Written by Sutayasa. Edited by Putra Muskita. Published at http://heydiaspora.com/acfta-it-certainly-sounds-better-without-the-c-doesnt-it/

After a few days trying to find someone to accompany me to the economic seminar, I finally gave up and ended up going by myself on a fine Saturday morning to a seminar titled “ACFTA (ASEAN-China Free Trade Agreement) Indonesia’s Economic Challenges.” It was held in the Dhanapala Ballroom, the biggest room in the complex of Ministry of Finance, on 22^nd May 2010 and organized by Reformed Center for Religion and Society (RCRS). The speakers are prominent people in their area: Dr. Mari E. Pangestu, Indonesia’s Trade Minister; Prof. Dr. Ir. Alex S.W. Retraubun, M.Sc., Indonesia’s Vice Industrial Minister; and Sofjan Wanandi, Chairman of Indonesia Trader Association (APINDO).

Dr. Stephen Tong, the founder of RCRS, opened the seminar by mentioning that Indonesia’s most precious resource is the intelligence of its people, while its biggest challenge is actually the people’s stewardship skills. Not so much on how good they manage Indonesia’s natural resources, but more on how good they slip some government money into their own pockets. It is the moral issue that should be given extra focus in order to turn the country’s fate around.

1. Indonesia is the third largest democratic country in the world,
2. It is also the biggest economy in South East Asia
3. It has the highest economic growth (4.5%) in the world after China and India in 2009.

A less important fact that she mentioned, however, was that Indonesia is the second biggest Facebook user in the world after USA with a staggering 24 million people or 10% of Indonesia’s population. Not very relevant for her argument, but she managed to get some chuckles out of this one.

After setting the tone positively, she started organizing some arguments against ACFTA. Indonesia has a demographic advantage that it can enjoy over China for the next 15 years due to China’s one-child policy: 50% of Indonesia’s population are between 15 to 65 year old. Dr Pangestu displayed a chart showing Indonesia’s trade with China, positive on the overall until the 2008-2009 turning point. However, she did ay that the turning point was due to the steel imported from China for the Suramadu bridge project, the 10 megawatts project, and the cost of importing laptops and mobile phones produced in China.

Some other points that she brought up were that:

1. South of China’s regional minimum wage is about twice that of East Java
2. China is Indonesia’s second largest export destination after Japan and it’s higher than USA
3. More than 70% of goods that Indonesia imported from China are actually capital goods and the rest are dominated by foods, toys, and garment.

Those facts basically mean that China is getting more expensive for manufacturing, it is not Indonesia’s competitor, they are more of like Indonesia’s buyer and supplier.

She continued by arguing that ACFTA shall be the stimulus to increase our competitiveness, not to be a competitor that might negatively impact the local industry. However she reminded us that we can never compete head-on with China in goods that are being mass produced extremely cheaply. We should focus more on three key points: technology, quality, and productivity. “Target the mid-to-high market,” she said. And that marked the end of her 15 minutes.

Prof. Dr. Ir. Alex S.W. Retraubun, M.Sc., Indonesia’s Vice Industrial Minister, chose a different approach. Instead of sitting behind the table and reading the speech that was prepared for him by Ministry of Industrial staff, he walked to the podium and talked confidently without a script. He is surely one of the bluntest people I’ve ever seen working in a ministry – I’ve seen plenty of them before. He was a Professor at Pattimura University, Ambon and he was a scholar when he studied for his Graduate and Postgraduate degree in Newcastle University, UK.

Prof. Retraubun started his speech by saying that he was shocked when news about ACFTA started populating headlines of all newspapers in this country early this year: on average there were about 30 articles each day regarding ACFTA for the whole month of January. What was shocking for him, however, is not the frequency of ACFTA articles, but rather how the real sector and the government have done nothing but argue ever since the idea of this free trade agreement arose 14 years ago.

He continued with saying that he was not going to read anything from the speech prepared by his staff in Ministry of Industry. “Don’t worry, the concept in this speech is perfectly good. If you talk about concept, no one can beat Indonesia in this world, but yes, it’s only on concept,” he said. He also pitied his ministry albeit the fact that it’s one of the only five ministries that has Vice Minister because of its strategic nature, especially since the budget for Ministry of Industry is only 1.6 trillion Rupiah, lower as compared to, for example, Ministry of Ocean Affairs and Fisheries is 3 trillion Rupiah. Incidentally, he was the General Director of Ocean Affairs, Coasts, and Small Islands in Ministry of Ocean Affairs and Fisheries before he became the Vice Minister in Ministry of Industry.

