What makes one Indonesian?

Some thoughts on racial identity

Children dressed up in national costumes of various countries in a choir performance at Vincentius Putra Orphanage in Jakarta.

Today’s class discussion was on the question of what makes Indonesian, a subject I wanted my students to take on after a reading about racial profiling by a Chinese American.

The current heated political climate at home may seem to warrant such a conversation. For that matter, I wanted an update as the last time I really thought about my identity seriously was five years ago when I had to tick a box indicating my race when applying to an overseas university. Am I Chinese or shall I tick ‘other Asian’ option? Never mind. I can’t remember what box I ticked at that time. Probably other Asian to spare me the embarrassment of claiming to be Chinese but only able to speak its language sparingly.

Studying abroad had exposed me to the question of identity. It was subtle but frequent enough to nudge you into insecurity. As an Indonesian overseas, there were times I consciously made the decision to avoid other Indonesian peers because I believed I would have a hard time connecting with them. If it were any relief, yes, it turned out that I had a hard time connecting with overseas Indonesians. For one reason, most of them are rich and I am not. My heart would drop at the suggestion of eating at a decent restaurant because it cost too much for me. But I suspect it was only an excuse. I wonder why I shied away from them.

As a foreign student in Norwich, the UK, I hung out a lot with mainland Chinese students. I felt comfortable being around them. With them there was an instant connection. Many of them are not rich kids. Their parents saved just enough to send them to study abroad. I felt that we come from the same socio-economic background and there is some commonality in our Chinese worldview that made me feel safe. But again, I suspect that this is only an excuse. I wonder why I clang to them.

Because I hung out a lot with mainland Chinese, I caught myself envying them at one point. To me, they have intact personalities and identity. They are not some sort of hybrid like me: of Chinese heritage but not quite; of Indonesian nationality but also not quite. I saw myself as someone with so many patches of identity that it almost looks sad. I want to be like my Chinese peers: I want to have an intact solid identity, not some jumble of hybrid build-up.

If it provides any consolation, it turns out that my mosaic of identity patches are not the most miserable to look at. From my encounter with Chinese American or Chinese British, I can tell that their identity patches don’t look good either. They don’t seem to have solid roots in their countries and some feel inclined to go back to where they parents come from. But yet English is the only language they are fluent in and they realize the looming hard times if they live in a country where their looks are common but only to be exposed that they are not locals because they can’t speak the language.

I can only imagine the awkward predicament.

So, who are Indonesians? What makes one Indonesian? Or how can an ethnically Chinese person be Indonesian for that matter?

During the discussion, my students offered some brain-churning insights that impressed me. A bright student who always sits in the front row told me it was ideology. I can’t help but think, hey, there was some evident truth in what he said.

During my brief camaraderie with my Chinese friends in Norwich, despite the commonalities that I share with them as a Chinese Indonesian, I knew there was some abyss in the way they approached life in general. I could never pinpoint what it was at that time but now I think hard could it be the communist ideology that subtly rules their lives?

Ideology makes all the difference. I love my Chinese friends when they live overseas but I will not be so sure whether I will like my Chinese friends living in China. When I went to China back in 2008, I felt suffocated by the whole ‘air’, the throngs of people, the less than smooth interaction suffocating. I blamed it on the tough sound of the language, the icy weather, the size of the population, but I can never put my finger on what made me feel at unease.

My Chinese experience also reminds me of my journey a long time ago to Vietnam. I had planned to spend a couple of days but I flew back only after a night in Hanoi. I was agitated throughout the very brief stay in the socialist country. Similarly, I found the ‘air’, the throngs of men, who were screening passers-by while sitting in low chairs in most coffee places, suffocating. Their stare made me feel at unease and as soon as I got back to my hostel, I booked a flight ticket returning to Bangkok, where I had previously made a stop in my Southeast Asian trip.

I wonder what went wrong in both places. How could I not like them as much even though I am ethnically Chinese, to the point that I wanted to stay an extended period in Thailand? I sense there is something about communism or socialism oozing through the very being of the people that divides me from them.

After years of living in the faux and later messy democracy of Indonesia, we know when a place is simply not that kind. How much we love the air of chaotic freedom that we endure it with a sense of optimism that things will only get better. Probably the fact that we can have the luxury of being cynical toward the government, of being able to bicker loudly on social media platforms, and of being able to cheer diversity and at the same time harbor suspicion towards other racial or religious groups say it all. Our mode of Indonesianness, setting us apart from other nations, was enabled and activated by our state ideology of Pancasila. Our love for God, proclivity for being helpful, tolerance for diversity, inclination toward consensus to settle differences, and the view for social justice are ingrained in our psyche because of Pancasila. We gravitate towards the five principles, or, for that matter, contradict them at times of political pains and self-denial.

