Doyok: a portrait of Jakarta’s lower class

HE WEARS A blangkon,[1] and a kind of clam diggers not meant to be fashionable, but simply following the dictates of traditional costumes, as would be seen in ketoprak humor.[2] It’s true that he likes to joke, but he is no mere joker. He appears every day on Lembergar. And what is Lembergar? An acronym for Lembaran Bergambar untuk Keluarga, or Funnies for the Family, in the Pos Kota daily, the most popular newspaper in Jakarta.

Here one should not associate the word ‘popular’ with ‘pop’—although the latter actually originated from the former—as what is referred to is actually “the characteristic of appealing to the mass of the populace” and therefore suggests the image of a yokel. The pop and the bumpkin both appeal to many, but they convey opposite images: the pop is no bumpkin, and the bumpkin is no pop; and although being pop does not mean that one adheres to the taste of the elite, still the term kampungan—or having the characteristic of a bumpkin—resides on the stratum below that of ‘pop.’ The populace is invariably seen as bumpkins and by no means pop; and the same is true for Pos Kota, complete with Doyok, our character with the blangkon. Naturally, however, Doyok is highly popular, i.e. he appeals to the public, and his popularity might be construed as genuine, as he bespeaks the voice of the people.

In the treasury of Javanese folk stories, Doyok, alongside Bancak, is a punakawan,[3] an attendant, similar to Semar, Gareng, Petruk, and Bagong in wayang stories; Punta and Jeruje in panji stories; and Sabdopalon and Nayagenggong in babad stories.[4] So popular is Doyok, a creation of Keliek Siswoyo, that a comedian, Sudarmaji, snatched his name. Sudarmaji is subsequently known as ‘Doyok,’ although he never wears the blangkon.

Now, do you see how Doyok immediately becomes significant?

There are a number of comic strips and single panel comic in Lembergar, but when the reigning classifieds of Pos Kota surges into the Lembergar, rest assured, only Doyok would still appear every day. If we fiddle with the figures presented in the book Pos Kota: 30 Tahun Melayani Pembaca (Pos Kota: 30 Years of Serving the Public, 2000), we find out that 74.9% of Pos Kota audience are Doyok’s fans, and that’s the highest percentage. Considering that Pos Kota had a print run of 500,000–600,000 copies, which means that it is the newspaper with the highest print run in Jakarta, Doyok’s popularity has a significant meaning: it plays the role as an indicator of the varied Jakarta populace. Doyok represents the commoners.

What’s Doyok like?

Although it appears on a daily basis, Doyok’s comic strip does not present a continued story line. Each strip is a complete piece, although it might continue to talk about a certain topic from one day to the next. Every day, Doyok generally appears to comment on some social or political issues. In fact, most of the topics are about practical politics, but ones that have been a subject of discussions among members of the lower class. Doyok presents a kind of political discussions without any political theory, but simply with the “theories of the common sense”—which might not be too logical—that one might expect to hear during talks in street side vendors. In other words, Doyok’s comic strip is not strictly fiction, but rather nonfiction; not funnies, but rather cartoon; and not a mere story with drawings to while the day away, to amuse, or merely to entertain. Doyok truly intends to be serious, and the way that such seriousness is manifested turns out to be highly interesting.

Doyok almost always appears in a configuration of four or five panels. The first panel is peculiar, and indicative of his purported seriousness. Doyok invariably appears in a full shot, in full figure, with a background scene that seems to indicate the unvaryingly-marginal position of the people in the Indonesian political discourse. In the first panel, Doyok would say a word that serves as the topic of discussion, followed by the second and third panels that deliver his comments, continued by the fourth panel that provides the question that fishes for reactions, and ended by a final remark. Let us see an example from the 23 February 2001 episode (see Picture 1).

The four-panel pattern appears with a variation in the third and fourth panel; sometimes it is Doyok who offers the gambit, and his conversation partner is the one who comments; sometimes it is someone else who provides the bait, while Doyok gives the final remark. In other words, Doyok invariably needs someone else; from Jum, Dum, Mul, No, to two children, Burik and Gepeng. The final panel is truly unique, as the one commenting is forever out of frame, leaving the partner who almost always turns to the audience. The expression and gesture of the character who receives the final comment, I think, constitute Keliek Siswoyo’s extraordinary achievement, which we will turn to again later on.

