Jakarta Globe, Megan Ryan | November 22, 2010
As a foreign researcher living in the bustling city of Yogyakarta, it’s easy to forget that my reality is very different than the average Indonesian’s. Coverage in the two national English newspapers and the conversations I have with my bilingual Indonesian friends are less than representative of local happenings. I miss out on an entirely different world, impenetrable to foreigners without full fluency of the native language. This truth became glaringly obvious to me in the midst of the Merapi eruptions.
About two weeks ago I awoke earlier than usual. I walked into the kitchen of my kost to find my neighbors sitting at the table. Not surprised that I woke due to the abnormally chilly morning, they blamed the unpredictable weather on the volcano’s increasing activity.
This was news to me. Ironically, later that night Merapi erupted. How did I live in Yogyakarta without a clue that Merapi’s danger level was rising?
The answer is that I was not connected to the local media. I also must have missed the daily chitchat about Merapi at the food stalls and warungs I visit.
Despite a few worried e-mails from family members in the United States and the graphic images of Merapi’s victims on the television, I managed to stay calm.
In recorded history, the hot lava and other deleterious materials spewed during Merapi’s eruptions have never reached as far as Yogyakarta. I had nothing to worry about, I told myself. Or did I?
My Indonesian friend Vicki laughed when I asked her if she was going to leave town. “I’m a Yogyanese,” she replied. “This doesn’t worry me.”
But why then did a German girl I know flee to Bali a few days after the eruption?
And why did my American friend call me hysterically, scared of the long-term effects of the ash that rained down on the city in the middle of the night? And why didn’t I feel as terrified?
Perhaps it was just a difference in personalities. But I beg to differ. It turns out that the people who reacted with fear and those who did not were receiving different information.
On average, the foreigners I knew in Yogyakarta reacted differently to the eruption than the locals.
After talking with a few friends about their respective governments’ recommendations, I realized that most foreign states suggested their citizens evacuate the area.
The German Embassy urged its citizens to leave Yogyakarta because of the long-term dangers of siliceous crystals in the ash.
The train station was a chaotic mess of tourists waiting nervously for their turn at the ticket booth, hoping for a ticket to anywhere far away from the billowing volcano.
Yet the Yogyakarta city government mentioned nothing about evacuating the town.
It wasn’t until I received news from my embassy requesting all Americans to evacuate Yogyakarta and Central Java that I started to worry.
Would it be wise to ignore the advice of my government?
Paradoxically, the most fearless people lived closest to the volcano. Why was this? Clearly they were aware of the gravity of the situation.
Most of Merapi’s closest neighbors returned home for one reason: personal property. Perhaps the short-term risk of getting burned is worth saving the cattle that families rely on for income.
So information is not the only factor shaping people’s reactions to Merapi. Economic factors also play a large role.
That is why Agriculture Minister Suswono’s pledge to compensate all farmers for the animals that died during the eruptions was an important and effective way to ensure citizen safety.
Suswono told farmers gathered at a livestock evacuation center that he hoped such a promise would discourage them from risking their lives for their herds.
One thing that is clear is that in the face of disaster governments can shape citizen behavior. This calls for strategy.
Did the American government exhibit strategy when urging its citizens to evacuate all of Central Java?
Hardly.
Was the Ministry of Agriculture’s decision to compensate people for their animals a way to ensure public safety?
Absolutely.
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