Too bad I didn’t find a lot of relevant material in his speech outside of him saying that the sole purpose of having a Free Trade Agreement is to open the access to the market and by doing that we have to be fair, if we want them to allow us to sell our stuff we should let them sell their stuff too.

Not long after that is the time for Mr. Sofjan Wanandi, Chairman of Indonesia’s Trader Association (APINDO), to deliver his points. He preferred to say the other side of the coin that Indonesia is not ready and is not able to compete with China in a free trade market.

However he wasn’t fully pessimistic of Indonesia’s future; he laid out some problems with some possible solutions. He believed that economic growth based on consumerism culture is nothing that we should be proud of. It’s “not healthy,” he said. “Nothing better than increasing the gap between the rich and the poor that will come out of it. Nevertheless 4.5% (economic growth) is magnificent for a government that was practically sleeping,” he said.

He also mentioned that this country has taken its democracy out of control. “For the last 7 months there were no economic policy breakthrough because of people busy discussing cicak, buaya, and the Century Bank,” he added.

He believed the solutions are in:

1. Stop selling raw material abroad,
2. Process raw material locally like what Malaysia did,
3. Invest in labor-intensive industry, which started to leave China lately because of increasing cost there,
4. Invest in infrastructure,
5. Reform taxation,
6. Give tax amnesty like what South Africa and Italy did, stop looking back and try to find other people’s mistakes and start looking forward.

The seminars ended with questions and answers session, which seemed more like a moment for the traders to cry their heart out. All in all, I am glad that I finally came even though I was alone. Who knows all those insightful thoughts will affect my or your business decision in the future.

Not much to say about my return. Actually I have much to say, but let's save it for later.

I once dreamed that I would be a good writer one day, but I'm not, even updating my own blog is not something I am keen on doing for the last 1 year. At least I perfectly know what I'm capable of: dreaming.

"Some men dream the future. He built it" - Aviator tagline

Never mind about that. For this post, I'm not gonna say much first about myself or even my life. Soon. That's all I'm going to say.

So, I still miss one interesting part of the Mitch Albom's book. If you read the first excerpt, you know it's long but I promise you, it's worth it; no matter what faith do you have nor whether you have any faith or not.

Here it goes:

-----------------------
S E P T E M B E R

Happiness

The Reb opened his eyes.

He was in the hospital.

It was not the first time. Although he often hid his ailments from me, I learned that in recent months, staying upright had become a problem. He had slipped on the pavement and cut open his forehead. He had slipped in the house and banged his neck and cheek. Now he had fallen getting up from his chair and slammed his rib cage against a desk. It was either syncope, a temporary loss of consciousness, or small strokes, transient attacks that left him dizzy and disoriented.

Either way, it was not good.

Now I expected the worst. A hospital. The portal to the end. I had called and asked if it was all right to visit, and Sarah kindly said I could come.

I braced myself at the front entrance. I am haunted by hospital visits and their familiar, depressing cues. The antiseptic smell. The low drone of TV sets. The drawn curtains. The occasional moaning from another bed. I had been to too many hospitals for too many people.

For the first time in a while, I thought about our agreement.

Will you do my eulogy?

I entered the Reb’s room.

“Ah,” he smiled, looking up from the bed, “a visitor from afar . . .”

I stopped thinking about it.

We hugged——or, I should say, I hugged his shoulders and he touched my head-—and we both agreed that this was a first, a hospital conversation. I—lis robe fell open slightly and I caught a glance at his bare chest, soft, loose flesh with a few silver hairs. I felt a rush of shame and looked away.

A nurse breezed in.

“How are you doing today?” she asked.

“I’m dooooing,” the Reb lilted. “I’m dooooing . . .”

She laughed. “He sings all the time, this one.”

Yes, he does, I said.

It amazed me how consistently the Reb could summon his good nature. To sing to the nurses. To kid around with the physicians. The previous day, while waiting in a wheelchair in the hallway, he was asked by a hospital worker for a blessing. So the Reb put his hands on the man’s head and gave him one.

He refused to wallow in self-pity. In fact, the worse things got for him, the more intent he seemed on making sure no one around him was saddened by it.

As we sat in the room, a commercial for an antidepressant drug flashed across the TV screen. It showed people looking forlorn, alone on a bench or staring out a window.

"I keep feeling something bad is going to happen . . . ," the TV voice said.

Then, after showing the pill and some graphics, those same people appeared again, looking happier.

The Reb and I watched in silence. After it ended, he asked, “Do you think those pills work?”

Not like that, I said.

“No,” he agreed. “Not like that.”
---------------
Happiness in a tablet. This is our world. Prozac. Paxil. Xanax. Billions are spent to advertise such drugs. And billions more are spent purchasing them. You don’t even need a specific trauma; just "general depression” or “anxiety,” as if sadness were as treatable as the common cold.

