Author Archive: dongan

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Penyerangan ibadah gereja

GBI ACEH (Pdt Niko Tarigan) diserang dan dihancurkan massa saat puji2an ibadah ke dua berlangsung jam 10.30 wib. Minggu, 17 Juni 12 Ratusan massa menyerang dan menghancurkan slrh peralatan ibadah, musik, sound dll.
Tidak ada jemaat yg terluka mrk berhasil selamat melalui pintu belakang, anak2 sekolah minggu yg sdng ibadah di ruang belakang juga berhasil diselamatkan. Namun kini 12 orang jemaat GBI+Pdt Niko Tarigan di tahan di polres Aceh.
Seminggu sebelumnya memang sdh terdengar berita bhw akan ada razia trhadap grj2 yg tdk punya ijin. Hari ini u sementara ibadah sore ditiadakan. Doakan agar 12 anak2 Tuhan tsb segera di bebaskan.

Sebelumnya Roy Tyson Kelbulan (24) dan Ribur Manullang (31), babak belur dipukuli massa karena dituduh mengkristen orang Aceh.
Dan akan mmbaptis orang Aceh pdhal berita ini tdk benar. Saat ini dgn hukum Syariat islam kebencian trhdp kekristenan semakin menjadi2 di Aceh. Gereja/Rumah orang kristen disamakan dgn tempat maksiat:'(
Mari doakan sore ini juga u pembebasan 12 orng yg ditahan di polres, dmikian juga dgn Roy Tyson Kelbulan (24) dan Ribur Manullang (31), yg babak belur dan msh dalam tahanan.
Doakan juga rcn klmpok islam garis keras di Aceh yg akan menyerang semua grj2 yg tdk punya ijin di Aceh.

Why the revolution will not be tweeted


Small Change
Why the revolution will not be tweeted.
by Malcolm Gladwell October 4, 2010

Social media can’t provide what social change has always required.

At four-thirty in the afternoon on Monday, February 1, 1960, four college students sat down at the lunch counter at the Woolworth’s in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. They were freshmen at North Carolina A. & T., a black college a mile or so away.

“I’d like a cup of coffee, please,” one of the four, Ezell Blair, said to the waitress.

“We don’t serve Negroes here,” she replied.

The Woolworth’s lunch counter was a long L-shaped bar that could seat sixty-six people, with a standup snack bar at one end. The seats were for whites. The snack bar was for blacks. Another employee, a black woman who worked at the steam table, approached the students and tried to warn them away. “You’re acting stupid, ignorant!” she said. They didn’t move. Around five-thirty, the front doors to the store were locked. The four still didn’t move. Finally, they left by a side door. Outside, a small crowd had gathered, including a photographer from the Greensboro Record. “I’ll be back tomorrow with A. & T. College,” one of the students said.

By next morning, the protest had grown to twenty-seven men and four women, most from the same dormitory as the original four. The men were dressed in suits and ties. The students had brought their schoolwork, and studied as they sat at the counter. On Wednesday, students from Greensboro’s “Negro” secondary school, Dudley High, joined in, and the number of protesters swelled to eighty. By Thursday, the protesters numbered three hundred, including three white women, from the Greensboro campus of the University of North Carolina. By Saturday, the sit-in had reached six hundred. People spilled out onto the street. White teen-agers waved Confederate flags. Someone threw a firecracker. At noon, the A. & T. football team arrived. “Here comes the wrecking crew,” one of the white students shouted.

By the following Monday, sit-ins had spread to Winston-Salem, twenty-five miles away, and Durham, fifty miles away. The day after that, students at Fayetteville State Teachers College and at Johnson C. Smith College, in Charlotte, joined in, followed on Wednesday by students at St. Augustine’s College and Shaw University, in Raleigh. On Thursday and Friday, the protest crossed state lines, surfacing in Hampton and Portsmouth, Virginia, in Rock Hill, South Carolina, and in Chattanooga, Tennessee. By the end of the month, there were sit-ins throughout the South, as far west as Texas. “I asked every student I met what the first day of the sitdowns had been like on his campus,” the political theorist Michael Walzer wrote in Dissent. “The answer was always the same: ‘It was like a fever. Everyone wanted to go.’ ” Some seventy thousand students eventually took part. Thousands were arrested and untold thousands more radicalized. These events in the early sixties became a civil-rights war that engulfed the South for the rest of the decade—and it happened without e-mail, texting, Facebook, or Twitter.