In the class, I found that ideology is one thing that makes us Indonesian. Another is our national character.

A lady in my class who used to live for five years in Tanzania shared her moment when she had her “how Indonesian I am” epiphany, contrasting her to other locals in her new country. She said that our Indonesianness was highlighted by trustworthiness in character and this fact was well-illuminated in occasions when she had learned that nothing should be taken at face value in the African country. We have a certain standard of what is acceptable and what is not. In jest, I told my class that probably our spectrum of reliability rested somewhere between rigid Japanese and laid-back Tanzanian.

And here are some other insights into what makes you Indonesian during the class discussion in random order:

1. A student, who is also of Chinese descent, was adamant that it was blood. She pointed out that someone of Chinese descent can never be accepted as Indonesian because of the blood factor. So blood it is.
2. Another said sense of belonging: where you feel at home and whether people accept you.
3. Another student who had silently sat through the discussion finally shared his insight. He said where you spent your first 10 years of life. Those years will determine your identity the most.
4. Where you will finally return to, said the other student. I was impressed. He actually likens us to salmon, an analogy that I was rather lost on. I will ask him again.
5. The same student, who mentioned the analogy of salmon, also pointed out names. Do names define our Indonesianness? Depending on whether your names sound foreign/westernized or local, they offer some hints into your sense of nationalism.
6. Your identity documents, said one student who seemed to be undecided on what is the crux of our identity. Fair enough. Documents it is.
7. Some agreed on language. I gave my nod immediately.
8. Common history/feelings. Some students shared some thoughts and examples that can be lumped into the category. For example, our common inferior feelings towards all things western or our glorification of western civilization or culture or the pessimistic view we have toward current American government are the common history/feelings we share.
9. A student from an eastern province of Indonesia highlighted lifestyle as a category that set our identity. You belong to a certain group if you have this certain lifestyle.
10. One foreign student of mine (he is from East Timor) said that Indonesians have positive attitude toward diversity and that factor makes the identity of an Indonesian. He was adamantly positive despite the stoked political tension that rode the wave of religious and racial identity in our country recently.
11. Sensitivity, said one student. We have a cultural sensitivity that results from living in diverse population. He used the slang term ‘baper’ to describe it. This is a youngish word I need to catch up on.
12. I have more foreign students from Thailand and Myanmar. I don’t know what their spectrum of identity is but I sense it is quite a sensitive issue in Myanmar considering one of them told me that people argued mostly about ethnicity on online platforms. On the other hand, there was a sense of unity in Thailand on the question of identity. The class discussion could look unfamiliar to them because they have long settled on the issue.

At the end of the class, another bright student reminded me that I had yet to draw conclusion for that day’s discussion. I offered him to draw his own conclusion, saying there was no one single conclusion for everybody. I said, to me, I am Indonesian because I am a native of the Indonesian language. That is the language I am most comfortable with and I feel the wholeness of my identity when speaking in it. By language, I am unquestionably Indonesian.

The second would be the common history/feelings. I am Indonesian because we share the common history of what it entails to be one. We have a same sense of history. Our pride, inferiority or nationalism are triggered automatically nationwide at certain occasion. We forget our disagreement for once through the bond of common history. Or as pointed out by the late Indonesianist Benedict Anderson, our identity is amplified by a common destiny and future as a nation.

For these two said reasons, I am convinced I am Indonesian.

Less clear, though, is ideology. I hesitate to claim my Indonesianness on the grounds that I have Pancasila ingrained in me. How do I know how much of Pancasila I am? Like a fish swimming in the pond of water and yet asking where the water is, maybe we live in Pancasila and simply blend in with the concept. It is hard to tell.

Also less certain is why I shied away from Indonesian peers and clang to Chinese abroad. Maybe I despised my fellow Indonesians as I saw them as my competition. Maybe I tagged along my Chinese friends because I desired for their sense of security and wanted their strong roots to rub off on me. Even though I am happy that I was born and grew up in Indonesia, I didn’t want to miss out on catching up on my Chinese roots.

Can I claim one single full identity if I have different patches that made who I am?

I may not be your perfect Indonesian but yes, please do call me one.

I am Indonesian.