Night: Opacity (Part 2 of 2)

I theorized in “Transparency” that an Indonesian person’s life goal was to to successfully live while avoiding the spirit world’s interference. The other side of that coin is to successfully live by harnessing the spirit world’s power. Enter the dukun, shamans who control the spirits at the behest of others.

Not everyone can become a dukun. One must be an Indigo (spiritually sensitive), for starters. Then candidates must be trained in how to use / appeal to / manage the spirits in their care. Certain requirements must be met. Pacts must be made. The job and concomitant knowledge is usually passed down generationally because spiritual ability seems as much genetics (or the spiritual equivalent?) as anything else.

Dukun are often the unofficial shadow leaders of their particular communities. The Indonesian public has a long and storied distrust of their public leaders and police. Yet many will trust the declarations of their local dukun with few questions asked. Even local officials occasionally consult a dukun to aid their decision making. Spiritual power is social power.

Dukun often hold multiple roles within society. Mundane activities might include setting bones and free public health education. Yet they are most often selected for mystical purposes. People with disappeared loved ones will consult a dukun if the police prove incompetent or dishonest. Dukun also guard against bad weather, summon rain, heal the sick, enrich others, bless weddings, guard weddings from bad spirits, and cause people to fall in and out of love. The more powerful ones can invoke santet (curses and death) for the right price.

The dukun universe is amazingly opaque. The dukun are a textbook definition of “open secret.” Everyone up to the national government recognizes that dukun exist. Yet I never fail to surprise Indonesians when I utter the word “dukun”. Their surprised expressions inevitably give way to a nervous chuckle/titter and, “How do you know about that?” I never quite know how to answer that. It is impossible to not know about it. On the other hand, I also know I will never find one on my own.

Its opacity is not without cause. The government declared it illegal to hire a dukun for santet or to perform santet. Most (if not all) major branches of Islam teach that it is sinful and forbidden to harness the makhluk halus for any reason. Additionally, some dukun have spiritually attacked other dukun for power, greed, or revenge. The dukun consequently shroud themselves in silence and anonymity. They have become as invisible as the spirits they harness.

Indonesians tend to keep silent about the dukun for those same reasons. Asking strangers or acquaintances if they’ve ever used a dukun will always result in the disclaimer, “It’s haram to use black magic.” Yet that person always knows someone else who has used it. Or they themselves have been the target of it. One of our Indigo friends remembered seeing an intangible fireball fly outside our window towards a house in our area. Someone had sent santet into our area.

Yet somehow the dukun world is as universally accessible as opaque. The trick is that the one inquiring must be close enough to warrant full disclosure. If you are in need and ask a close friend, your friend is guaranteed to know a dukun or someone else who has access to one.

Crazy Love

Netra had just broken up with a long-time boyfriend during her last year of high school. Her ex then went and paid a local dukun for pelet.

Djinn in a Bottle

Wulan runs her own food business in the outskirts of Jakarta. The business performed well enough early on to cover the bills. Yet after a few months business suddenly disappeared to the point that she could no longer pay her bills. Her ingredients also spoiled quicker than expected. Wulan was perplexed because business had been decent beforehand. She certainly knew how to pick good quality ingredients. Wulan looked for answers amongst the elders. A friend of her mother who “knew about such things” told Wulan that she had signs of “delivered things” on her body. Wulan didn’t quite know what to make of that. She returned to her business and took a picture of it one month later. In that photo were indeed “delivered things”. A small sachet had been assembled and tucked away near the door. The spirits “attached” to the sachet had been driving Wulan’s customers away. Someone had paid for santet to shut down Wulan’s business.

Wulan’s first response as a devout Catholic was to pray. She was also rather skeptical about such matters. On the other hand, Wulan’s cousin’s sister had a friend who knew a dukun that could drive the spirits away. This distant relative reached out to the dukun and asked for her help. Wulan’s skepticism surrendered to social etiquette. It would be rude to refuse the offered assistance.

The dukun arrived a few days later wearing blue jeans, a long-sleeve black tee, and a black head scarf typical of Muslim Indonesian women. She sat cross legged on the floor, set out incense, invoked a prayer replete with mystical motions, and “drove” the djinn into two open bottles. One bottle was dark, the other clear. Both were drink bottles in their former lives. The dukun parted ways with this instruction: the bottles must be buried in a graveyard that night. Then the djinn would never bother Wulan again.

Thus began the Great Graveyard Search. Wulan and her cousin’s sister drove around for several hours looking for an open graveyard, including Wulan’s catholic church. It was too late. All the graveyards were already closed and tightly guarded. Wulan and her cousin became increasingly terrified of the two bottles as the sky grew darker. She was unsure there were actually djinn in these bottles but she was positive she wanted them out. They eventually found a public graveyard for people who cannot afford to buy a burial plot.