The world, we are told, is in the midst of a revolution. The new tools of social media have reinvented social activism. With Facebook and Twitter and the like, the traditional relationship between political authority and popular will has been upended, making it easier for the powerless to collaborate, coördinate, and give voice to their concerns. When ten thousand protesters took to the streets in Moldova in the spring of 2009 to protest against their country’s Communist government, the action was dubbed the Twitter Revolution, because of the means by which the demonstrators had been brought together. A few months after that, when student protests rocked Tehran, the State Department took the unusual step of asking Twitter to suspend scheduled maintenance of its Web site, because the Administration didn’t want such a critical organizing tool out of service at the height of the demonstrations. “Without Twitter the people of Iran would not have felt empowered and confident to stand up for freedom and democracy,” Mark Pfeifle, a former national-security adviser, later wrote, calling for Twitter to be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Where activists were once defined by their causes, they are now defined by their tools. Facebook warriors go online to push for change. “You are the best hope for us all,” James K. Glassman, a former senior State Department official, told a crowd of cyber activists at a recent conference sponsored by Facebook, A. T. & T., Howcast, MTV, and Google. Sites like Facebook, Glassman said, “give the U.S. a significant competitive advantage over terrorists. Some time ago, I said that Al Qaeda was ‘eating our lunch on the Internet.’ That is no longer the case. Al Qaeda is stuck in Web 1.0. The Internet is now about interactivity and conversation.”

These are strong, and puzzling, claims. Why does it matter who is eating whose lunch on the Internet? Are people who log on to their Facebook page really the best hope for us all? As for Moldova’s so-called Twitter Revolution, Evgeny Morozov, a scholar at Stanford who has been the most persistent of digital evangelism’s critics, points out that Twitter had scant internal significance in Moldova, a country where very few Twitter accounts exist. Nor does it seem to have been a revolution, not least because the protests—as Anne Applebaum suggested in the Washington Post—may well have been a bit of stagecraft cooked up by the government. (In a country paranoid about Romanian revanchism, the protesters flew a Romanian flag over the Parliament building.) In the Iranian case, meanwhile, the people tweeting about the demonstrations were almost all in the West. “It is time to get Twitter’s role in the events in Iran right,” Golnaz Esfandiari wrote, this past summer, in Foreign Policy. “Simply put: There was no Twitter Revolution inside Iran.” The cadre of prominent bloggers, like Andrew Sullivan, who championed the role of social media in Iran, Esfandiari continued, misunderstood the situation. “Western journalists who couldn’t reach—or didn’t bother reaching?—people on the ground in Iran simply scrolled through the English-language tweets post with tag #iranelection,” she wrote. “Through it all, no one seemed to wonder why people trying to coordinate protests in Iran would be writing in any language other than Farsi.”

Some of this grandiosity is to be expected. Innovators tend to be solipsists. They often want to cram every stray fact and experience into their new model. As the historian Robert Darnton has written, “The marvels of communication technology in the present have produced a false consciousness about the past—even a sense that communication has no history, or had nothing of importance to consider before the days of television and the Internet.” But there is something else at work here, in the outsized enthusiasm for social media. Fifty years after one of the most extraordinary episodes of social upheaval in American history, we seem to have forgotten what activism is.

Greensboro in the early nineteen-sixties was the kind of place where racial insubordination was routinely met with violence. The four students who first sat down at the lunch counter were terrified. “I suppose if anyone had come up behind me and yelled ‘Boo,’ I think I would have fallen off my seat,” one of them said later. On the first day, the store manager notified the police chief, who immediately sent two officers to the store. On the third day, a gang of white toughs showed up at the lunch counter and stood ostentatiously behind the protesters, ominously muttering epithets such as “burr-head nigger.” A local Ku Klux Klan leader made an appearance. On Saturday, as tensions grew, someone called in a bomb threat, and the entire store had to be evacuated.

The dangers were even clearer in the Mississippi Freedom Summer Project of 1964, another of the sentinel campaigns of the civil-rights movement. The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee recruited hundreds of Northern, largely white unpaid volunteers to run Freedom Schools, register black voters, and raise civil-rights awareness in the Deep South. “No one should go anywhere alone, but certainly not in an automobile and certainly not at night,” they were instructed. Within days of arriving in Mississippi, three volunteers—Michael Schwerner, James Chaney, and Andrew Goodman—were kidnapped and killed, and, during the rest of the summer, thirty-seven black churches were set on fire and dozens of safe houses were bombed; volunteers were beaten, shot at, arrested, and trailed by pickup trucks full of armed men. A quarter of those in the program dropped out. Activism that challenges the status quo—that attacks deeply rooted problems—is not for the faint of heart.

What makes people capable of this kind of activism? The Stanford sociologist Doug McAdam compared the Freedom Summer dropouts with the participants who stayed, and discovered that the key difference wasn’t, as might be expected, ideological fervor. “All of the applicants—participants and withdrawals alike—emerge as highly committed, articulate supporters of the goals and values of the summer program,” he concluded. What mattered more was an applicant’s degree of personal connection to the civil-rights movement. All the volunteers were required to provide a list of personal contacts—the people they wanted kept apprised of their activities—and participants were far more likely than dropouts to have close friends who were also going to Mississippi. High-risk activism, McAdam concluded, is a “strong-tie” phenomenon.