I knew depression was real, and in many cases required medical attention. I also knew we overused the word. Much of what we called “depression” was really dissatisfaction, a result of setting a bar impossibly high or expecting treasures that we weren’t willing to work for. I knew people whose unbearable source of misery was their weight, their baldness, their lack of advancement in a workplace, or their inability to find the perfect mate, even if they themselves didnot behave like one. To these people, unhappiness was a condition, an intolerable state of affairs. If pills could help, pills were taken.

But pills were not going to change the fundamental problem in the construction. Wanting what you can’t have. Looking for self-worth in the mirror. Layering work on top of work and still wondering why you weren’t satisfied—before working some more.

I knew. I had done all that. There was a stretch where I could not have worked more hours in the day without eliminating sleep altogether. I piled on accomplishments. I made money. I earned accolades. And the longer I went at it, the emptier I began to feel, like pumping air faster and faster into a torn tire.

The time I spent with Morrie, my old professor, had tapped my brakes on much of that. After watching him die, and seeing what mattered to him at the end, I cut back. I limited my schedule.

But I still kept my hands on my own wheel. I didn’t turn things over to fate or faith. I recoiled from people who put their daily affairs in divine hands, saying, “If God wants it, it will happen.” I kept silent when people said all that mattered was their personal relationship with Jesus. Such surrender seemed silly to me. I felt like I knew better. But privately, I couldn’t say I felt any happier than they did.

So I noted how, for all the milligrams of medication he required, the Reb never popped a pill for his peace of mind. He loved to smile. He avoided anger. He was never haunted by “Why am I here?” He knew why he was here, he said: to give to others, to celebrate God, and to enjoy and honor the world he was put in. His morning prayers began with “Thank you, Lord, for returning my soul to me."

When you start that way, the rest of the day is a bonus.
-------------
Can I ask you something?

“Yes," he said.

What makes a man happy?

“Well . . .” He rolled his eyes around the hospital room.

“This may not be the best setting for that question.”

Yeah, you’re right.

"On the other hand . . He took a deep breath. "On the other hand, here in this building, we must face the real issues, some people will get better. Some will not. So it may be a good place to define what that word means."

Happiness?

"That’s right. The things society tells us we must have to be happy - a new this or that, a bigger house, a better job. I know the falsity of it. I have counseled many people who have all these things, and I can tell you they are not happy because of them.

"The number of marriages that have disintegrated when they had all the stuff in the world. The lamilies who fought and argued all the time, when they had money and health. Having more does not keep you from wanting more. And if you always want more--to be richer, more beautiful, more well known-—you are missing the bigger picture, and I can tell you from experience, happiness will never come.”

You’re not going to tell me to stop and smell the roses, are you?

He chuckled. "Roses would smell better than this place."

Suddenly, out in the hall, I heard an infant scream, followed by a quick “shhh!” presumably from its mother. The Reb heard it, too.

“Now, that child,” he said, “reminds me of something our sages taught. When a baby comes into the world, its hands are clenched, right? Like this?”

He made a fist.

"Why? Because a baby, not knowing any better, wants to grab everything, to say, “The whole world is mine.’

"But when an old person dies, how does he do so? With his hands open. Why? Because he has learned the lesson."

What lesson? I asked.

He stretched open his empty fingers.

“We can take nothing with us."
---------------
For a moment we both stared at his hand. It was trembling.

"Ach, you see this?" he said.

Yeah.

"I can’t make it stop.”

He dropped the hand to his chest. I heard a cart being wheeled down the hall. I-Ie spoke so wisely, with such passion, that for a moment I’d forgotten where we were.

“Anyhow," he said, his voice trailing off.

I hated seeing him in that bed. I wanted him home, with the messy desk and the mismatched clothes. I forced a smile.

So, have we solved the secret of happiness?

“I believe so,” he said.

Are you going to tell me?

"Yes. Ready?”

Ready.

"Be satisfied."

That’s it?

"Be grateful?

That’s it?

“For what you have. For the love you receive. And for what God has given you.”

That’s it?

He looked me in the eye. Then he sighed deeply.

”That’s it.”

---------------

Page 96-102

How much good have you done simply by the bad we have not?

I know I should have written this months ago, alas, you know how busyness can eat up your thought and life right? Yup, with this, I officially announce that this blog is inactive until I finish all my exams, retreat, community service project, and having everything I need to graduate with BSc. (ISM) degree.

In other words, that might be another 1.5 month from now.
I don't want to promise, because I know I've broken some.
Let's see.
I hope to see you back again on this blog once I settled everything and start writing again.

Catch myself later,
Suta

The below story is being taken from page 77-82 of a book called “Have a Little Faith – A True Story” written by Mitch Albom.

