They're at it again. Screaming down and roughing up the Malaysian Embassy, threatening to root out every Malaysian in Jakarta, and prepping up for all-out war. It's all too familiar. We've seen this many times before, only the scale of frenzy and fury now is more frightening. There's so much hate and spite on display. Fiery faces and filthy faeces, graphic and shocking even by Indonesian standards. You just wonder what can be worse than this.
For all the crush-Malaysia hysterics, I've always had a soft spot for Indonesia. Some of my good friends are Indonesians. I don't mean my contractor or plumber, although they're good friends too. What I mean is friends in Jakarta, Surabaya and Medan, places that I used to ply my trade during my final years with Petronas. People like Mariezka, Rifki, Faisal, Ahmad Bambang, Darius, Hanung, Muid, Yoko, Djoko, Koko, Desrial, Bayu, Wisnu, Adi Subagio, Hidayat, Ibu Nina, Haris, just to name a few that I can spell with confidence. I can't for a second imagine any of them among the crowd, burning Malaysian flags and shouting 'Ganyang Malaysia!'
Vini, Vedi, Vici
My Indonesia inroads began in early 2004. The Indonesia oil market had just been liberalized to allow entry of foreign players, and I went there specifically to start a petrol retailing business. We're all game and gung-ho, relishing the prospect of building the first Petronas service station in Indonesia. If we can build in Banding, we can build in Bandung. On personal level, it's a rare opportunity of making a difference, to the company and the country (really? Cemerlang, gemilang, terbilang?) Well, nothing like climbing the Everest or the outer space, of course. The task seemed simple enough, until I realized that we're in Indonesia, not Indiana. The whole country was a huge project in progress, nothing was in place except bureaucrats and backhanders. How do you break Pertamina's hundred years of firm monopoly? How do you ride against the torrent of deep nationalism and cultural barriers? Suddenly it's beginning to look like the Everest.
The first day at Petronas office at Bapindo Plaza in Jakarta feels like yesterday. I was together with Husnin and Hilmi from KL on this project, and we're received by a youngish President Director named Faris (not an Indon, but as close as you can get since he's from Batu Pahat), and he introduced us to a young Indonesian lady named Mariezka. Nothing spectacular except for the short and strange name, probably meaningless, too. "Mariezka will help you out with your work in Jakarta". Husnin and I had between us about 50 years of retail business experience, and this girl was going to help us ! Faris must be stoned or something. We sat down for a lengthy but rather casual business discussion and, in the thick of it all, Mariezka's more personal details inevitably trickled out. She's from Bangka island, single and, you've to believe this, she's an engineering graduate. I could sense an air of nonchalance despite her sketchy working experience. We're clearly unimpressed. She could be a model from Mongolia or butcher from Baghdad for all I cared. We're on a serious project here. A national interest was at stake.
The going was rough initially because we're in Indonesia (not Indiana). We're at a loss, moving in fits and starts. We gate-crashed the oil and gas directorate (Migas) every Monday morning and met different people each time. Migas changed the ground rules and goal posts every other week. Datuk Anuar (Oil Business VP and project champion) was on my back all the time and his mind was all made up. He wanted a petrol station in two weeks. And beat Shell to it for good measure. Yet I was extremely cautious, circumspect at every turn, erring on the side of right rather than speed. In hindsight, it's a wise decision not to remind him that we're in Indonesia, not Indiana. He's a rugby player and you wouldn't want him to get physical. As laboured on, it finally dawned on my senses that the engineer from Bangka wasn't just helpful. She's indispensable. Indonesia was crawling with cronies and talented showmen, but she's always one step ahead. I could see that the men fell quite easily for her easy and disarming demeanour and finesse. Just right, not less, not more. She could break and melt even the toughest and wackiest anti-Malaysia nut among the 230 million Indonesians. We finally secured our license, a piece of land and a supply storage to start our business. I could see Mariezka's deft touches all over. And what a reversal, because I've to bite the bullet and admit here that I learned a lot from her. Did she learn anything from me? Yes, a few Kelantanese words.
We operated our first service station, in Cibubur, just outside Jakarta, in December 2005, almost two years after my first trip to Jakarta, and two months after Shell. The station location was a marketing tour de force: President Susilo (SBY) had to pass our bright and beautiful station every time he went back to his home in Cibubur. Nobody knew whether he's inspired or insulted. Probably a bit of both. Even after so many years, I still choked every time I passed that station.
Jakarta jokes
I finally lost count of the trips I made to Jakarta. But I still remember that, into my third month, the Grand Hyatt staff began to address me as Datuk, and despite my (feeble) attempt to discourage them, it stuck until my last trip in 2009. I didn't bother to find out which bellboy started it, but I figured if they're happy to address me that way, why upset them. After all I didn't have to pay a single rupiah extra. So whenever my champion Datuk Anuar visited Jakarta and put up at the hotel, I kept a safe distance, just in case. Rugby player, remember?