This pattern shows up again and again. One study of the Red Brigades, the Italian terrorist group of the nineteen-seventies, found that seventy per cent of recruits had at least one good friend already in the organization. The same is true of the men who joined the mujahideen in Afghanistan. Even revolutionary actions that look spontaneous, like the demonstrations in East Germany that led to the fall of the Berlin Wall, are, at core, strong-tie phenomena. The opposition movement in East Germany consisted of several hundred groups, each with roughly a dozen members. Each group was in limited contact with the others: at the time, only thirteen per cent of East Germans even had a phone. All they knew was that on Monday nights, outside St. Nicholas Church in downtown Leipzig, people gathered to voice their anger at the state. And the primary determinant of who showed up was “critical friends”—the more friends you had who were critical of the regime the more likely you were to join the protest.

So one crucial fact about the four freshmen at the Greensboro lunch counter—David Richmond, Franklin McCain, Ezell Blair, and Joseph McNeil—was their relationship with one another. McNeil was a roommate of Blair’s in A. & T.’s Scott Hall dormitory. Richmond roomed with McCain one floor up, and Blair, Richmond, and McCain had all gone to Dudley High School. The four would smuggle beer into the dorm and talk late into the night in Blair and McNeil’s room. They would all have remembered the murder of Emmett Till in 1955, the Montgomery bus boycott that same year, and the showdown in Little Rock in 1957. It was McNeil who brought up the idea of a sit-in at Woolworth’s. They’d discussed it for nearly a month. Then McNeil came into the dorm room and asked the others if they were ready. There was a pause, and McCain said, in a way that works only with people who talk late into the night with one another, “Are you guys chicken or not?” Ezell Blair worked up the courage the next day to ask for a cup of coffee because he was flanked by his roommate and two good friends from high school.

The kind of activism associated with social media isn’t like this at all. The platforms of social media are built around weak ties. Twitter is a way of following (or being followed by) people you may never have met. Facebook is a tool for efficiently managing your acquaintances, for keeping up with the people you would not otherwise be able to stay in touch with. That’s why you can have a thousand “friends” on Facebook, as you never could in real life.

This is in many ways a wonderful thing. There is strength in weak ties, as the sociologist Mark Granovetter has observed. Our acquaintances—not our friends—are our greatest source of new ideas and information. The Internet lets us exploit the power of these kinds of distant connections with marvellous efficiency. It’s terrific at the diffusion of innovation, interdisciplinary collaboration, seamlessly matching up buyers and sellers, and the logistical functions of the dating world. But weak ties seldom lead to high-risk activism.

In a new book called “The Dragonfly Effect: Quick, Effective, and Powerful Ways to Use Social Media to Drive Social Change,” the business consultant Andy Smith and the Stanford Business School professor Jennifer Aaker tell the story of Sameer Bhatia, a young Silicon Valley entrepreneur who came down with acute myelogenous leukemia. It’s a perfect illustration of social media’s strengths. Bhatia needed a bone-marrow transplant, but he could not find a match among his relatives and friends. The odds were best with a donor of his ethnicity, and there were few South Asians in the national bone-marrow database. So Bhatia’s business partner sent out an e-mail explaining Bhatia’s plight to more than four hundred of their acquaintances, who forwarded the e-mail to their personal contacts; Facebook pages and YouTube videos were devoted to the Help Sameer campaign. Eventually, nearly twenty-five thousand new people were registered in the bone-marrow database, and Bhatia found a match.

But how did the campaign get so many people to sign up? By not asking too much of them. That’s the only way you can get someone you don’t really know to do something on your behalf. You can get thousands of people to sign up for a donor registry, because doing so is pretty easy. You have to send in a cheek swab and—in the highly unlikely event that your bone marrow is a good match for someone in need—spend a few hours at the hospital. Donating bone marrow isn’t a trivial matter. But it doesn’t involve financial or personal risk; it doesn’t mean spending a summer being chased by armed men in pickup trucks. It doesn’t require that you confront socially entrenched norms and practices. In fact, it’s the kind of commitment that will bring only social acknowledgment and praise.

The evangelists of social media don’t understand this distinction; they seem to believe that a Facebook friend is the same as a real friend and that signing up for a donor registry in Silicon Valley today is activism in the same sense as sitting at a segregated lunch counter in Greensboro in 1960. “Social networks are particularly effective at increasing motivation,” Aaker and Smith write. But that’s not true. Social networks are effective at increasing participation—by lessening the level of motivation that participation requires. The Facebook page of the Save Darfur Coalition has 1,282,339 members, who have donated an average of nine cents apiece. The next biggest Darfur charity on Facebook has 22,073 members, who have donated an average of thirty-five cents. Help Save Darfur has 2,797 members, who have given, on average, fifteen cents. A spokesperson for the Save Darfur Coalition told Newsweek, “We wouldn’t necessarily gauge someone’s value to the advocacy movement based on what they’ve given. This is a powerful mechanism to engage this critical population. They inform their community, attend events, volunteer. It’s not something you can measure by looking at a ledger.” In other words, Facebook activism succeeds not by motivating people to make a real sacrifice but by motivating them to do the things that people do when they are not motivated enough to make a real sacrifice. We are a long way from the lunch counters of Greensboro.

