Vote for Boni, Titi, Ho and ‘Jalanan’!    Julia Suryakusuma  ;   The author of Julia’s Jihad

JAKARTA POST, 16 April 2014

                                      

                                                                                         

                                                             

We’ve got election fever this year! Exciting huh? Or not. After all, what many Indonesians feel about the elections is perhaps best expressed by Ho, one of the three protagonists in Daniel Ziv’s new movie, Jalanan. Watching rabble-rousing anticorruption election speeches by legislative candidates, Ho comments, “This is bullshit. They’re all hypocrites. If they were in power they’d be corrupt too.” History suggests he is bang on the money (so to speak). It’s not surprising there’s been a marked rise in the number of golput (non-voters), from 10.4 percent in 1999, to 23.3 percent in 2004 and 29.1 percent in 2009. In 2014, it’s predicted to be even higher. This shows more and more people share Ho’s cynicism, but it also suggests increasing apathy, stemming from dissatisfaction with the non-performance of our political representatives and resentment at the corruption rampant in our law-making bodies. But don’t be apathetic about Jalanan, please! It was released in Jakarta on April 10, just one day after the legislative elections. Unlike the elections, it’s really worth turning up for. An unconventional, entertaining and eye-opening 107-minute documentary, it contains no “elect me” speeches. Instead, you will hear the true voice of the people in the songs of Boni, Titi and Ho, three of Jakarta’s 7,000 or so street singers and musicians. This year, many legislative candidates adopted Joko “Jokowi” Widod-style blusukan (spontaneous neighborhood visits) rather than campaign rallies. Ziv’s “three musketeers” don’t have to do that to understand the lives of ordinary people. Not only are they constantly rubbing shoulders with them, it is who they actually are. With painstaking diligence and dedication, Ziv filmed them over a period of five years. The resulting 250 hours of footage was seamlessly spliced together by Ernest Hariyanto, award-winning documentary producer, writer and editor, over a further year and a half. The result is smooth storytelling and a brutally honest, but uplifting, portrayal of Indonesia. As the jury of the Busan International Film Festival (BIFF) 2013 stated when they gave Jalanan the award for best documentary, it’s a “humanizing and respectful look into the class system of Indonesia, told through its heartwarming and redemptive characters in a non-sentimental fashion”. Ziv found the three characters of his movie by getting on and off battered Metro Mini buses for two months, looking for strong, engaging personalities — which Boni, Ho and Titi most certainly are. He was also looking for true musicians who wrote their own music and lyrics, creating songs about their own lives. For me Boni, Titi and Ho are more than this, however — they each personify different aspects of Indonesian society. Ho is the political one. Sporting dreadlocks, he is the most eccentric and anti-establishment figure. His lyrics are blunt and unadorned: Pass around the crack, suck titties all night […] You get cheese at breakfast, I’m left with cassava/ […] beggars are left to die while capitalists live happily/ Wanna move this country forward, hang the corruptors!/ What happened to the Reformation?/ Masturbation!/ Reformation!/ It’s all gone rotten/ It’s all empty talk. Ho also has no problems with self-esteem. He tells us, “You’ve gotta love yourself…”, and links it to nationalism, albeit with a complaint: “I love Indonesia, but does Indonesia love me back?” Ho’s life suddenly takes a surprising turn when he decides to pursue love and stability over cheap sex along the railway tracks. Titi personifies “modernization” and self-improvement through education. While continuing to fulfill her calling as a street musician, she is also burning to finish high school. She finally does so by enrolling in the government’s Packet C program. According to Ziv, only one out of 500 buskers is female, so Titi is a rarity. At the same time she is everywoman. A mother of three, she tries to fulfill her family responsibilities and the demands by her religious family that she wear a Muslim headscarf. But once she is a safe distance from home, she takes it off and casually stuffs it into the pocket of her guitar case. At the same time, she recognizes that the songs that usually get her the most money are religious ones, so she often sings them, especially one about bowing to God and always being grateful, no matter what. It’s an idea she lives by, every day. Boni personifies the traditional and easy-going aspect of Indonesia. He romanticizes his life under a bridge over an open sewer, where he has lived for seven years, part of it with his wife Rita. Sounds foul, I know, but they have little choice — unlike our politicians, many of whom choose to live in sewers of a different kind. “Life isn’t too bad,” Boni says, describing his life under the bridge, saying that the sound of the cars makes him feel peaceful. His songs are more social than political commentary: Sweet little sister, don’t you cry/ if you cry mummy’s breasts will run dry/ fathers all have migraines/ mothers are in despair/food prices are going through the roof/ that’s the fate of our country. Yes, Jalanan is subversive because the things you considered to be the measure of a secure, successful and happy life no longer seem relevant when you watch this movie. It will make you realize that Jakarta, now the 17th largest city in the world, is a much more complex and dynamic place than you ever realized. Jalanan will stop you in your tracks, shock and stun you. It will disturb and pique you. It will open your eyes, move and touch you, and make you cry. But in the end it is also a feel-good movie that entertains, makes you laugh, awakens your compassion and evokes admiration for the resilience of people we usually never even notice. What more could you want? Sure beats voting for corrupt liars, huh? ●

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