Context

The basic unit of (unofficial) governance in Indonesia is the neighborhood, a place of roughly 20-50 households. Each neighborhood has an elected leader known as the Rukun Tetangga; ours is a lady known as Ibu RT (Roughly translating to Mrs. Harmonious Neighbor or Neighborhood Pillar). The RT’s job is to: (a) bring the neighborhood together, (b) help everyone keep the peace, and (c) ensure that everyone makes choices that does not negatively affect the neighborhood. As you may expect, Indonesians are generally communally minded.

The result is that most neighbors know each other, certainly from the houses surrounding their own if not from several different blocks. It might be a stretch to think that everyone in the neighborhood knows everyone else. It is equally a stretch to think that any one person here doesn’t know someone else. One friend described to me that one’s neighbors were family away from family, entering and exiting as they pleased. I have yet to see this as the case, but I definitely see many neighbors congregating together daily.

The Announcement

Today was unusual because a long speech followed the customary morning call to prayer and recitations. I only understood that the speech itself was in Bahasa and that it included a man’s home address. According to our host, the local mosque announced a death to its appointed neighborhood. This is the custom whenever someone in the neighborhood passes. The address of the recently deceased is provided so the people of the neighborhood can pay their respects to the deceased and his/her survived family.

I suspect the average US citizen might view such a public divulgence as a terrible break in privacy. I suppose it is. On the other hand, I’ve read or heard many stories of elderly or ill people (in the US and other western countries) who passed away alone and decomposed in their homes for days before being discovered. Such occurrences are anecdotal and not statistical, but the fact that it happens at all is sobering. Privacy is nice, but too much privacy isolates. No one should die (or decompose) alone.

In truth, I find this particular Indonesian practice endearing. It is fitting that the neighborhood encircles one’s life and death like a big wraparound service. I like the thought of knowing my neighbors and being known by them. So too the thought of having my community around me as I shuffle off the mortal coil. Then the neighborhood loudspeaker would inform my neighbors that I passed and they should come support those who survive me. It’s a nicer world, I think, when one lives in the neighborhood.