Festival Gamelan Intern’l

Festival Gamelan Internasional

Suara Karya 6 Pebruari 1996

Melihat wanita-wanita Barat dengan sarung kebaya, yang pria memakai blangkon, duduk bersila di lantai menabuh gamelan dalam pagelaran Festival Gamelan Internasional di Taman Wisata, Candi Prambanan,ditayangkan TV beberapa waktu lalu, saya sepertinya terbuai berkunjung ke suatu zaman di masa depan.

“Dimana Indonesia?” tanya seorang wisatawan.

“Ini Indonesia.” jawab saya.

“Mana mungkin? Ini pencakar-pencakar langit seperti di Tokyo, itu Hollywood Inn, Thousand and One Night Amusement Center. Saya makan sukiyaki, sashimi, pizza, hotdog, buah pir, apel, anggur, minum Coca Cola, root beer, mendengar musik disko. Dimana sawah-sawah, Puncak dan hutan tropis yang begitu dibanggakan Indonesia? Ah. Jangan berolok-olok. Ini tentu bukan Indonesia, tetapi di negara lain.”

“Betul, saya tidak main-main. Indonesia asli berikut hutan-hutannya sudah punah, sudah seratus persen kebarat-baratan. Rambut pirang orang-orang cuma dicat. Kalau mau menemui Indonesia aslinya, ya, Anda harus pergi ke …” dan saya mengambil peta dan menunjuknya suatu daerah di khatulistiwa. Di situlah masih ada Indonesia dalam miniatur, di mana kebudayaan asli Indonesia dihormati, dijunjung tinggi dan dilestarikan.

Untung kita belum separah itu. Saya tersentak dari lamunan.

Wah bagaimana kalau kita suatu waktu harus berguru, belajar kebudayaan sendiri dari orang-orang asing yang ahli? Kalau Indonesia asli, hutan tropis tidak ada lagi di sini, melainkan di luar negeri?

“Kita engga punya harga diri.” Kata si Ucok.

“Kita doraka.” Si Upik menimpali.

  

Int’l Gamelan Festival

English Version by the Jakarta Post February 7, 1996

Watching western women in sarong kebaya and men in blangkon playing gamelan in the International Gamelan Festival at Prambanan temple in Yogyakarta recently on television, I felt myself transported to the future.

“Where is Indonesia?” asks a tourist.

I reply: This is Indonesia.”

“Is it? These are skyscrapers like in Tokyo. That is the Hollywood Inn, the Thousand And One Night Amusement Center. I eat sukiyaki, pizza, hotdogs, pears, apples, grapes. I drink Coke, root beer. I listen to disco music. Where are the rice fields, the tropical forests prided by Indonesia? This is certainly not Indonesia but another country.”

“It is true, I am not joking. The authentic Indonesia with its forests is extinct. Now it is weternized. The blond hair you see is just dyed. If you want to see the real Indonesia you must go to …” and I show him a dot on a map, close to the equator. “There you will find Indonesia in miniature where the original culture is respected and conserved.”

I wake up from my dream with a jolt. What if some day we have to learn our own culture from freign experts? The authentic Indonesian tropical forest is no longer but somewhere abroad.

Somebody says: “We have no self respect.”