The students who joined the sit-ins across the South during the winter of 1960 described the movement as a “fever.” But the civil-rights movement was more like a military campaign than like a contagion. In the late nineteen-fifties, there had been sixteen sit-ins in various cities throughout the South, fifteen of which were formally organized by civil-rights organizations like the N.A.A.C.P. and CORE. Possible locations for activism were scouted. Plans were drawn up. Movement activists held training sessions and retreats for would-be protesters. The Greensboro Four were a product of this groundwork: all were members of the N.A.A.C.P. Youth Council. They had close ties with the head of the local N.A.A.C.P. chapter. They had been briefed on the earlier wave of sit-ins in Durham, and had been part of a series of movement meetings in activist churches. When the sit-in movement spread from Greensboro throughout the South, it did not spread indiscriminately. It spread to those cities which had preëxisting “movement centers”—a core of dedicated and trained activists ready to turn the “fever” into action.

The civil-rights movement was high-risk activism. It was also, crucially, strategic activism: a challenge to the establishment mounted with precision and discipline. The N.A.A.C.P. was a centralized organization, run from New York according to highly formalized operating procedures. At the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, Martin Luther King, Jr., was the unquestioned authority. At the center of the movement was the black church, which had, as Aldon D. Morris points out in his superb 1984 study, “The Origins of the Civil Rights Movement,” a carefully demarcated division of labor, with various standing committees and disciplined groups. “Each group was task-oriented and coordinated its activities through authority structures,” Morris writes. “Individuals were held accountable for their assigned duties, and important conflicts were resolved by the minister, who usually exercised ultimate authority over the congregation.”

This is the second crucial distinction between traditional activism and its online variant: social media are not about this kind of hierarchical organization. Facebook and the like are tools for building networks, which are the opposite, in structure and character, of hierarchies. Unlike hierarchies, with their rules and procedures, networks aren’t controlled by a single central authority. Decisions are made through consensus, and the ties that bind people to the group are loose.

This structure makes networks enormously resilient and adaptable in low-risk situations. Wikipedia is a perfect example. It doesn’t have an editor, sitting in New York, who directs and corrects each entry. The effort of putting together each entry is self-organized. If every entry in Wikipedia were to be erased tomorrow, the content would swiftly be restored, because that’s what happens when a network of thousands spontaneously devote their time to a task.

There are many things, though, that networks don’t do well. Car companies sensibly use a network to organize their hundreds of suppliers, but not to design their cars. No one believes that the articulation of a coherent design philosophy is best handled by a sprawling, leaderless organizational system. Because networks don’t have a centralized leadership structure and clear lines of authority, they have real difficulty reaching consensus and setting goals. They can’t think strategically; they are chronically prone to conflict and error. How do you make difficult choices about tactics or strategy or philosophical direction when everyone has an equal say?

The Palestine Liberation Organization originated as a network, and the international-relations scholars Mette Eilstrup-Sangiovanni and Calvert Jones argue in a recent essay in International Security that this is why it ran into such trouble as it grew: “Structural features typical of networks—the absence of central authority, the unchecked autonomy of rival groups, and the inability to arbitrate quarrels through formal mechanisms—made the P.L.O. excessively vulnerable to outside manipulation and internal strife.”

In Germany in the nineteen-seventies, they go on, “the far more unified and successful left-wing terrorists tended to organize hierarchically, with professional management and clear divisions of labor. They were concentrated geographically in universities, where they could establish central leadership, trust, and camaraderie through regular, face-to-face meetings.” They seldom betrayed their comrades in arms during police interrogations. Their counterparts on the right were organized as decentralized networks, and had no such discipline. These groups were regularly infiltrated, and members, once arrested, easily gave up their comrades. Similarly, Al Qaeda was most dangerous when it was a unified hierarchy. Now that it has dissipated into a network, it has proved far less effective.

The drawbacks of networks scarcely matter if the network isn’t interested in systemic change—if it just wants to frighten or humiliate or make a splash—or if it doesn’t need to think strategically. But if you’re taking on a powerful and organized establishment you have to be a hierarchy. The Montgomery bus boycott required the participation of tens of thousands of people who depended on public transit to get to and from work each day. It lasted a year. In order to persuade those people to stay true to the cause, the boycott’s organizers tasked each local black church with maintaining morale, and put together a free alternative private carpool service, with forty-eight dispatchers and forty-two pickup stations. Even the White Citizens Council, King later said, conceded that the carpool system moved with “military precision.” By the time King came to Birmingham, for the climactic showdown with Police Commissioner Eugene (Bull) Connor, he had a budget of a million dollars, and a hundred full-time staff members on the ground, divided into operational units. The operation itself was divided into steadily escalating phases, mapped out in advance. Support was maintained through consecutive mass meetings rotating from church to church around the city.