Now we are going to observe the first panel, which is also remarkable because of Doyok’s ostensibly serious stance (see Picture 2: Three examples of the first panel).

The first panel has at least three elements; i.e. Doyok, the background of the city, and the word Doyok utters. Doyok always appears in full, with the blangkon, the traditional surjan costume, and the clam digger pants—again, they are the traditional, ketoprak-style pants instead of ones of the latest fashion. This means that Doyok is physically a traditional Javanese man; or to be more specific, a Yogya-Javanese man, providing the contrast with his background.

The background is highly untraditional, showing typical Jakarta urbanscape: fenced houses, tall buildings, lines of cars in jammed traffic, and street-side stalls. Sometimes it is only a fenced house in the background, seemingly situated on an alley, but still a slick and protected middle class house. Doyok often appears alone as he utters his first word, but when someone does accompany him, one can perceive how cold the relation is between the humans and the city that serves as the background. Doyok seems to be present in a mute city.

This is an intriguing contradiction, as Jakarta is actually a cacophonous and dusty city. Does it mean that Doyok actually represents the alienated public? Jakarta, which one can view as the center of Indonesian politics, is indeed a noisy city, but it is busy with itself. ‘The people’ is a phrase that the politicians often use in their debates, but the people themselves don’t feel that they are truly of concerns. Doyok lives in an atmosphere that ignores the people. He invariably stands on the pavement, in the margin, over a background without human beings. The pavement is obviously representative of Doyok’s status of being the man of the masses; but the Jakartan masses do not care about the people.

Then comes the question of how one must comment on the codes belonging to the Javanese culture as found in Doyok’s clothes. If the image of ‘Java’ is indeed considered dominant in the Indonesian power structure, why is Doyok, in all his Javanese characteristics, still marginalized? Of course it is because it turns out that—and this is Doyok’s important thesis—in the power structure, primordial affiliations are not the defining feature. Power still does not care about the people’s pain. On the other hand, Doyok’s Javanese characteristics also signify the position of Jakarta's lower class audience, which we can no longer simply consider as mere of Betawi descent. Jakarta’s lower class is full of Javanese migrants. Jakarta is a city with an urban culture; the migrants are aware of their identity in an alien land precisely when they feel that they are losing this identity. In the context of the Pos Kota audience, they are the blue-collared workers. This fact is immediately apparent in Doyok’s use of language; he uses Javanese clothing but he speaks the way a Jakartan does. We read thus such words as ogah (reluctant), cing (an informal way that a common Jakartan addresses the person he or she is talking with), which are everyday Jakartan idioms, and yet there are also such words as toblasss! (Have mercy!) that are specifically Javanese.

The way that the first words (and sometimes sentence) are uttered is also unique: Doyok’s facial expression is such that it seems he is ready to burst out laughing. The first word is carefully chosen. First, it must represent the problem, which can actually be a complex one. Second, it has multiple meanings—and can very well have cynical connotations. The first word is never meant to be a mere summary; instead, it invariably refers to something else. Consider the following piece, published on May 5, 2001:


DOYOK
“Cold.”
“Why is the political temperature cold?”
“It’s been proven that high political temperature isn’t useful at all. It’s precisely damaging, eh, Mus?”

MUS
“The political elite that keeps turning up the heat should be sent into the fridge.”


It is obvious that the word ‘cold’ has been prepared to presage the word ‘fridge.’ Perhaps it is an allusion; but clearly it is an obvious allusion. More often the text serves as a frontal assault, albeit still retaining its ironical tone. An example is the one published on June 11, 2001:


DOYOK
“Going abroad.”
“There are talks about members of the House of Representatives going abroad.”
“Although they’ve been vehemently criticized, they still do go on a tour abroad, right, Jum?”

JUM
“The protesters are only the commoners, anyway… as if they care about the commoners!”


Another example shows how the commoners can be sarcastic. Consider the one published on March 3, 2001:


DOYOK
“Bent!”
“There’s a proof that Soeharto has deliberately bent the story of the General Raid of March 1, 1949!”
“Perhaps Soeharto wants to bend history to suit his fancy!”
“Decades of suppression, of corrupt government… and even the history has been corrupted, too!”

MUS
“Geez, Soeharto, Soeharto… how low can you be?”


