Last Day, Jakarta

A man sits behind a desk, chin resting on one hand, gazing into space. A young woman rests her head against his, embracing him gently. Behind them is a bust of Mahatma Ghandi; the desk is stacked with classical CDs, books and papers.

The look of sadness on the man’s face and the gesture of comfort on the part of the woman are unmistakable even before you read the caption beside the picture and learn that this is none other than Abdurrhaman Wahid, or Gus Dur, Indonesia’s first democratically elected president since Suharto and that he is being consoled by his daughter on the night of his impeachment.

“It’s a very beautiful moment,” says John Stanmeyer of the photograph, which is part of an exhibition at the newly opened Exhibit Gallery in Bali. “It happened very quickly; I was standing outside the room so the door frame is in the photo. It was a private moment between father and daughter.”

Just a day before, he’d shot footage of the Indonesian military turning the turrets of their tanks toward the royal palace, a wholly symbolic gesture that signalled Gus Dur’s imminent fall from power.

Sitting on a Javanese daybed sipping coffee in his studio in rural Bali, such historical upheavals seem a world away. Yet as a freelance photographer under contract with TIME magazine, it is the American’s job to capture such moments, many of which have graced the covers of the global newsweekly, not to mention those of National Geographic, Fortune, Asiaweek and French weekly Courrier. For the last decade, he has trained his lens on Asia, documenting some of the region’s most pivotal events and developments, from something as abrupt and devastating as the tsunami in Aceh to a process as nebulous as the shifting zeitgeist in China, (captured in a photograph of a Chinese teen sporting pink shades and a T-shirt bearing a pop-art image of Mao, against a backdrop of high rises).

The few journalists that occupy this frontline not only report the news, they often make it. Does Stanmeyer see it as a privileged position? “I have a huge responsibility… to deliver things honestly, purely, in a balanced way and without prejudice to either side if it’s a conflict situation. Privileged? I probably see too much; I don’t need to see all of it to understand it.”

Red Light – Ruly, China 1999

Two decades earlier, Stanmeyer occupied a very different world. Starting his career at a very young age, he found himself working as a fashion photographer in Europe for magazines like Harper’s Bazaar and Andy Warhol’s Interview, as part of a burgeoning style elite. “This was at the time before the supermodel era,” he explains. “I’d been to Art School and failed every journalism course I took!”

Just as he was beginning to realise quite how lucrative a career in fashion could be, the young photographer experienced something of an epiphany. “There was a moment in my early 20s…it must have been ‘83 or ‘84, when I realised I was brainwashing people into thinking that who they were was what they wore. I’d been using my hammer and nail to build the wrong piece of furniture.” Far from some kind of celestial radiance, it was the stark light of reality that led him away from fashion and the excessive levels of marketing it was coming to engender. Moving away from Italy, he came across a group of Peace Corps workers in Madrid who’d recently returned from Haiti, and it was on the troubled Caribbean island that he produced his first piece of documentary photography in the early ’90s.

At that time, the people of the island nation were suffering in the aftermath of a military coup that had in turn impelled a debilitating UN embargo – “I was appalled by what was going on… it was hard to believe this was happening just 90 miles away from the richest nation on earth!”

In effect, Stanmeyer had discovered his purpose. He took a job at the Tampa Tribune, a major daily newspaper in Florida, where he set about learning the tools of his trade. While some of his colleagues complained at the pedestrian assignments, Stanmeyer welcomed the opportunity to cover the country fair yet again – he knew he wasn’t going to be there forever. At the same time, he met his wife Anastacia, a writer, and the two began funding their own trips to document the crises of the time.

“We would save coins all year long…we sent ourselves to Sudan by saving coins. We’d come back and they’d give us a front page, a double spread in the middle in colour and another third page. We didn’t get paid, but we had this platform from which to speak about issues and this meant something to us.”

The whole notion of purpose seems to lie at the heart of Stanmeyer’s work. There is little vanity about him and he talks about his photography as first and foremost a tool for making people think, for effecting social change. His personal projects over the years confirm this – he’s spent the last eight years documenting the spread of AIDS throughout Asia and as a founder member of highly respected photography agency vii he’s been at the heart of two major book projects, WAR and RETHINK which he describes as “testimonials of the last five years of humanity.”

