian media, have prevented sexual minority groups from holding fashion shows — events that are used to take place with no impediments at all! Fear of the sexuality of minority groups often takes Indonesia from control to savagery, with a violent collision between the imperative to repress and the cultural power of shame that appeared only after the arrival of the Dutch. The appearance of the term “homosexual” in Indonesian’s discourse of sexuality carries homophobic associations that are actually alien to traditional Indonesian culture.
45Another argument holds that a combination of religious belief and a culture of gender normativity causes deep sexual anxiety among Indonesian religious believers. They formally reject sexual minorities but informally accept them within the community. They are against choice and ambiguity — one is either male or female according to what is indicated on one’s identity card — and believe that if sexual minorities are not allowed to express their sexual orientation, there will be no comparisons and what they call ‘sexual identity shopping’. Sexual minorities are also seen as bringing shame to families, as being corrosive, manipulative and corrupting. Heteronormativity cleanses through spectacularly violent coercion — the kind that not only delivers punishment but also causes enduring psychological damage to boys and girls trapped in wrong bodies.
46The waria cannot turn to a religion in which repression is alive and given to ultra-right interpretation. Against a backdrop of rapid socioeconomic change and modernization, conservatism is on the rise and sharp curbs on freedom of expression of sexual orientation, association and religion have been imposed. Religious militias, paramilitary groups and the state also clamp down on homosexual groups, and the government, via Tifatul Sembiring (from the PKS Party), censors the Internet and maintains highly repressive policies towards homosexuality (Ramage, 1996).
47It cannot be denied that the situation of human rights in Indonesia has improved significantly; however, homosexuality is still used as a unifying factor and scapegoat by the religious community. In fact, it has found a new line of attack — converting homosexuals and making them redeem for their sins (tobat) is now considered a religious accomplishment! Thugs have swooped down on sex workers, forcing them to repent and ask for God’s mercy. Even the government has got into the act in East Java, closing down the notorious Dolly red-light district in 2011. Dolly had been the home of as many as 3,000 commercial sex workers and 350 pimps, including waria from Surabaya, Sidoarjo, Malang, Blitar, Mojokerto, Lamongan, Jember, Jombang, Pati, Jepara, and as far as Sumbawa. There are approximately 7,000 PSK (Pekerja Seks Komersial/Commercial Sexual Workers) and over 1,000 pimps in East Java. The MUI (Indonesian Council of Ulema) sent dakwah (preachers) there and pressured East Java governor Soekarwo to force the sex workers into repentance and to undergo training to become food vendors, tailors or salon owners. The government sent the sex workers home and many pimps were indicted under the law of human trafficking. The ulema were pleased to see many ‘repentant’ workers adopting the jilbab. The whitewashing capacity of the jilbab has once again been put to use.
48“Not men, not the state, women should decide their fate. Our bodies are our basic right.” This chant was one familiar to feminists rallying on the street and has been used effectively in speaking out against Governor Fauzi Bowo (popularly known as Foke), when he blamed mini-skirts for rape cases in Angkot in 2011. Today this chant takes on new relevance when it comes to the expression of sexual orientation. The cost of wearing the jilbab for the waria has escalated as his/her life could even be at stake.
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