THE POSTCARD of the Dirgantara Monument is the first postcard published by Karbon online journal, with the full support of Gajah Hidup Printing and printed in 3,000 copies in May and December 2007. It is the first of the postcard series that presents sites of the city which have history, memories, and irony from the past and of the present.
Using a picture of the monument found on the Internet, a work of an unknown photographer, the postcards were distributed freely in events held by ruangrupa in 2007 and 2008. They were also distributed in the discussion program of the event “Extra/Ordinary Cities—The Cultural Dynamics of Urban Intervention,” held by the Centre for Contemporary Art and Politics, Casula Powerhouse, and the 2008 Biennale of Sydney, at the Bach Dang Restaurant, Canley Vale, Sydney, on June 23, 2008.
Here you can read what is written on the card, and get the card freely by contacting us.
Dirgantara Monument
Dirgantara Monument
Some people say that from time to time the man of the Pancoran monument goes down to have a rest at night. My father once suggested, “If you ever get confused about where Tebet is, just look at the sculpture and see the direction at which its hand is pointing.” Ten years on, I myself lived in Tebet—and still do.
The Pancoran monument was previously known as the Dirgantara Monument—or the Airspace Monument. The first president of Indonesia, Soekarno, has made it built to incite a feeling of national pride among the people. It was Gatotkaca, the young hero of the traditional wayang stories, who was about to fly away—heading toward Tebet. Soekarno also posed as the model before a sculptor from Yogyakarta, Edhi Sunarso, proceeded to make the sculpture. “I tried over and over until the president was satisfied, then I proceeded to make the mockup,” explained the sculptor.
The sculpture was actually finished in 1964 in Yogyakarta, but the process was then disrupted by the coup on September 30, 1965. The government had only paid around five millions, from the total sum of twelve millions that Edhi Sunarso had covered. This is Soekarno’s last monument, which he had never formally opened due to his illness and death. The Indonesian government has never covered the cost in full, although Soekarno himself had volunteered to sell his car—but it was only sold at one million rupiah and did not cover the cost of the sculpture.
The sculpture—which anti-Soekarno group had considered as the symbol of the infamous Gerwani, a women corps who was said to have conducted such fiendish acts as gouging out the eyes of their enemies—is now trapped between two flyovers and awaits the “Airspace Monument’s Restoration and Relocation” policy. There are several restoration options, e.g. increasing its pedestal to be ten meters higher; relocating the sculpture to the south (it is easier to change the site than to destroy the flyover); relocating the sculpture to the corner that had housed the Air Force Headquarter; or just letting the sculpture be (which is probably better, as it would then reflect the sculpture’s loneliness amid the flyovers, until another strange change arises in its environs).
Has the Pancoran monument not adequately taken off, trying to catch up with the dynamics of its city? Or is it because the planning of the city of Jakarta is never in harmony with the existing environments? Is it enough to respect a site by—perhaps—not destroying it? Soekarno had sold his car to try to cover the cost of the sculpture; now, the sculpture is trapped between two flyovers because the urbanites of Jakarta have too many cars. Whatever might happen—as anything seems to be possible in this city—hopefully Gatotkaca will stay pointing at Tebet. At least it would leave me with something; a memory about how a father remembers his city and instills that memory in me, until today.
Text by Ardi Yunanto.
Translated by Rani Elsanti.
Photo from Indonesian Community.
Photographer: unknown.
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