This is far from your typical coffee table fare, dealing as it does with the world’s current conflicts and the roots of 9/11. The seminars he holds in New York are invariably sold out, not with journalist colleagues (”what would be the point? They already get it!”) but with people who are less familiar with the issues he’s talking about.

Balloons

But what is such a man doing in this tropical island idyll in the heart of Indonesia while his peers rent apartments in New York or London or Hong Kong? His first visit to Indonesia was at the cusp of the economic meltdown in 1998; more than twenty visits and five years would pass before he chose to make it his home. “I fell in love with the country. Until moving here, all the work I’d done in Indonesia had been about very serious social issues…stuff that probably would scare most people when I think about it, yet I’ve invested everything I’ve got in this place.”

Ironically, Bali was for a long time one of the islands Stanmeyer liked the least, always put off by the excessive tourism. It wasn’t until after the first Bali bomb in 2002 that he saw the island in a different light. He’d spent the first week after the attack in Java, trying to understand its dynamics as evidence began to slowly emerge. “I saw a totally different side to the Balinese…this love and compassion brought about by darkness and evil and ill deeds and the suffering that comes from them. They had such enormous humility and compassion. TIME was doing a story about individuals who saved others and through that I met a group of people who let me know there was something very special here. I flew home and said to my wife, what about Bali?”

Something more ambiguous draws him to the archipelago as a whole, however, something that appeals in a very personal way. He describes it as the striking rapidity of Indonesian society, the extremes he’s encountered here, from placidity to anarchy, enormous wealth to abject poverty – “it’s a country that can turn on a dime – I guess everywhere does, but I just love deep immersion cultures, cultures that retain their roots amidst the bombardment of western culture,” he says. There is also the sheer diversity of cultures, peoples and ideas that populate it. “How do you manage and keep united a country that contains such diversity? Imagine five or six African or South American nations all becoming one, spread across three time zones and the size of North America. I respect anyone who’s willing to try and manage that!”

As an emerging – or re-emerging democracy, Stanmeyer sees an intriguing complexity of issues at work in today’s Indonesia. After what he views as an extended period of stagnation, we’re now experiencing the “pulls, contractions and twists of a nation maturing and growing.” It is a growth predicated on such enormous diversity and yet he believes that the country is on a better path than it has ever been. Of course pressing concerns like corruption will take time – “We need at least another generation,” he states emphatically. One of the biggest problems in this light is a simple one.

“Everyone globally and in Indonesia wants and needs proper goods and services – decent education, proper health care, a solid legal system, honest police officials, good roads, etc – but few pay or more so, are able to pay taxes because of such low incomes. These alleged corrupt civil servants likely play the corruption game because many are so poorly paid. How can you pay good salaries (salaries one can actually live on) if no one is contributing, or more so if funds through service taxes or through aids grants are not allocated properly to societies needs? It’s not rocket science, it’s fundamental.”

There is very little finger pointing in any of his discussion about geo-political issues. One could be cynical and suggest this is the simple diplomacy required of a man in his position – though he’s clearly impatient at some of the attitudes he encounters in the country of his birth, especially those who question his decision to live in Indonesia. “There is a form of extreme interpretation of Islam, but it’s a very small percentage of people. We have more lunatics in North America for God’s sake. Indonesia is not a hotbed of radical Islam.”

It doesn’t come across as just diplomacy though, rather a deeper sense of the way in which we are all connected. “My blood can run in your veins and mine in yours,” he says early in the interview. “How are we any different? And yet because we fail to look at that as humans, we perpetuate conflict, war, poverty…it’s all interconnected. We’re all connected, from a rice farmer to a politician.”

From KABAR September 2006

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Jez O’Hare and his trike, at home in Bandung.

