The Bite
Indonesia’s city audioscapes are bloated with motor vehicle noise. Tour buses toot off-key songs. Drivers honk their cars both to inform everyone of their presence and their irritation. Engine noise is omnipresent. The noise from a motorcycle engine on “high rev” can be painful if it reverberates off the cement walls just so.
Thus the local police began enforcing a crackdown on motorbike racing exhausts. The ban on racing exhausts was passed long ago but essentially unenforced. Its current enforcement may have something to do with the imminent election next year…but that is only a cynic’s guess. The important thing is that it is happening.
Enter friend Asep. Asep is an avid rider who has a deep love/hate relationship with his motorbike. It is a big, powerful sporty Yamaha. As it turns out, the Yamaha was too big, too powerful, and too fuel-inefficient to justify using it in a packed city such as ours….. but its sound is beautiful. Asep attached a racing exhaust that gave it just the right purr at idle and a wonderful bass roar while accelerating.
Asep did not want to spend the money to reinstall his stock exhaust when racing exhausts became illegal. Besides, the racing exhaust was more fun. So Asep found workarounds. He turned off his engine at crowded intersections. He accelerated slowly in crowded streets. He avoided streets patrolled or controlled by police.
Then Asep’s luck ran out. He encountered an impromptu police checkpoint that night. I received a series of texts relaying that the police cited him for his racing exhaust. His bike had been confiscated. The police instructed Asep to report to the local police station the following day. He was required to bring his original exhaust system, take his bike to a repair shop to swap the exhausts, then return to surrender the racing exhaust. The police assured him that his only financial loss would be the exhaust itself. He hired a driver to take him home.
The next morning occurred without incident. I met Asep at the police station gate. It turned out the racing exhaust was to be swapped at the police station. Contrary to the officer’s assurances from the night before, Asep also paid a hefty fine. I expressed surprise at his apparent serenity. “Ya Josh, aku maklum. I know I was wrong.” Perhaps his smile was from relief. At least he would no longer have the stress of constantly looking over his shoulder.
The Mouth
Afterwards we went to a local cafe to hang out and play a bit of cribbage. Our game was constantly interrupted by texts. Asep was becoming increasingly irritable.
“You okay? You’re a bit distracted.”
“Ya, sorry Josh. You know that officer that exchanged my exhaust? He’s messaging me.”
“About what?
Asep snorted with derision. “He told me that they made the report, and that they keep my exhaust for evidence. But it doesn’t matter the exhaust that’s in evidence as long as they have one.”
“Okay?”
“So… the officer telling me I can buy a used, broken exhaust and… “nebus?”…. apa “nebus” dalam bahasa Inggris?”
“Umm…. redeem it.”
“I can redeem a broken one to get my racing exhaust back… and they offering to sell me a broken one.”
I smiled wide in appreciation of the police department’s audacity. “…That’s… genius! Evil, but genius. That exhaust has probably been reported as evidence several times. And they get another chance to catch you with your illegal exhaust!”
Asep exploded in exasperation, “No Josh!! Not genius, just stupid! It’s so stupid!!! The police should be taking money from rich people, not people with no money!!” He threw his hands in the air and then sucked an inch off his cigarette.
“Ahhh….. how much do they want?”
Asep exhaled smoke and calmed himself. “250,000 rupiah. But I don’t have the money, so I ask for 100,000, and he went to 175,000. We agreed on 150,000.”
“How long do you have to decide?”
“The officer said tomorrow.”
“But why would you buy back an exhaust you can’t use?”
“I could sell it, Josh. Someone would buy it, trust me.”
“How much would you get for it?”
“The original price was 2 juta (two million rp). So maybe 500,000, more or less.”
“Asep, you already paid a 200,000 fine. You use a lot of gas and time to go from your kos (single-room occupancy) to the station. Then you pay 150,000 for the used exhaust. When you sell the racing exhaust, you maybe only make 100,000-150,000 profit. Are you sure this is worth the effort?”
