Batam is one of a few unexciting islands that make up a chain of islands collectively dubbed Riau, which belongs to the same corrupt individuals who run the rest of the Indonesian archipelago. Located south of the Malay peninsula, the people native to the island speak a derivative of the Malay language that my Bahasa Indonesia-trained ears interpret as an unholy deviation from the pure Indonesian language; of course, this is typical blind patriotism at best, because the Indonesian language is effectively the consonant-friendly byproduct after decades of having the Melayu language butchered at the hands of giddy nationalists.
Sometime in the late nineteen-hundreds, the island experienced a period of exponential economic growth. It went from being just another lush, random outlying island to a hotbed of cheap electronic manufacturing and oil refinery plants. When the big boys from Japan and the United States made clear their intents to pump money into the island to make money for themselves, local bureaucrats were more than happy to sign off on papers that permitted the obliteration of countless acres of rich jungle greenery to make way for Soviet era-style factories and office buildings. Today, there are scores of abandoned sites where trees were taken down in exchange for another factory, another office building, another housing complex; patches of hot, red soil are littered by the steely skeletons of half-finished buildings never to stand fully erect, resembling more ghost towns rather than the hopes and dreams of starry-eyed businessmen.
The wealthy nation-state of Singapore may be reached by a forty-minute ferry ride; ferry schedules run as frequently as buses, and the number of passengers to and fro each island may be measured in capacities of Boeing 737s. Unless you are into typical foreign businessmen things like golfing, illegal gambling, or making financial contributions to the local sex industry, then you’d find the island to be about as stimulating a modern art sculpture subject to personal interpretation. Still, the slim slew of expatriates whose jobs require them to relocate to Batam will find almost anything they need on the island; should they fail to acquire whatever it is they pine for, all that’s needed is a stopover in the luxe goods repository that is Singapore.
During the final throes of World War Two, when the Japanese pointed their turrets in the direction of Asia Pacific, the Brits, Dutch, and Portuguese ran for home with their tails tucked firmly between their legs; they left behind no inkling of leadership or national infrastructure for the people they forced into service. The good people of Singapore gave themselves no room for excuses and worked on establishing a sober government. Today, forty-two years into its independence, this little island has somehow muscled its way past bigger south east Asian neighbors to emerge as the obvious gem in a geographic region rife with ancient colonial backwaters.
Economists could go on and on about just how wonderful Singapore is, but greatness has its shortcomings; plenty of people complain about the infamous tight leash of censorship on mass media and the blanket over free speech. You also hear rumors about government critics and political dissenters who “disappear”—you know, classic Nixon-age CIA stories about people who know too much, and the next thing you know, they vanish with no appar
Posted on June 22nd, 2007 by Antiguit
