A Balinese Looks at Bali: Chnging Patterns in the Island's Society
by W. BHADRA
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NATURALLY enough, our Balinese perspective is different from that of the foreigner. Perhaps there is an analogy to be drawn with a picture I have in my room. When I first put it there I thought it beautiful, but now it no longer holds my attention. It has become “nothing unusual,” like my own Bali. We here take our life for granted. To cite another instance of this attitude, which must seem almost blase to an outsider, let me explain that nearly all Balinese, particularly those from the South, consider themselves artists in one way or another—as dancers, as musicians, as carvers of wood, or makers of the intricate offerings which we carefully construct at all ceremonial times — and so, when the troupe of Balinese dancers had their tremendous success abroad (we felt the repercussions here from tourists, from the government, and from the dancers themselves after their return), the rest of us were not in ecstasies. There is “nothing unusual” about dancing well. And inasmuch as praises of us have rung in our ears since foreigners first started coming here almost three decades ago, there was “nothing unusual” about the world abroad recognizing the merits of our ordinary day-to-day dancing.
If this appears as an unwillingness to appreciate our own arts, there is an explanation for it which goes deep into our society. In former days, the attention of the whole society was directed towards maintaining stability within the village community. Much communal activity was focused on the gate at the entrance to the walled village (pura desa) and on the inner gate at the other end of the village (pura dalem). The outer gate was thought to be inhabited by the gods who protected the villagers; the inner gate by evil spirits who sought to destroy life. The villagers tried to perpetuate peaceful relations between the two opposing forces. Aside from food offerings, special groups also created harmonious music and graceful dancing to make their service to the gods more lustrous, and there were, in addition, persons who devoted themselves to painting the walls and carving the gates of the various temples allotted both to the evil spirits and t he good ones.
Even today the remaining dances and compositions of music which are still religious in this protective sense retain t he most elementary and archaic movements and sounds of all our arts. There was always complete equality in all these religious functions— music, dance, carving, painting, making offerings — provided by the various sections of the village and each person was equally responsible for his particular chore. This feeling of joint effort and mutual endeavor—egalitarianism, if you like—was handed down subconsciously from ancestors to descendants, and the isolation of any one of these arts or individuals as a particular work of art or artist to be admired and appreciated in the Western way is only beginning. But even in remote Bali, time marches on, and things Balinese do undergo changes. Western civ ilization has been seeping in. Books arrived willy-nilly, bringing with them their new ideas and vistas of life elsewhere. Cinemas challenged our arts and thoughts. New techniques in ev ery field — politics, industry, education, medicine, social organization — have touched upon our age-old ways. Some of the changes have benefited our culture. Balinese literature, for instance, has been stimulated, especially our poetry. And in the field of religion we are developing towards a purer, more spiritual Hinduism as certain old beliefs, remnants of pre-Hindu animism, rapidly fall into the category of superstition.
Modern economy, with all its concomitant pressures, has made inroads on our traditional life. For some years now, specifically since the Japanese invasion, Bali has been in financial difficulties. Two million of us arc cooped up in a twenty-five by ninety mile area. The tremendous increase in our population — nearly doubled in fifty years—is accompanied by unemployment. In days gone by labor knew no fixed hours, but there was enough work for everyone, and the number of mouths to feed was in balance with the yield of our crops. The economy was self-subsistent. Artists then had no fears. The rajas chose the most talented among them, fed and clothed them, and their lives were dedicated to the arts. Now the government is not yet in a position to look after the artists’ welfare. Today we find top-caliber musicians, dancers, and painters working as drivers, clerks, and farmers. After a hard day’s work they no longer have time or energy to practice their arts. And many of our art ists are turning into artisans of mass production, making overstylized carvings, woven baskets, colored fans of lontar leaves, painted dance costumes, headdresses, etc., which are little more than cheap handicrafts.
Although it still goes against the Balinese grain to associate the name of an artist with his work of art, the tradition of anonymity is breaking down to a certain exlent. The trend is affecting our performing arts as well. Tourists pay well for special dance and musical performances, which lends to make these arts become more commercial than social in character. And most Balinese now attend low-priced films because they can no longer afford the wayang or arja, our native forms of livetalent theatrical entertainment. For the average Balinese, art is becoming too expensive and too alien to modern religious practice. All this individualization and rationalization that has been increasing throughout. Bali since the beginning of our contact with the outside world is threatening not only the integrity but even the survival of our traditional culture.
The creative power in our people must be sustained, albeit by new methods. We Balinese have been original in the past, and we want to be original in the future. But the originality of the future for us must contain a blend of elements old and new. And the new, in our case, must be something from the worlds heretofore removed by distance. We must feel free to borrow any aspect of any other culture — whether it is from the East or the West but at the same time, keep, even jealously, that which is most valuable in our own herbage.
Translated by Djoko Sumarno