An Indonesian President (20 January 2009)

With Obama (mania indeed!) occupying some fragment of every conversation point, there’s no fighting the great sense of pleasure in being American. Is it pride?

It’s a near giddiness. Yes. I am from the USA.

Assuredly, that is something that I’ve rarely felt on my globe-trotting expeditions. Perhaps even polar opposite. It’s not uncommon to meet a traveler who hails from Minnesota or North Carolina or Texas or Oregon or some other alcove on American soil, passing as Canadian. Nor is it uncommon to be asked if I myself travel under the guise of our northern neighbors. But I don’t. It’s like the women travelers who sport fake wedding bands and talk of (fake) husbands or fiancés at home. It’s ridiculous.

January 20, 2009. A month. A number. A year. A date. Something so everyday. Yet this combination marks something that transcends ordinary. Something of which January 19 or January 21 are deprived. I don’t have a television. Internet is frustrating. Reading the newspapers takes a lot of effort. Thus, mostly I depend upon a weekly review of email and websites for updated information. And outdated People, Vanity Fair, and Harper’s Bazaar magazines for a dose of pop culture, fashion, and celebrity gossip. Nevertheless, 1 am (January 21 here… kindof funny how a date associated, now and forever (?), with CHANGE occurred on this side of the world on a completely different day) my phone is alive. My friends, my neighbors, my colleagues, my acquaintances. The guy who copied my number when I bought phone credit in the shop. The girl from the bank. And her brother whom I’ve never met. The police office whom monitors international visitors in Bajawa. The village head from a once-visited project area. The excitement reverberated. They all wished to share it with me via text messages within these newest minutes of the day.

Indonesians, also take pride. Obama is made from a part of their fabric. Anyone and everyone (even the most remote villagers) will tell you how he went to school in Jakarta and likes to eat nasi goreng (fried rice) and bakso meatballs. They saw January 20, through different eyes, in different shoes. Obama is the first Indonesian President of the United States of America.

Race is a social construct. Admittedly, when marking a census, I get nervous… what’s the right answer? You can’t tell me that there hasn’t been an occasion when you, yourself, had to ask am I this or am I that? Here it’s much simpler. You are black (Indonesian). You are white (westerners). You are Chinese (Asian). Purely based upon the visual differences. Thus, Obama is… “sama” (same). He is theirs. He is kin, they call him brother or uncle. He is Indonesian.

From the outside looking in, the days leading up to and including the big event were almost circus-esque… when do the ‘Last Living Unicorn’ and ‘Fire-breathing Dragons’ enter? However, I like unicorns and dragons. And why not? I’m envious of those who rose with the chickens and withstood the chill. So, I missed out on the live coverage of the 2009 ‘Presidential Inauguration Spectacular’ ring side. Nevertheless, to have the exposure to the elements of Indonesian pride in their man taking the reins was perhaps just as remarkable in its own right.