Boycotts and sit-ins and nonviolent confrontations—which were the weapons of choice for the civil-rights movement—are high-risk strategies. They leave little room for conflict and error. The moment even one protester deviates from the script and responds to provocation, the moral legitimacy of the entire protest is compromised. Enthusiasts for social media would no doubt have us believe that King’s task in Birmingham would have been made infinitely easier had he been able to communicate with his followers through Facebook, and contented himself with tweets from a Birmingham jail. But networks are messy: think of the ceaseless pattern of correction and revision, amendment and debate, that characterizes Wikipedia. If Martin Luther King, Jr., had tried to do a wiki-boycott in Montgomery, he would have been steamrollered by the white power structure. And of what use would a digital communication tool be in a town where ninety-eight per cent of the black community could be reached every Sunday morning at church? The things that King needed in Birmingham—discipline and strategy—were things that online social media cannot provide.

The bible of the social-media movement is Clay Shirky’s “Here Comes Everybody.” Shirky, who teaches at New York University, sets out to demonstrate the organizing power of the Internet, and he begins with the story of Evan, who worked on Wall Street, and his friend Ivanna, after she left her smart phone, an expensive Sidekick, on the back seat of a New York City taxicab. The telephone company transferred the data on Ivanna’s lost phone to a new phone, whereupon she and Evan discovered that the Sidekick was now in the hands of a teen-ager from Queens, who was using it to take photographs of herself and her friends.

When Evan e-mailed the teen-ager, Sasha, asking for the phone back, she replied that his “white ass” didn’t deserve to have it back. Miffed, he set up a Web page with her picture and a description of what had happened. He forwarded the link to his friends, and they forwarded it to their friends. Someone found the MySpace page of Sasha’s boyfriend, and a link to it found its way onto the site. Someone found her address online and took a video of her home while driving by; Evan posted the video on the site. The story was picked up by the news filter Digg. Evan was now up to ten e-mails a minute. He created a bulletin board for his readers to share their stories, but it crashed under the weight of responses. Evan and Ivanna went to the police, but the police filed the report under “lost,” rather than “stolen,” which essentially closed the case. “By this point millions of readers were watching,” Shirky writes, “and dozens of mainstream news outlets had covered the story.” Bowing to the pressure, the N.Y.P.D. reclassified the item as “stolen.” Sasha was arrested, and Evan got his friend’s Sidekick back.

Shirky’s argument is that this is the kind of thing that could never have happened in the pre-Internet age—and he’s right. Evan could never have tracked down Sasha. The story of the Sidekick would never have been publicized. An army of people could never have been assembled to wage this fight. The police wouldn’t have bowed to the pressure of a lone person who had misplaced something as trivial as a cell phone. The story, to Shirky, illustrates “the ease and speed with which a group can be mobilized for the right kind of cause” in the Internet age.

Shirky considers this model of activism an upgrade. But it is simply a form of organizing which favors the weak-tie connections that give us access to information over the strong-tie connections that help us persevere in the face of danger. It shifts our energies from organizations that promote strategic and disciplined activity and toward those which promote resilience and adaptability. It makes it easier for activists to express themselves, and harder for that expression to have any impact. The instruments of social media are well suited to making the existing social order more efficient. They are not a natural enemy of the status quo. If you are of the opinion that all the world needs is a little buffing around the edges, this should not trouble you. But if you think that there are still lunch counters out there that need integrating it ought to give you pause.

Shirky ends the story of the lost Sidekick by asking, portentously, “What happens next?”—no doubt imagining future waves of digital protesters. But he has already answered the question. What happens next is more of the same. A networked, weak-tie world is good at things like helping Wall Streeters get phones back from teen-age girls. Viva la revolución.

Jembatan Putus dan Gadis “Lollipop”


Sabtu, 21 Januari 2012 |

Oleh Ella Syafputri

Pagi itu, puluhan remaja tampak asyik duduk teratur membentuk antrean. Mereka bercakap-cakap seru demi membunuh waktu, berharap bisa dapat posisi paling dekat dengan panggung konser nanti malam.

Dengan sempurna si juru kamera merekam aktivitas para penggemar Katy “Lollipop” Perry tersebut dan disiarkan lewat berita televisi nasional.

Sebagian besar dari calon penonton konser adalah perempuan, usianya tak lebih dari 20 tahun. Mereka rela duduk sejak pagi walaupun konser baru bakal dimulai nanti malam pukul sembilan.

“Iya … saya sebenarnya bolos sekolah nih!” ujar salah seorang remaja putri yang disodori pertanyaan oleh wartawan dan tanpa malu-malu lagi si gadis memilih untuk “nongkrong” di depan pintu masuk tempat konser daripada pergi bersekolah.

Berdasarkan narasi pembawa berita di televisi, para pembeli tiket konser Katy Perry “The California Dreams Tour 2012” ini rela merogoh kocek dalam-dalam untuk menyaksikan aksi panggung idolanya.

Harga tiket paling murah adalah Rp650.000, lalu meningkat ke Rp850.000, Rp1,25 juta, Rp1,7 juta, Rp1,9 juta, dan yang paling mahal adalah Rp2,7 juta.

Lalu di manakah para calon penonton yang rela menunggu sejak pagi itu? Mereka adalah pemegang tiket “pink” yang akan berdiri dan paling dekat dengan panggung. Harga tiketnya adalah Rp1,9 juta. Ya … 1,9 juta rupiah!

