Jakarta Drive By

I spent three tumultuous years in Indonesia, 2003-06. It was a strange and wonderful time and country. Indonesia was, in theory, Muslim, the world's largest Muslim country, to be precise. It, however, was a complex amalgam of many faiths and beliefs which knocked the hard edges off of Islam, and produced a relatively tolerant and laid-back country. Islam was there, but so was Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, a variety of animist religions, a cult built around a sea goddess, and lots of worship of Britney Spears and other western pop stars. Senior levels of Indonesian society also had a genuine love for American country music, and karaoke bars and national television were full of it. It was something to see serious Indonesian politicians, business tycoons, and military donning cowboy hats and breaking out into "Red River Valley."

The nation's complex ethnic make-up usually worked, but had produced huge bloody explosions, such as the 1960s government-sponsored pogrom aimed at the Chinese community. It resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths. A subsurface tension continued to exist between Chinese-Indonesians and "regular" Indonesians, originally "caused" by the ostensible belief that the Chinese were communist sell-outs to Red China, and which, over the years, mutated into the charge that the Chinese had become too successful. Chinese names had been banned, and most Chinese adopted Indonesian surnames often with a western first name. The Chinese were, in fact, the single most successful group in the country, and many prominent and world-class wealthy businessmen were ethnic Chinese. These Chinese-Indonesians put a very high premium on education, a large proportion spoke good English, had been educated abroad, and maintained links to the outside world "just in case." Few had become Muslim and generally were Christian or Buddhist, and often both or nothing discernible. They, of course, reminded me of Jews I had met around the world: never quite certain that they could and would manage to live out their lives peacefully in their home country.

This mix, as noted, created a distinctly un-Islamic culture. Most Indonesians adhered to Islam in the same way Spaniards or Filipinos did to Catholicism. In other words, religious identity was not foremost in the average person's mind in the course of the day. Indonesia's military was decidedly unreligious, and highly suspicious of radical Islam. Even during major Muslim holidays, such as Ramadan, one hardly noticed in the capital. That, unfortunately, had begun to change in the 1990s and 2000s. The Saudis and their oil money sponsored madrassas, mosques, hajj excursions, etc., in a bid to make Indonesia into a "real" Muslim country. The country received "missionaries" from Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Afghanistan, and other Muslim countries who sought to show Indonesians the errors of their overly tolerant ways. Islamic political parties had begun to emerge, drawing voters with anti-foreign, anti-corruption, and pro-poor platforms, noting that Indonesia, a member of OPEC, had high levels of poverty and income inequality.

Terrorism had become a major problem in Indonesia by the time I arrived. The radical fringe was no longer content to restrict itself to proselytism. Jemaah Islamiyah (many spellings) was the major terrorist organization. It had links with sister groups in Malaysia, Philippines, Bangladesh, Pakistan and elsewhere and formed part of the global Al Qaeda network. They conducted several horrific bombings in Indonesia, including of hotels and bars in Bali, the Marriott in Jakarta, and a bloody attack on the Australian embassy. They murdered Christians, including school children, and burned churches. We worked closely with the Aussies--terrific at this sort of thing--and the Indonesian government against JI and achieved some notable successes. That, of course, put senior members of the US and Australian embassies in JI's crosshairs. JI, in fact, almost did kill the superb Australian Ambassador; the very well-built Aussie embassy saved him from being skewered by a metal fence post that flew into his bullet-proof office window following a suicide vehicle blast.

While not allowed to carry a weapon, as I had done in other posts, I had lots of security. When the Ambassador fell ill and had to leave the country for a long period of time, I inherited his even more elaborate security apparatus. Lead car, follow car, fully armored car, bodyguards, you get the picture. When my wife and I went to the movies--unbelievably modern cinemas in Jakarta--a security person would buy the tickets and seats all around us would be kept clear of other patrons. The guards would block the row in which we sat. Restaurants, same deal. I figured we drew much more attention by this sort of thing. I always wanted to get into a cab and show up somewhere, certain nobody would know who I was, and just blend in with the huge flock of other foreigners in Jakarta. No, that was not to be. On occasion, however, I would slip my guards and flee for a little freedom.

We lived in one of the few old residential neighborhoods left in the city, and occupied a beautiful US government-owned house that in the 1930s had belonged to the General Motors representative in Indonesia. We had a lovely park across the street, and around us several blocks of old Dutch-era houses which had not yet fallen to developers' insatiable desire to put up huge skyscrapers and shopping malls. At night, the neighborhood, uncharacteristic for Jakarta, was quite dark. Lots of big trees, high walls, and uneven narrow sidewalks. It was quiet, and I enjoyed walking at night with my beloved Rottweiler, Kodiak, at my side, and a good Honduran cigar clenched between my teeth. The problem was the bodyguards. They did not like going out in the neighborhood precisely because it was dark, had lots of trees, high walls, and uneven narrow sidewalks. It was, of course, perfect ambush country. When I got out for a walk, I had a guard in front, one behind, another keeping pace across the street, and sometimes a car following along. This was not conducive to thinking and clearing of the head. As noted, I would at times find a way to slip out of the house, alone but for dog and cigar.

One night, I pulled a Houdini-like escape into the dark. I felt free, liberated, able to confront the night on my own. It must have been around 11 pm or so, and Kodiak and I had been walking for about 30 minutes. I noticed a car that passed us going in the opposite direction, now making a U-turn behind us and heading back our way from behind. It was driving very slowly, not a usual thing in Jakarta at night. As I said, I had no weapon, and suddenly realized I had not brought my cellphone. I can be pretty stupid. With a dog, and a cigar for protection, MacGyver-like scenarios ran through my head. Maybe I could flick the cigar into their faces while Kodiak jumped them, and I . . . no, no, I would put the cigar in the gas tank . . . it was too late. The car had come even with us, moving at our speed. We stopped. The car stopped. The front passenger window slid down. I swear to this day that I saw the guy in the front seat shove a sawed-off shotgun through the now open window. I thought, this is how it ends. There will be an investigation; I will be declared, literally, terminally idiotic and deserving of my fate.

The "shotgun" was aimed point-blank at my chest.

"Mister, look! Just like yours!"

Kodiak began to growl. Despite the gloom I could see the "shotgun" squirm.

It was a beautiful black and tan Rottweiler puppy.

The man wanted me to admire his dog.