You’ve probably seen his photographs in magazines, perhaps in a coffee-table book on the Wallace Line or the Indonesian archipelago, maybe even in an advertisement for a high-definition television. They are those rare images that capture the essence of a place, showing us an aspect that is unique and rare; images that require not only passion, drive, planning, and courage, but also a piece of equipment that creates its own centrifugal force, called a gyro stabilizer, and a micro light aircraft. Jez O’Hare’s images from above inspire travel, exploration and poetry, offering us an escape into a world that we can’t quite make tangible and triggering a mind, heart and soul reaction of awe at the beauty of Indonesia.

Flying towards Bromo, East Java.

Driving through Bandung to meet Jez, it’s not hard to see why so many artists, architects and intellectuals have made this city their hub in Java. Dotted with ancient evergreens around winding roads wrapping up and down hills, I went past Indonesia’s most esteemed Universities and made my way through a residential neighborhood that ended on the edge of a valley. I could see a slice of the view behind what has been Jez’s home for the last 8 years.

Several dogs welcomed me with barks of varying tone and volume. Slowly a lean, Celtic-looking gentleman made his way through the canine mass and approached the large green wrought iron gate. “Hi Avi, have you had lunch?” he inquired softly as a boyish spark twinkled in his eyes. His accent was unusual; British grammar school mingled with soft hints of Indonesian. “I haven’t been speaking too much English these days, at least not with people who have English as their first language.”

Above the Kei Islands.

Still in his early forties, Jez has been capturing images of Indonesia for almost 25 years now. His family moved to Indonesia in early 1974, when his father took an expatriate position as a director of a major British safe manufacturer. His specialisation in photographing Indonesia was like a karmic calling when he was on holiday from university in the UK, where he was studying scientific illustration.

“I always thought photography was too difficult,” he said with a smile. “I was still a student and had some time off, that’s when I heard there were still some stone-age people living in Papua – Irian Jaya back then – and I couldn’t believe it.” Grabbing a couple of cameras and lenses, Jez set off on the Pelni at age 19. “I ended up staying for two months!” he grinned. “Then when I got back, my Dad’s secretary invited me to submit my images to a travel magazine, Suasana, now out of print. And I got the cover!” His excitement is still palpable.
At the heart of Jez’s photography is a deep passion for exploration. “It’s about getting that photograph that no one else has taken before.” And this, perhaps, leads me to the best way of describing Jez; an explorer with a desire to go where no one’s gone before.

Ngga Glacier, Papua.

Things started to move pretty quickly after that first publication. He worked with a film production company – “they threw me in the deep-end, and I was learning a lot,” – and continued developing his photography and exploring Indonesia. This took him on various aerial photography projects: “I figured, the only way to see Indonesia is to go by air.” Then, in 1995, he had a crash in a microlight “and I thought, shit, better I learn to fly myself.”.
Shortly after getting out of the hospital the first thing Jez did was to get flying lessons. Starting with a paramotor, flying with a parachute and a fan strapped to his back, he had to overcome the fear from his recent accident, learn to fly and “learn how to take photographs from the air while strapped to a parachute and motor.” The first two flights were “not so good,” but on the third, “it was at sunset and I was thinking to myself, ‘I’m flying!’” Eventually he moved on to a microlight aircraft, or trike, which he modified to make the seat lower so that he would have the freedom to use his camera.

Jez on his trike.

Jez is meticulous in his planning and self-discipline. “There’s basically three things, three conditions that you need to be sure of,” he explained as I learned what it took to get flying. “First, the condition of your craft; second your own condition and the third; the media – your runway, the weather. Don’t fly unless you’re sure about these three conditions.”

“I’ve got desalination tablets and a lifeboat on my trike, so it’s okay to fly over large expanses of water,” he added in a matter-of-fact tone.

In 2005, Jez took Indonesian citizenship. “I could spend the rest of my life photographing this place,” he told me. “And also, I just got tired of going to Immigration every year.”

And his next adventure? “My dream is to fly throughout Indonesia on my trike, starting from Java.” I’m already beginning to dream of where he’ll take us next.