As we reach this far, we find out how people in the lower class can think on their own, and their thoughts, albeit simple, are plausible. People hope that extraordinary political change will transform their fate in extraordinary ways, too. As we observed Doyok’s world in 2001, however, it turned out that the people’s fate will not change. The people care about the politics; they feel that they need to know and follow what is going on. They are naïve, sarcastic, but honest. As we take a closer look, it will transpire that none of Doyok’s partners wear ties, don safari suits—or any other features that we might consider as representative of the middle class. This means that Doyok’s realm exists within the inner circle of lower class people.

At a glance, if we only observe the uttered words, it would appear as if there is some finality to the comment on the problem at hand. It seems that there is a clear and conclusive comment by the people of the lower class regarding actual problems. If one observes the last panel more thoroughly, however, it would transpire that the figure uttering the comment is already out of frame, leaving behind the one hearing the comment, who in turn invariably looks at the reader with mystified expression. It is this expression that actually poses a problem, as it gives rise to so many interpretations. Is he agreeing? Does he not understand? Is he asking whether the reader agree or disagree about the comment? Or does he merely wish for the reader to hear what he also hears? As nothing is conclusive here, it means that there is actually no categorical opinion—the final comment is questioned again, posed again to the reader. Neither can we ascertain whether the peculiar expression in every last panel actually signify a question to the reader.

The more closely one observes the expression of the character hearing the comment in the last panel, the more peculiar it appears. It is clear that the fact that he is looking at the reader means that he cannot absorb the shrewd comments alone. Something is therefore inacceptable, cannot be understood, and is questioned. The character—Doyok or others—wants to draw the reader into his world. The last panel thus opens the door to this inner circle, inviting people from any stratum of the society. The look toward the reader is a kind of greeting, an invitation for the reader to understand their world. Can they not understand their own world? Apparently, any decisive comment is taken as absurd.

Observe the expression of each of the characters in the last panel: eyes wide open, corners of the mouth stretched out backwards, sometimes with the tongue stuck out, too. In daily life, such gesture might mean, “Gosh! How unfortunate!”—although in this case I’m not sure whether the meaning actually stops there. There might also be other meanings, such as “See?” or “Watch this!” But certainly the inferred meaning is not merely one of those sentences, especially because the facial, gestural, and pictorial nuances complicate the meaning even further.

He naturally poses the question to the reader; but it is also important to find out how the character actually reacts to the conclusions circulating among the lower class people. This is significant as such knowledge might unveil a certain way of thinking, which in turn is vital for the process of knowing. And we might be surprised as we realize how complex the reaction actually is—so complex that we cannot put it in words. Now the question would be: What is actually the problem that is being questioned here, so complex it is that it cannot be put in words? (See Picture 3: Three examples of the last panels).

In other words, on the one hand there is a final comment, while on the other hand the comment gives rise to a reaction so complex it can’t be put in words. Something is not right with those comments. However, the sentences uttered in the last panel are actually fine. There is thus the plausibility that what seems fine and easy in the sentences is actually something impossible. It is such impossibility that gives rise to the mystified expressions and gestures on the part of the people. Faced with impossibilities, the people are put in an absurd situation, which means that the commoners see the logic in the Indonesian politics as something irrational.

We can keep asking: Why does the one uttering the comment in the last panel always disappears, leaving the one hearing the comment with such a mystified expression? First, perhaps he or she thinks that the comment is final—I, however, tend to believe in the second possibility; i.e. the problem that he or she is commenting upon will never be conclusive anyway.

One can also question the gestures: why do they react like that, what do the gestures mean? It looks like a certain form of liquid springs out of the head, the face seems to indicate such a shock, and sometimes the character even jumps in surprise. Observe the arms, too: peculiarly bent, sometimes it seems that the character is dancing, but it is more apt to say that he or she is mocking. But who or what is he mocking? It’s not certain—perhaps the comment, or the character uttering the comment. All the signs do not lead to some final explanation, and perhaps such finality is not possible, as we are dealing with irrationality. As one becomes irrational, one cannot explain anything through language, because language requires a clear logic. What to do—the world turns out to be illogical after all.

