VIII of X: Growing Up A Minority Female in Indonesia
own swimming teacher, once by a group of teenagers in a shopping mall, and twice by male passengers in public transportation. They touched and fondled my female parts in public while the spectators did nothing to stop.
Again, I consider myself among the luckier ones. There are more horrifying stories out there. So far, I have never found any ethnic Chinese Indonesian females who have never experienced some sort of sexual harassment.
Some even experienced razor-cutting or needle-stitching by indigenous strangers when they were in public places, kidnapped, and raped to an unspeakable level for no other reason than them being born as Chinese females.
In a major riot in Jakarta on May 13-16, 1998, when the colossal looting; burning; and killing of the ethnic Chinese occurred, there were mass gang-rapes of the females of the ethnic Chinese. Over 1,000 properties were destroyed and looted, and over 150 females ranging from age 9 to 60 were gang-raped in public, some even in front of their own beloved families. In one of the rapes, a victim's reproduction organ was filled with broken glasses.
In another, the victim was mutilated and burnt to death. Horrible stories do not merely eventuate in horror movies, I've learned. It was hard-hitting reality, so bitter that I began to question the value of humanity.
Though the recent UN Rapporteur on Indonesia revealed that the gang rapes did happen, to this very day, the Indonesian government is still denying the occurrences. Many analysts believe that the rapes and the riots were organized, yet the government kept silent.
My upbringing in Chinese culture provides a solid foundation on taoism, an eastern way of thinking: to think in a circular motion, rather than in thesis-antithesis and dualistic-dialectic mind. Every suffering must have an end. And every happiness will cease by the emerging of another cycle of sadness.
Resolving with the fear of living in a place where discrimination is a way of life --where the real meaning of compassion and understanding are being questioned-- is my life-long pursuit. Though I finally realize that it can be found nowhere else than within myself, only through forgiving those who judge others god-likely, is the beginning of my inner peace.
My vow of silence shall never cease. Only in writing can I truly be honest and brave enough to reveal what I think; feel; and believe, regardless of what others might think of this 'obnoxious delusional poor little
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