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Their day begins as most of the city slips into slumber. The fishermen of Muara Karang have a schedule all their own. The fish market of Sunda Kelapa is their version of the business district although the dress policy may not reflect that of the ‘other’ CBD in downtown Jakarta.

If you have yet to visit the historic fish market, you truly are missing a plethora of sights and smells not seen many other places, even in The Big Durian. From what I’ve been told the district of Muara Karang has its own jurisdiction in a way, its own set of rules, and its own way of life. When entering this area, you certainly become aware of these notions.

Very fishy.

We maneuvered through the small, winding street filled with water from the heavy rains released in days prior. The streets here are prone to flooding in the rainy season, so it would be advisable to use an SUV of some sort if coming in those months. We easily found ample parking adjacent to the market. Stepping out of the car, the first observation wasn’t formed with my eyes, but rather my nose. It emits the permeating, raw stench of a working market; make no mistake, it’s not the most pleasant environment, but one worth experiencing first hand.

The rain soaked streets both absorbed and reflected the dazzling glow of the umbrellas lining the narrow path leading towards the market. Dozens of customers made their way from stall to stall perhaps searching for a fresher alternative to the grocery store, perhaps re-stocking their restaurant’s supplies, or maybe simply venturing through the market out of blatant curiosity like us.

Upon entering the warehouse-like main market, the sheer vastness of the place was nearly overwhelming. There must have been hundreds of fisherman and dockworkers engaged in the night’s work. Makeshift aisles separated each worker’s wares from another’s. From what I’ve heard, the fishermen make their way into shore in late evening, and continue to arrive well into the night. Those seeking the most action would be well advised to arrive somewhere between 8pm and 12am.

To say that the variety of sea life on display was phenomenal would be an understatement. The market was brimming with sea life so vibrant and multifarious that you can’t help but wonder how it’s possible to obtain such creatures from the murky depths of the waters surrounding Java. I won’t pretend to pull a Jaques Cousteau here – I truly couldn’t name, with any accuracy, more than a handful of the creatures on display. What I can do is provide a small amount of photography and let you figure out the rest. Shark, squid, eels, rays, and an array of fish of all colors, shapes, and sizes await those adventurous enough to enter this startling place.

A foreigner walking through this scene would undoubtedly attract attention. A foreigner walking through these aisles armed with a camera certainly attracts even more, and this is when the true characters come to life. Everywhere we went, fishermen would look around for the most gargantuan, impressive fish to represent their days’ labor and hold it up like a football star would hold a trophy; grinning and laughing the entire time. Occasionally, the odd joker would find the most meager of his lot and flaunt it with just as much pride creating waves of laughter from those around. There was a real sense of community emanating from these laughs; a zone of comfort and a sense that they were one large family.

As midnight approached, our energy waned as our appetites grew. Near the parking lot was a small warung, in front of which a makeshift grill offered welcome relief. The worker offered to cook over his hot coals, any seafood we chose from the market. The other option was even more enticing; he would choose some giant prawn himself and save us the task of bargaining. Within minutes he presented us with succulent prawn skewered and laden with a mouthwatering sauce unlike any I’ve ever had. Despite the fact that we were sitting on a picnic bench, eating on paper plates, I’ll gladly admit that it was some of the best prawn I’ve had in Indonesia. For three of us to let out another notch in out belt it cost us a grand total of Rp.70,000 including drinks!

Certainly, fishermen the world-over have a culture all their own, a language which outsiders are not privy to, and a sense of humor which may be defined by some as crude. Nonetheless, these men and women of the dock deserve respect for continuing a tradition that likely has not kept pace with the rest of Jakarta. The working conditions they endure, the night shift that keeps them from their families, and the overall tenacity of their lifestyle is something most of us will never properly relate to.

Looking for something different this weekend? Take a journey back in time, slow the pace for a while. The fish market of Sunda Kelapa is only minutes from Jakarta. Experience yet another part of what makes Jakarta special. Have a glimpse into the lives of these fishermen, have a laugh with them, and feast upon the pride of their efforts.

First published in Kabar 2006.

Write to Brandon Hoover at thejavajive@gmail.com, or visit www.thejavajive.com

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