It all means that Doyok thinks shrewdly, because he almost always cancels out all the utopias he presents. He is sarcastic but realistic. It does not only prove that comic strips can serve as an effective receptacle for political debates, but also that the people’s comic strip in the Pos Kota daily is something invaluable. It is a lot more precious than the mockery aimed at Pos Kota simply because it is “the paper of pedicab riders and vegetable peddlers.” Pos Kota is precisely important because it has been born out of the needs of the community, whose members are not only interested in rapes, murders, and love stories of the sex workers, but also engaged in shrewd political debates, as evinced by the popularity that Doyok enjoys.

I think that Doyok’s reasoning is a lot more captivating than the “analyses” of instant political observers, who use the mass media only to advance their career, and have the same orientation with celebrities. Owning the media equals with owning power, due to the media’s ability to dominate opinions. The elite and sophisticated media might think that they have the power because they have presented a variety of statements; but the media should actually function to transfer the power to the community from which they were born. Only then do the media function as a medium. In Doyok’s comic strip, the character uttering the comment changes all the time. Sometimes it is Doyok, who is then left behind; other times it is someone—any commoner—whom Doyok then leaves behind. There is no dominant statement.

The fact that Pos Kota was founded by Harmoko,[5] who was inseparable from the New Order regime, has not affected Doyok’s opinions. Naturally, however, we can somehow isolate this fact from Doyok’s increasingly critical views in the Reformation era. But Doyok had gained his popularity precisely during the New Order regime, as he has always been shrewd. He does not need to wait for the Reformation to arrive to acquire his shrewdness, because he tends to be rather moralistic and naïve anyway. This is nevertheless better than the hypocrite intellectualism of the instant political pundits, who had been so cowardly during the New Order era, and came late to the stage as overdue heroes after the New Order regime fell down. Such is also the context that makes Doyok more respectable.

It is interesting to note that Doyok sometimes seemingly appears only to make jokes, as is shown in the edition of December 12, 2001, which was published in the late days of the fasting month, nearing the Lebaran holiday. Doyok thus replaces his blangkon with a peci, and his clam diggers with sarong, although he is still wearing the surjan.


DOYOK
“Food!”
“Our parents tell us that we shouldn’t trash food.”
“Come to my place after the praying. We’ll eat curry!”

BURIK/GEPENG
“Yippee! We’ll eat curry! Is it lamb or chicken curry?”

DOYOK
“Banana curry! I was going to make kolak, but I mistakenly used curry paste!”


One can still question whether this is actually a story about the mistaken ingredients, or the inability to buy meat? The issue about the scarcity of meat often arises as the Lebaran holiday draws near; but there is also the fact that the crisis has made it difficult for the people to buy meat, including during the holiday.

This discussion about Doyok is indeed still on a par with mere sidewalk talks; but I am nevertheless certain about one thing: the effort to get to know Doyok in Keliek Siswoyo’s comic strip in Pos Kota constitutes a legitimate part of the effort to understand the Indonesian people.




Jakarta, November 2002
Translated by Rani Elsanti




SENO GUMIRA AJIDARMA was born in Boston, June 19, 1958. He is an Indonesian writer-cum-photographer-cum-film critic. His short story Pelajaran Mengarang (Storytelling Lesson) was chosen by the national daily Kompas as the Best Short Story published in Kompas in 1993. He has written a number of short story collections, such as Manusia Kamar (The Man in Room, 1988), Penembak Misterius (Mystery Gunman, 1993), Saksi Mata (Eyewitness, 1994), Dilarang Menyanyi di Kamar Mandi (No Singing in the Bathroom, 1995), Sebuah Pertanyaan untuk Cinta (A Question for Love, 1996), Iblis Tidak Pernah Mati (The Devil Never Dies, 1999), and also several novels such as Matinya Seorang Penari Telanjang (The Death of a Stripper, 2000). In 1987, he received the Sea Write Award; while his short story Saksi Mata (Eyewitness) earned him the Dinny O’Hearn Prize for Literature, in 1997. He received Khatulistiwa Literary Award in 2005. Seno Gumira Ajidarma lives in Jakarta and teaches Media Studies at FFTV – IKJ and Film Studies at the Graduate School at Universitas Indonesia’s Faculty of Letters.



The essay was published in the Bentara section of the Kompas daily on November 1, 2002, and was re-published as one of the essays in the book Bentara: Esei-esei 2003 (Kompas, 2003). The republication of the essay in the Karbon journal is done with the permission from the writer and Kompas publisher.