The two formed quite a picture. Two small ladies furtively enter a graveyard in the black of night and scrape out a hole with their hands. They insert the bottles and then shove the dirt back into place. Both knew full well that their efforts to expel their bottled djinn during the haunting hour probably aroused the interest of all the other djinn in the graveyard. The irony that the solution seemed more dangerous than the problem was not lost on on them.

The dukun also recommended that Wulan place a golden nail in her store to guard against future santet. The cost would be 1.5 million rupiah, easily a quarter of a month’s salary. Wulan bought it because it is hard to put a price on safety and security. Upon receiving the nail, she realized it was neither gold nor painted gold. She had been conned into buying a cheap brass nail.

Wulan’s business has since resumed its previous operations. Customers are entering again. The ingredients stay fresh longer. The nail has not been planted at her store. She promised me that when we meet she will bring the nail for me to keep. I’m not sure I actually want it.

A Syncretic Art

The Bantenese are well known for their powerful dukun. They practice a famous ritual called “debus”, often performed at festival days to entertain locals and tourists drawn to the macabre. It is essentially a display of spiritual prowess demonstrated through self-mutilation. The beliefs and traditions that underlie debus long predate Islam’s arrival to Indonesian shores.

Interestingly, most Bantenese are also deeply Muslim. The Bantenese are proud to be the first ones to adopt Islam in Western Java. Yet most branches of Islam (if not all) prohibit harnessing the power of the djinn. The two distinctly exclusive beliefs conceptually make for terrible bedfellows… yet bedfellows they are. Islamic theology is heavily incorporated into debus events despite said prohibition.

Debus festivals are always started with shalawat (a chanted prayer) and praises to Allah for safety and salvation during the event, lasting up to thirty minutes. Then traditional non-Islamic songs are sung to invoke the spirits to come. Finally, the self-mutilation begins in earnest.

The practitioners slice themselves with minimal or zero bleeding. They may speak a mantra while doing so, something akin to, “It's haram for you to touch my skin. It's haram for you to drink my blood. It's haram for you to eat my flesh, my veins, my bones, my steel skin.” Note, they are invoking the will of Allah (what is haram or not) while addressing the weapon/object.

Others might chew on shards of glass. Yet others pour acid on themselves till their clothes are dissolved while their skin stays intact. The more sedate might fry an egg on his or her head. A common mantra from of them all might be, “There is no god but Allah”, the primary confession of Islamic faith. Those who fail for one reason or another are instantly healed by dukun who monitor the event as paramedics. The dukun themselves are often Muslim.

Solution

The shadow world, its practitioners, and its adherents are absolutely fascinating. Their fluidity of belief regardless of religion allows them to simultaneously appeal to the makhluk halus while confessing deep and authentic devotion to a faith that prohibits such appeals (Christianity, Catholicism, and Islam account for 99% of Indonesia’s population). Make no mistake, the practitioners’ identity and belief systems are firmly rooted in their understanding of their respective religions. Whether those beliefs are aligned with orthodoxy is another matter.

What is it about the makhluk halus that causes someone to appeal to their aid? Theoretically, 99% of the Indonesian population know that: (a) It is haram / sinful to use the spirits for good ill; (b) Allah / Tuhan has both authority and strength over all djinn. No one argues either point at all. Yet the dukun is usually the first resort, not the last.

I once asked my devoutly Catholic LGBT friend how he could adhere to and serve within a religion that is so theologically adverse to LGBT communities. His answer was charmingly blaise: “I simply ignore the parts I don’t agree with.” It certainly could be that way for many Indonesians, but I wonder if the answer is not somehow grayer and more complex. They’ve tossed in oil and water, shook it well, and magically made an inseparable solution of animism subjugated to theological primacy. These are “alternative facts” writ large.

Many of you might wonder where I stand. Young adults and teens here have a ritual known as “uji nyali”, a “test of courage”. The goal is to walk through a known abandoned, haunted building alone in the dark with only a flashlight. Would I do it? Do I believe I’d walk through safely? Yes, on paper. Yet my beliefs are firmly held in check by cowardly rationality. I have no real reason to find out if the fire is hot. Listening to the burn victims is enough.

Coda

It turns out that a dukun’s Uji Nyali is exactly opposite of the norm. A Christian man was living out in one of Indonesia’s vast rural areas. He devoutly prayed everyday for protection from evil spirits. He often walked the perimeter of his property while doing so.

One day, he received a knock on the door. A dukun greeted the Christian man and introduced himself. He said, “I’ve been meaning to visit you everyday for awhile. But my protector spirits refused to enter with me every time I approach your gate. They are afraid! So finally I decided not to listen to them. I am here alone without my spirits. Tell me; I must know. What is this spirit you have that make mine so afraid?”