“Abis udah ngefans banget sih … harga enggak masalah,” itu komentar salah seorang penonton Katy Perry, kalau-kalau ada pertanyaan mengapa orang rela menghabiskan demikian banyak uang untuk menonton sebuah konser.

Harga mungkin bukan masalah bila hati sudah terlanjur kepincut. Toh mahal dan murah adalah relatif, itu kata mereka.

Tapi tidakkah terasa kecut bila pada hari yang bersamaan dengan konsernya penyanyi Amerika itu, ada berita soal jembatan putus di Kabupaten Lebak dan Garut.

Akibat jembatan yang kini cuma didukung oleh satu tali itu, anak-anak sekolah terpaksa harus bertaruh nyawa untuk pergi belajar. Mereka tampak mirip sekali dengan aksi “outbond” hanya bedanya ini benar-benar tanpa tali pengaman apalagi pelindung kepala.

“Mesin Uang”

Antusiasme penonton Indonesia untuk menyaksikan konser artis asing memang luar biasa.

Histeria mereka bukan cuma melibas kata mahal untuk bandrol harga tiket, tapi juga menghapuskan kelelahan hingga rela mengantri dan mengantri.

Untuk konser Katy “Lolipop” Perry, penjualan 5.000 lembar tiket konser yang dibuka 27 November tahun lalu membuat orang menyerbu bahkan rela mengantre semalaman di salah satu pusat perbelanjaan di Jakarta.

Atau coba tengok para “Belieber” yang semangatnya untuk menonton konser tidak bisa lagi dideskripsikan dengan kata antusias. Mereka bukan hanya rela antre tiket, antre masuk ruang konser, tapi tatkala ruas jalan tol menuju Sentul macet total pun mereka rela berjalan kaki untuk sampai ke tempat tujuan.

Yang berjalan kaki menyusuri jalan tol ini mungkin terpaksa demikian, karena sudah terlanjur beli tiket mahal dan sudah dandan habis-habisan, siapa tau!

Mendadak Indonesia jadi lokasi “bintang jatuh”. Apapun aliran musiknya, pasti manggung di Indonesia dan nyaris tidak pernah tidak habis tiketnya di pasaran.

Persetan dengan umur, tak jarang penonton konser adalah mereka yang belum lagi puber pertama tapi sudah amat fasih menyanyikan lagu-lagu sang idola.

Padahal beberapa tahun lalu Indonesia jelas tidak dilirik oleh management artis asing.

Tahun 80-an, 90-an, jarang sekali penyanyi yang benar-benar kesohor di jagad hiburan internasional sudi “mengamen” di Indonesia. Alasan mereka mungkin tak lepas dari anggapan bahwa Indonesia tidak aman, kebanyakan orang di Indonesia miskin, dan banyak lagi faktor lain.

Tapi sekarang sudah beda ceritanya. Artis-artis yang di negerinya sudah tidak laku pun tetap sold out tiket konsernya di Indonesia.

Bahkan artis yang belum benar-benar kesohor juga sukses mendulang banyak uang karena berkonser di Indonesia.

Jadilah Indonesia “mesin uang” buat siapa saja yang membuat konser-konser itu terselenggara. Mulai dari agen si artis, promotor, penjual tiket, penyedia wahana, dan daftarnya terus memanjang.

Patut untuk diakui, kinclongnya pasar hiburan konser di Indonesia terlalu menggoda, sampai-sampai muncul celetukan, “Artis yang di negerinya sudah tidak laku, ngamennya di sini deh! Pasti laku.”

Mungkin harus dibuatkan riset tentang kenapa Indonesia jadi lokasi konser demikian banyak artis asing. Apakah karena Indonesia sudah dianggap aman dari aksi teroris, atau karena kelas ekonomi menengah atas sudah berlipat-lipat jumlahnya, atau entah apa?

Benarkah di negeri Paman Sam yang nyaris bangkrut itu para artis sudah kesulitan mendulang rejeki? Atau mungkin memang populasi dan daya beli di Indonesia yang terlalu menggiurkan sehingga para artis pun bergiliran “merengguk” untung dari para fans mereka di sini?

Menerka Sensitifitas

Terlepas dari jawaban atas pertanyaan-pertanyaan di atas, tetap perlu kiranya publik untuk melihat kritis dua kejadian ini: 5.000 orang membeli tiket konser mahal dan dua jembatan penghubung desa yang nyaris putus. Jembatan belum diperbaiki karena hambatan dana.

Kabupaten Lebak dan Garut jaraknya tidak begitu jauh dari Jakarta. Tidak begitu jauh dari Sentul tempat konser yang sempat dipadati oleh fans si gadis “lollipop”.

Jembatan penghubung antar desa rusak akibat diterjang luapan air sungai. Walaupun satu dari dua talinya putus, jembatan tetap jadi andalan karena warga enggan mengambil rute memutar yang membuat jarak tempuh 5 kilometer lebih jauh.

Mungkin karena jembatan adalah fasilitas umum, maka jembatan rusak adalah tanggung jawab pemerintah setempat. Mungkin pula pemerintah kabupaten sudah tinjau jembatan rusak – setelah melihat beritanya di televisi – tapi belum bisa buat jembatan baru karena belum dianggarkan di rencana belanja tahun ini.

