User talk:CraigGlenister

Foreign Affairs My wife and I have lived in a remote Balinese village for a decade. It is our home, and home to a resort we built in the rainforest. Neither of us fools ourselves into thinking we fully understand the Balinese, perhaps never will, but through trial and error, we have a good understanding of the way things are.

A long time ago, I sat politely before a Banjar, who explained to me how things work. I was told, ever so gracefully and with great respect, that they understood I had made a mistake because I was new and did not know. They forgave me, but now that I knew, please don’t do it again. The benefit of the doubt is a very Balinese thing. I read much about the concerns foreigners have for the Balinese during this pandemic, and though well-meaning and pertinent in many cases, it is not the doom and gloom often ascribed.

Yes, families are struggling, and many beautiful people have set up food packages for the needy. Other Balinese are arranging online avenues for farmers to sell their produce. Right across Bali, the Balinese are reaching out to each other, as they have done for centuries.

Most people are unaware that there is a World Giving Index (WGI). “To ensure that giving is understood in its various forms, the report looks at three aspects of giving behaviour; helping a stranger, donating money to charity and volunteering in an organisation.” It will surprise many of you that the country that tops that poll is…Indonesia. It behoves each of us to ask “Why do those who have less..give more?” Sitting in that question, the answers you seek could solve many of the problems we face as a global village. With this in mind, allow me to share my view of another village, a twin village, deep in the mountains of Bali.

When the pandemic gained traction around March, I was in Australia on business. ( Yes, I am well aware of all the theories and opinions re the epidemic.) I immediately jumped on the first flight home to Bali. We locked down the resort, and the Adat and Banjar (local authorities within each village) locked down the village. Travel between villages was curtailed, and this happened throughout much of Bali. It was a productive and immediate lockdown, as tough as any you see elsewhere in the world —nobody in, nobody out, without excellent reason.

So what happened? The Balinese character began to shine.

At first, tempered by concerns of an unknown virus, there was worry about contagion. Then there was worry about job loss. These two worries predominate the globe to this day. Tourism accounts for roughly half of jobs on the island so it has, and will continue to, hit hard. Harder than most countries. But the way the Balinese handle these concerns is different to the west. Some background will help you to better understand. Leaving federal and state politics out of the immediate equation, the village fell back on itself. Balinese villages are unique in their ability to handle problems, both internal and external. Politicians, police, lawyers and the like play a tiny part in the day to day resolve of a village. The Adat (Hindu committee) have authority, closely followed by the village Banjar. The Banjar is a committee of the male heads of each household (compound), and it handles more civic duties. Every village has both, and their authority is unquestioned.

In Australia, we consider rules to be imposed, to come from above, and do not always agree or obey such directives. There is some resistance. That is anathema to the Balinese character. Hindu religion here is lived, inhabited day in day out, not just a cloak one throws on for a Sunday. The actuality is that each village rules itself inclusive of, not subject to, Adat rulings. There is a difference, and it is not subtle.

The outcome is a unique ability for each village to act as one unit. The Balinese inhabiting each village, are the village. There are differences in character between villages because of this, and a whole lot of other nuts and bolts as well, but that’s the structure that binds. The outcome of the above is that each village becomes exceptionally resilient. Problems are handled internally, with everybody involved directly. There are no secrets, other than the rather gorgeous “public secrets”, which everyone knows about but are not addressed directly to the Banjar. Which young person is sleeping with whom kind of secret.

There is not the preeminence given, as there is in the West, to individual freedom and privacy. The Balinese have an ability to act together for the good of the community, as opposed to the individual. Here, they are the same thing.

When a foreigner commits to a village, is prepared to adopt and adapt to the ways and sways of village life, the village will weigh that effort. The village will judge it, and it will be accepted or rejected on its merits by that village.

In the West, we have suburbs; in Bali, we have communities. I remember the first example of this, many years ago, when confronted by a very angry Javanese with her carloads of cohorts. It was nothing to do with me, but it happened. The village saw what was happening and thirty or so Balinese turned up and stood behind me. They didn’t say a word, but it frightened the hell out of the Javanese woman and her men. They left post-haste never to return. Afterwards, I was told “You are part of our village. We will not allow anyone to harm you.” It is the reason I can leave Val here for months at a time while I work elsewhere. Both of us know she is perfectly safe, something our western friends find hard to believe. In Bali, if some outsider attacks an individual, they have attacked the entire village, and it responds as one.

When we closed the resort to guests, we made it clear to all staff they would be retained. We are fortunate that we can do this. Our staff turned into gardeners and builders, as needs are, and we have spent the time gainfully building. After two months they suggested we place them on half time. We agreed. We couldn’t leave to get them the money to pay their wages. They lent us the money, and when I objected, they viewed me with puzzlement. “We have the money, and you don’t.” What is your problem was unstated, but manifest. Another life lesson; I accepted their offer in all humbleness. After another couple of months, they suggested one-third time. We agreed but said that it was as low as it would go. Our two managers asked that we cut their wages, and when asked why, they told us that in such time’s it was not right that they should receive more money than the rest of the staff. We disagreed, and so the managers reduced their hours so that the result was the same. Experiences such as these happen all the time, and all have one thing in common, and that is humbleness—a desire on their part to share the same situation as everybody else, not to be separate.

Separation is one of the main reasons for my shift to Bali. Separation of self, from the land, the climate, neighbours, and all that encompasses a meaningful life. That does not happen here. Sure there are human frailties, we are all human, but the guiding force of village life is inflexible; you are one with the village.

All our staff (now on one-third time) are farming. They are working their land, as well as on others. They swap, they lend, they are there for each other. They love the extra time spent with their children and spouses and mention it often. We have seen, not the despair read about in other places, but a rekindling of the age-old practice. In many ways, they are more content, as they are not striving for the 10% service fee. They were so busy they use to buy their offerings, whereas now they make them.

One of our managers was telling Ibu that he loves his “new” life. He is earning a fifth of what he used to, and through belt-tightening practices could even afford to buy a car (if they wanted to..which they don’t). They stopped eating chicken every day and now eat the vegetables they grow. They ended buying a new T-shirt every week. He makes and fly’s kites with his sons, has the time to teach them about the land, the techniques of craft. He plays more with his children, just plays for the sheer joy of watching their faces. We see that everywhere.

We watch a return to a far simpler life, a cleaner more relaxed life. One where the money takes second place, and it reminds me of why I came to live here. A healthier life on so many levels that it makes me ponder what we will return to, or if I want to.

The world could learn some salient lessons watching the Balinese adapt to a pandemic. Yes, time’s are hard for the Balinese, but they are hard for you as well. Take care of yourself, your family and neighbours. Take care of your village; it is more significant than you may know.