My question grated a freshly raw nerve. “No Josh!!” Pain and anger leaked into his voice. “I know, ya….. I know it’s not worth it. But I don’t want to help them make money!! I know they’ll just auction it off later. I’d rather lose money than let them profit because of me!!” Another inch fell off his cigarette.
We continued to play cribbage. Asep chain smoked as we played hand after hand. Another text came in mid-game.
“Wah, Josh, I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“The officer wants me to make the decision now. So I will go to the station, pay the officer, and get my exhaust back.”
“He’s pushing the decision time?”
“Yeah, I know he’s trying to pressure me. But I’m just going to do it. I’ll tell you when I’m done, ya?”
The Feed
Asep returned some hours later. His expression lay somewhere between “vastly amused” and “openly scornful”.
“Wah, Josh, it was so….. “irony…. ironis?… how do you say it?”
“Ironic.”
“It was so ironic, Josh. There were three ironic things, ya?”
“Terus?”
“So I arrived to the police station and sent a WA to the officer. He had me meet him… in the musholla!!”
“It makes sense… mushollas are empty unless it’s time for the call to prayer….”
Asep shook his head with an exasperated smile. “No Josh, that’s the first irony. The officer hide the exhaust in the musholla!” He jabbed his finger downward emphatically at the word, “hide”.
“Okay, so what’s the second irony?”
“When I give him my money. Then he says, ‘Jangan bilang bilang, ya?’”
“In the musholla?!” That took me aback. The police essentially took Asep’s bribe and then demanded his silence inside a Muslim place of worship. To simultaneously backhand 88% of Indonesia’s population and the Almighty Himself requires immense chutzpah and/or habituation. They had clearly been doing this for a long time.
“And the third irony?”
Asep laughed. “The officer said, ‘This money is not for me. I don’t make any money.’”
“…… interesting. How did you reply?”
“I thought, ‘I don’t care!! You are a part of this. You’re also guilty!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said, though.”
My friend furrowed his brow and tsked. “Of course not, Josh! I only said, ‘Ya, pak, terima kasih!’ (Asep put his hands together, nodded his head, and smiled, the traditional Indonesian gesture of gratitude). Then I left.”
“And you’re not angry that they did all this in a mushollah?”
“Of course not, Josh.” He smirked and took a drag of his cigarette. “I just laugh. They’ll burn in hell eventually.”
I nodded my head slowly. I decided not to chide my friend for reveling in the prospect of their eternal damnation. He’d had a hard day.
I confess I was slightly unsettled. Corruption in the police force had heretofore been a fuzzy, general principle. It happens somewhere. Yet that fuzzy generality quickly elucidated into crystal clarity without any care for concealment. It is immediately unnerving when the protected realize they are prey.
Prey Response
Fortunately, prey can survive in a strong, interdependent community. Your neighbors are your safety system, for better or worse. The Indonesian government’s laxity in fighting corruption has caused an ever-widening rift between the institutional authorities and the people they are meant to serve. Night has fallen and the predators are out. When darkness falls, one builds a fire, forms a circle outward, designates a nightwatch, and waits for dawn.
Thus we make sure to be friends with our neighbors. We only go to places personally recommended by those we trust. Friends familiar with our destination accompany us. Our neighbors cautiously greet outsiders. Everyone parks their scooters inside their houses. Outside lights remain on throughout the night. The neighborhood sets up a midnight watch. Most avoid involving the police because a wolf is as likely to come as a shepherd… and the wolf will compel you to feed it. May Allah soon bring the dawn.
Author’s Note
The title is an amalgamation of two different lines of thought. First, I felt this anecdote was a perfect counterpoint to the English phrase, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” Second, the Indonesian word “menyuapkan” means to insert food into the mouth of another with one’s hands. This is usually done at birthday parties, weddings, and to little children who are unable to feed themselves. It is also used as a euphemism for bribery.