The key success factor in Indonesia business is chumming up with as many people as you can, learning their full names, nicknames, phone numbers, karaoke numbers and so on. It's easy to mix up names. Djoko, Yoko, Koko. Matching names with the right persons was an art. I perfected it by loudly chanting the names using the technique developed by the world-famous Gregorian monks. I've met and dealt with easily more than a hundred different Indonesians over the period, and more often than not things didn't go my way. (I could repeat that Indonesia/Indiana routine, but is enough is enough). But I'd be hard pressed to find even one time when I felt offended. They're nice to the bone. Their yes and no were doublespoken in the same pitch, tone and face that by the time I realized they'd rejected my proposal, it's already too late.
There's a lot to learn from each other if we're not too engrossed in self-delusion. For starters, Malaysians are generally serious and surly, talk in one flat tone, and turn to reckless driving and illegal parking to beat the boredom. Indonesians are a more gregarious and happier lot with loads of good humour. Every one of them can sing and joke better than Mawi any day. Their language skills often left me short of breath. We should thank the Indonesians for enriching the Malay language. Think cewek, keren, cekep, gedek, ganteng, kangen, sirsak. Their ministers mostly speak without texts, not only because of their verbal mastery but also because they know what they're talking about. I couldn't help but admire how those guys talked with their bosses. No fear, no barrier. Humble, amiable and mutually respectful, with plenty of human face. Our excuse is that they don't get much done or done fast. That's fake and fictitious. What can be bad about greater appreciation and understanding of fellow human beings?
You wouldn't believe some of the jokes that were making the rounds in Jakarta. When Transparency International (TI)'s 2005 Corruption Perceptions Index placed Indonesia at 137 out of 159 countries, my Indonesian friends laughed it away, claiming that Indonesia had paid off TI to be at 137; they're actually last. At the height of the Ambalat and Sipadan crisis in 2004, Pak Faisal warned me they're rallying to crush Malaysia and save Siti Nurhaliza.
Now into my second year of retirement, I'm still in touch with my good and happy friends in Pertamina and Migas. We still meet and joke whenever they're in KL.
Waiting for Pak Dokter
So the ugly and shameful scenes of seige at the Malaysian Embassy in Jakarta always leave me with a sharp sense of contrasts and contradictions. How do I reconcile all this with those hearty sop bontot dinners with with Pak Rifki and Pertamina guys? Or Mariezka's little help with our first petrol station in Indonesia? Or that Datukship from Grand Hyatt? It's easy to pass it for aberrant behaviour, roguish nationalist streak or paid theatrics by a road-rioting minority. Or even easier to blame the loose and lewd media and the spin-doctors for demonizing Malaysia and whipping up belligerent sentiments. It's a convenient diplomatic cover, of course. All credit to both governments for their measured and balanced response to the whole episode. But like all bad movies, there'll be sequels, remakes and repeats. We all know that there's more to all this than meets the eye. The root runs deeper and borders on the psyche. Sibling rivalry? Lovers' spat? Othello Syndrome? Superiority complex? Oedipus complex? Complex complex? Who knows.
Pak Dokter should know. He's my former dorm-mate Dr Fadzil Man, now known as Pak Dokter among serious and hilarious golf tourists in Indonesia. He's a debonair doctor and practising psychiatrist who plays golf in Bogor and Bandung, so he's well-placed to know a thing or two about the inner mind of the Indonesians. In the 60's Indonesia was far ahead of us. Malaysian students went to Bandung to study engineering because UPM somehow had only animal husbandry programs. In its early years Petronas went to Jakarta to learn oil trade and tricks from Pertamina. So much has changed. In August this year Newsweek's "Best Country" ranking had Malaysia at 37th and Indonesia a distant 73rd. More than a million Indonesians are in Malaysia now, and they're not here to study animal husbandry.
My dorm mate's explanation, when it finally comes, will be articulate and enlightening. He's the finest debater in Tiger Lane. But whatever his theory might be, it'll be too bullish to expect Malaysia-bashing to stop for good any time soon. There's simply so much freedom and room to express and protest in Indonesia, and it came right after long years of draconian rule. And we also know that freedom and unemployment are a potent concoction. Demonstrating is a full-time and gainful job in Jakarta. The Indonesians need more time to get used to the new-found riches and trappings of openness before allowing good sense, self-restraint and level head to prevail. But I promise you Indonesia is a living, functioning and vibrant economy and democracy. Randy investors are descending on Indonesia in droves while we in Malaysia are struggling with race relations and baby dumping. It's growing fast and it's only a matter of time before protesting and demonstrating becomes a dead industry. It won't happen next year, but it will. For now what should we do? Stay cool. Let's not give them a reason to rage. Don't touch the maid.
We opened a station in Bandung in 2008 (I thought you might be interested).
