Whoopsie-daisy, just when they thought they'd rid of mulyani

Note: Zulynda Ibrahim is a good friend of mine back in the Depok days in the '90s. Lynda, that's how her close friends call her, has been active in the web world long before there was blogs, Facebook or Twitter -- and apakabar@clark.net was the forum to discuss all about Indonesia, especially things we wouldn't be able to discuss in public or mainstream media. But strangely, in the era of social networking, she's reluctant to expose herself. So she asked me if she could share ('numpang') her thoughts in this blog. An offer I can not resist... AP

by: Zulynda Ibrahim

Nope—this is neither a tribute for former Finance Minister Sri Mulyani Indrawati nor a rant against her opponents, I promise you. I’ve vented off unreservedly on a couple of other blogs before (see here and here) that I’m sure I’ve completed the Kubler-Ross’ five stages of grief by now.

Sri Mulyani exited the Cabinet on May the 5^th. She flew away to D.C. 21 days later. And today, June the 1^st, Mulyani starts her tenure as Managing Director in World Bank—the first Indonesian, and a woman, to ever take up the position, I shall add. Such a prideful moment, if the events leading up to it weren’t so infuriating. But hey, I promised I wouldn’t vent again.

On her last days in the country numerous farewells were thrown by various communities on her honor. Mulyani, while wrapping up duties, packing up suitcases, and probably reading thick dossiers I bet were started to arrive from WB, graciously returned the honor by attending.

I didn’t see the so-called open lecture at the Ritz Pacific Place, where her parting words were tweeted live, transcribed and uploaded soon, then widely commented about. Aside from the fact that her speech revealed insights worth dozens of separate articles, it’s the state of emotion of the attendees, some of whom were my friends, which caught my attention.

Like freshly cut flesh, gaping open and gushing blood, it was raw. Denial had just deflated and audience was feeling the rising anger just as the usually private Mulyani finally shared her views and sentiments over Centurygate. I think that was mostly why such stir ensued. It wasn’t so much of the cold facts she elegantly served, it was also how the audience was receiving it. They were, rightfully so, angry.

I attended the luncheon in the old Salemba campus’ 100-seat auditorium the day after, crammed by 300 of her former students, teaching assistants, classmates and lecturers, to the school’s staffs, who all had known her since she was simply ‘Mbak Ani’.

Many tributes were delivered. The widely reported satirical wayang tale of archer Srikandi getting pinched between warring hubby Arjuna and evil troll Buto Cakil. Another waxed on Javanese folk song Sri, Kowe Kapan Baline, the centerpiece of Sindhunata’s paean in Kompas, telling of a woman finally leaving her partner after thankless, heartbreaking years.

But the cake was the reading of Al Pacino’s eloquent finale monologue in Scent of A Woman, where his character Col. Frank Slade defended a modest schoolboy who refused to snitch against prankish classmates at the cost of Harvard scholarship. As Col. Slade said, that kind of attitude is called integrity, which himself had often avoided because it was too damn hard, and if the prep-school was punishing instead of fostering such noble attitude, then the school had to realize what kind of leaders they were preparing. Touché.

Audience laughed and clapped along, and Mulyani herself even said it was perhaps her first free laughter in six years, yet as I looked around I realized that sadness was the unspoken undertone.

Perhaps because anger had slowly dissipated. Perhaps because she was back to her academic root, and we were gathering like a tribal family embracing our fallen comrade. The tight-knit academic community that, for all the unjustified labels we got, has inarguably contributed very much to the country’s economic foundation and policies, as visualized by the silver-haired front row seaters, Mulyani’s former lecturers and the school’s emeritus professors, most of whom in their days had guarded the country’s assets by serving in Finance Ministry and Central Bank, or as the revered economist Dorodjatun Kuntjoro-Jakti quipped in his opening address, “Balancing between one-man-show Soeharto and Alan Greenspan during the 1998 monetary crisis”.

The only apparent heartrending moment took place when Mulyani humbly said she hoped we didn’t think that she had betrayed what we all were compulsorily taught since the first day of college, to always put citizens as the ultimate stakeholder-- the battle she ironically felt fighting alone on her government days. I shed a tear. Many around me sighed heavily. Reading my SMS across town, friends, regardless of personal view on Centurygate, were in goose bumps.

Ay, Indonesia. Just when I thought we had finally made it.

Later that evening, I was lucky enough to be included at the Financial Club fete. The jovial mood decidedly turned visionary as literary maestro Goenawan Mohamad gave a poignant address on the rising of political thuggery, warning audience of a lost momentum that would very well lead to a sense of hopelessness.

I looked around at the crowd of feisty Facebookers, artsy folks, and the capital market captains of Rolex-sporting men and Vuitton-toting women, and was relieved to see, glimpsed through the mix of anger and sadness, a strong sense of moving forward, of righting what was wrong, of not whining in despair. The crowd of different circuits that might not naturally co-mingle in daily life yet tonight was united in giving standing ovation as Mulyani finished her goodbye by coolly pleading to not stop loving the country for there are no reasons to ever stop loving one’s own country. The crowd that grew animated as some rousing souls started shouting “Ani for presidency!”.

And that was when it really hit me. Wow! Different people, originally came from different background or view over the debacle, are now united. Either out of a sense of humanity over seeing the public vilification of a rare ‘clean’ government official, or of a sense of justice over watching where the republic was turning, or simply of a practical mind over nation’s future growth. Different people, each with their respective nest and network, wielding hand in respective parts of country’s livelihood, even as most like me tend to stay apolitical, are now in unison. We accepted what has folded out, we don’t accept where it’s going.

And I wonder if the other crowd somewhere out there, perhaps feasting on roast lamb while dancing ‘rah-rah’ around the bonfire, are realizing that they’ve just earned a vastly growing number of fresh foes, regardless of what Mulyani says about or sees herself in the next decade. Regardless of how Mulyani is or will be affiliated, politically and structurally. Regardless of all of that, now there has been a fundamental shift in how public see and accept Mulyani. And each and every one of this often faceless public has a vote to give comes 2014.

I accompanied Mom to a wedding that weekend and her friends, 60-something dames in their pearls and perfectly coiffed dos, who were usually concerned themselves with grandkids and charities, were fervently discussing Mulyani’s exit that one of them exclaimed that the minute Mulyani declaring a bid for presidency she’d march down the street to lend personal support. And this is a dame I don’t think would ever survive two hours without aircon.

Ay, ay. I wonder, if that other celebratory crowd has got a time to pick up the newspaper and read about the newly elected Noynoy Aquino in neighboring pinoyland. Better still, if they could spare a minute to consult history books and learn about what motion got triggered after Noynoy’s father was shot—and how that birthed one Cory Aquino.

Sometimes, you push just a little too far and, whoops, there goes the equilibrium down the drain and boomerang the energy in the completely opposite direction.

Whoopsie-daisy. Just when they thought they’d rid of Mulyani. Whoopsie daisy!