Para pejabat jelas tidak memberikan tauladan sensitifitas terhadap kemiskinan, busung lapar, pengangguran, demonstran yang menjadi gila karena suaranya tidak pernah didengar oleh wakilnya di DPR. Mereka asyik sibuk mempernyaman fasilitas-fasilitas atas nama tugas negara yang mereka emban.

Gedung dan kendaraan mewah, gaji dan tunjangan yang melimpah, tidak ada batasnya kecuali langit barangkali.

Tapi tunggu dulu. Yang tidak menunjukkan sensitifitas itu juga masyarakat luas terhadap sesamanya. Anggota masyarakat non-pejabat terhadap sesama anggota masyarakat non-pejabat.

Buktinya, tersedia anggaran berjuta-juta untuk hobi nonton konser artis asing, tapi tidak untuk membantu langsung kesulitan mereka yang miskin atau sakit.

Pejabat dan rakyatnya sama saja.

Yang pejabat nasional berdalih, “Ini kan fasilitas untuk menunjang kinerja”, jadi wajar kalau harga kursi dan mobil dinasnya mahal barangkali. Lalu pejabat lokal bilang, “Belum ada anggaran perbaikan jembatan, tapi akan coba dimasukkan tahun ini.”

Sementara yang rakyat berkecukupan dengan enteng berkata “Konser kan pengalaman seumur hidup sekali. Jadi berapapun harga tiketnya saya beli”.

Kalau sudah begini, siapa yang akan membantu siswa itu pergi ke sekolah dengan aman?

Akankah Era George W Bush Terulang?


Minggu, 8 Januari 2012 |

Oleh Dahono Fitrianto – Dalam wawancara dengan majalah Rolling Stone (2008), vokalis band rock Coldplay asal Inggris, Chris Martin, mengatakan, warga seluruh dunia harusnya dilibatkan dalam setiap pemilihan presiden Amerika Serikat. Pasalnya, kebijakan presiden AS secara langsung atau tidak langsung akan berpengaruh pada kehidupan semua orang di planet ini.

Martin tentu saja bukan seorang pakar politik, tetapi kegelisahannya itu mewakili kegelisahan banyak orang. Bisa dikatakan, tak ada tempat di dunia ini yang luput dari sentuhan pengaruh Amerika Serikat, satu-satunya negara adidaya yang masih tersisa di dunia.

Itu sebabnya, proses pemilihan presiden AS, seperti yang sedang berlangsung saat ini, selalu menarik untuk diikuti. Dunia perlu tahu sosok seperti apa yang kira-kira akan menjadi presiden AS, dan kebijakan luar negeri apa yang akan ia ambil, yang akan berdampak bagi warga dunia.

Tahun ini, mata dunia terpusat pada enam kandidat calon presiden (capres) yang masih tersisa dari Partai Republik. Salah satu dari mereka akan menjadi penantang Barack Obama dalam pemilu presiden AS, November nanti. Siapa tahu, sang penantang akan menggantikan Obama memimpin AS selama empat tahun ke depan.

Lalu, seperti apa pemikiran para kandidat republiken itu tentang dunia dewasa ini, dan kebijakan apa saja yang akan mereka ambil? Jawaban pertanyaan ini, sayangnya, tak terlalu menjanjikan masa depan yang menyenangkan bagi dunia.

Leslie H Gelb, Presiden Emeritus Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), mengatakan, seluruh kandidat capres Republik, kecuali Ron Paul dan Jon Huntsman, terkesan tak mengikuti perkembangan dunia akhir- akhir ini, terutama terkait fakta bahwa kekuatan ekonomi saat ini lebih penting dalam percaturan dunia daripada kekuatan militer semata.

”Para serigala republiken itu masih berteriak-teriak soal dunia yang telah berlalu, yang penuh dengan ancaman militer, (atau) dunia yang dihuni hantu-hantu global yang harus ditumpas dengan perang atau (teknik penyiksaan) waterboarding,” tulis Gelb dalam kolomnya di The Daily Beast, 27 November tahun lalu.

Haus perang

Salah satu kandidat, mantan senator Rick Santorum, yang selalu tampil sebagai orang saleh dan taat beragama saat kampanye, tak ragu-ragu menegaskan ia akan mengebom Iran untuk menghentikan program nuklir negara itu. ”Kadang kala, para ilmuwan yang bekerja untuk program nuklir Iran ditemukan telah mati. Saya rasa itu hal yang bagus,” kata Santorum dalam pidato kampanye, Oktober 2011, seperti dikutip ABC News.

Dua calon lain—yakni mantan Gubernur Massachusetts Mitt Romney dan mantan Ketua DPR AS Newt Gingrich—juga terang-terangan mendukung perang terhadap Iran. Dalam pidato kampanyenya, November lalu, Romney bahkan mengatakan, jika Obama terpilih kembali, Iran dipastikan akan memiliki senjata nuklir.

”Ini adalah contoh pernyataan penuh kecurigaan yang pernah membawa kita pada perang di Irak, menggunakan taktik menakut-nakuti dan kebijakan-kebijakan sok jagoan untuk memicu keterlibatan di luar negeri yang tak perlu dan berbiaya besar,” tulis Julia Bunting, peneliti di kelompok antiperang Citizens for Global Solutions, dalam artikel di

Dalam beberapa hal, pernyataan para kandidat mencerminkan pengetahuan minim atau kurangnya pemahaman tentang suatu permasalahan di luar negeri. Gingrich, misalnya, menuai kemarahan para pejabat Palestina setelah menyebut bangsa Palestina adalah ”bangsa rekaan” yang tak punya hak apa pun di tanah bangsa Israel.

”Ingat, tak pernah ada negara Palestina. Mereka dulunya bagian dari Kekaisaran Ottoman. Dan menurut saya, bangsa Palestina itu bangsa rekaan. Mereka aslinya orang Arab, dan secara historis selalu menjadi bagian dari komunitas Arab,” kata Gingrich saat diwawancara kanal televisi Jewish Channel, 9 Desember.

Dukungan membuta

Gingrich juga mengatakan, begitu ia menjadi presiden, ia akan mengeluarkan perintah eksekutif untuk memindahkan kantor Kedutaan Besar AS dari Tel Aviv ke Jerusalem, kota yang menjadi salah satu pusat konflik Palestina-Israel.

Secara umum, para kandidat partai konservatif ini menunjukkan dukungan membuta terhadap Israel dan cenderung mengabaikan kompleksitas masalah Timur Tengah. Romney, yang sampai kini masih menjadi kandidat terkuat, terang-terangan menunjukkan dukungannya kepada Israel dengan berjanji akan menjadikan Israel tujuan kunjungan luar negeri pertamanya apabila ia kelak jadi presiden.

Dalam kolomnya di surat kabar online The Huffington Post, Presiden Arab American Institute James Zogby mengatakan, pernyataan-pernyataan berbahaya dan memalukan dari para kandidat capres Republik itu menunjukkan betapa Partai Republik saat ini telah begitu menjauh dari kebijakan luar negeri berbasis realitas seperti era duet Presiden George HW Bush (Bush senior) dan Menteri Luar Negeri James Baker awal 1990-an.

”Sungguh menakutkan untuk membayangkan ke mana mereka akan membawa kebijakan Timur Tengah-AS jika salah satu dari mereka terpilih nanti,” ujar Zogby.

Lalu, bagaimana mereka memandang Asia?

Memandang Asia

Secara umum, para kandidat ini tak setuju dan berjanji akan mengubah setiap kebijakan Presiden Obama, termasuk keputusannya memusatkan perhatian ke kawasan Asia Pasifik. ”Presiden Obama sepertinya berpikir kita akan memasuki abad global, abad Asia. Saya yakin kita harus memasuki abad Amerika,” tukas Romney.

Dalam soal China, para kandidat juga berlomba-lomba mengeluarkan pernyataan keras. Romney berjanji akan langsung mengeluarkan perintah untuk menyatakan China sebagai ”manipulator mata uang” begitu ia jadi presiden.

Gubernur Texas Rick Perry bahkan meramalkan nasib pemerintahan komunis China akan sama dengan Uni Soviet. ”Saya kebetulan berpikir, pemerintah komunis China akan berakhir di tumpukan abu sejarah,” ucap Perry.

Direktur Studi Asia CFR Elizabeth C Economy mencatat omong besar Perry itu tak sesuai praktik di lapangan. Sebagai Gubernur Texas, Perry mengizinkan perusahaan telekomunikasi asal China, Huawei, membuka kantor di Plano, Texas.

Padahal, pemerintah federal AS sudah tiga kali menolak masuknya raksasa industri telekomunikasi China itu ke AS dengan alasan keamanan terkait usaha spionase dan hubungan Huawei dengan Tentara Pembebasan Rakyat China.

Cheng Li, peneliti senior di Brookings Institution, memperingatkan pernyataan-pernyataan keras para calon pemimpin AS itu terhadap China bisa jadi bumerang. ”Retorika semacam itu bisa dimanfaatkan oleh kelompok nasionalis dan sayap konservatif di pemerintahan China. Dan memperkuat kelompok garis keras seperti itu bisa berujung pada lebih dari sekadar ketegangan ekonomi, tetapi juga konfrontasi militer,” tegas Cheng kepada The New York Times, November lalu.

Para kandidat ini memang selalu menjauh dari bayang-bayang pendahulu mereka, Presiden George W Bush, selama menjalankan kampanyenya. Namun, menurut Gelb, sejatinya mereka masih mengusung pola pikir yang sama dengan trio George W Bush-Dick Cheney-Donald Rumsfeld yang telah membuat AS terjebak dalam dua perang, terbelit utang dan krisis keuangan, dan menjadi negara bercitra buruk di mata dunia.

Akankah era Bush yunior tersebut terulang di tangan para republiken ini?

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