“Have a Little Faith is a book about life’s purpose; about losing belief and finding it again; about the divine spark inside us all.

It is one man’s journey, but it’s everyone’s story.”

I really like this part of the book, and that’s why I want to share it here.

In case you are not familiar with Mitch Albom, he is a sports journalist and the writer of these famous books: “Tuesday with Morrie,” “Five people you meet in heaven,” “For one more day.”
--------------

The Greatest Question of All

In any conversation, I was taught, there are at least three parties: you, the other person, and the Lord.

I recalled that lesson on a summer day in the small office when both the Reb and I wore shorts. My bare leg stuck with perspiration to the green leather chair, and I raised it with a small thwock.

The Reb was looking for a letter. He lifted a pad, then an envelope, then a newspaper. I knew he’d never find it. I think the mess in his office was almost a way of life now, a game that kept the world interesting. As I waited, I glanced at the file on the lower shelf the one marked “God." We still hadn`t opened it.

“Ach," he said, giving up.

Can I ask you something?

"Ask away, young scholar," he crowed.

How do you know God exists?

He stopped. A smile crept across his face.

“An excellent question.”

He pressed his fingers into his chin.

And the answer? I said

“First, make the case against Him.”

Okay, I said, taking his challenge. How about this? We live in a world where your genes can be mapped, where your cells can be copied, where your face can be altered. Heck, with surgery, you can go from being a man to being a woman. We have science to tell us of the earth’s creation; rocket probes explore the universe. The sun is no longer a mystery. And the moon—which people used to worship? We brought some of it home in a pouch, right?

“Go on,” he said.

So why, in such a place, where the once-great mysteries have been solved, does anyone still believe in God or Jesus or Allah or a Supreme Being of any kind? Haven’t we outgrown it? Isn’t it like Pinocchio, the puppet? When he found he could move without his strings, did he still look the same way at Geppetto?
The Reb tapped his fingers together.

“That’s some speech."

You said make a case.

“Ah.”

He leaned in. "Now. My turn. Look, if you say that science will eventually prove there is no God, on that I must differ. No matter how small they take it back, to a tadpole, to an atom, there is always something they can’t explain, something that created it all at the end of the search.

"And no matter how far they try to go the other way—to extend life, play around with the genes, clone this, clone that, live to one hundred and fifty—at some point, life is over. And then what happens? When life comes to an end?"

I shrugged.

“You see?"

He leaned back. He smiled.

"When you come to the end, that’s where God begins."

--------------

Many great minds have set out to disprove God’s existence. Sometimes, they retreat to the opposite view. C. S. Lewis, who wrote so eloquently of faith, initially wrestled with the very concept of God and called himself “the most dejected and reluctant convert in all of England." Louis Pasteur, the great scientist, tried to disprove a divine existence through facts and research; in the end, the grand design of man convinced him otherwise.

A spate of recent books had declared God a fool’s notion, hocus-pocus, a panacea for weak minds. I thought the Reb would find these offensive, but he never did. He understood that the journey to belief was not straight, easy, or even always logical. He respected an educated argument, even if he didn’t agree with it.

Personally, I always wondered about authors and celebrities who loudly declared there was no God. It was usually when they were healthy and popular and being listened to by crowds. What happens, l wondered, in the quiet moments before death? By then, they have lost the stage, the world has moved on. If suddenly, in their last gasping moments, through fear, a vision, a late enlightenment, they change their minds about God, who would know?

---------------

The Reb was a believer from the start, that was clear, but I also knew that he was not crazy about some things God allowed on this earth. He had lost a daughter, many years ago. That had shaken his world. And he regularly cried after visiting once—robust members of the congregation who now lay helpless in hospital beds.

“Why so much pain?” he would say, looking to the heavens. “Take them already. What is the point?”

I once asked the Reb that most common of faith questions; why do bad things happen to good people? It had been answered countless times in countless ways; in books, in sermons, on Web sites, in tear-filled hugs. The Lord wanted her with him . . . He died doing what he loved . . . She was a gift . . .This is a test . . .

I remember a family friend whose son was struck with a terrible medical affliction. After that, at any religious ceremony—•even a wedding•-I would see the man out in the hallway, refusing to enter the service. "I just can’t listen to it anymore,” he would say. His faith had been lost.

When I asked the Reb, Why do bad things happen to good people?, he gave none of the standard answers. He quietly said, “No one knows." I admired that. But when I asked if that ever shook his belief in God, he was firm.

“I cannot waver," he said.

Well, you could, if you didn’t believe in something all-powerful.

"An atheist,” he said.

Yes.

“And then I could explain why my prayers were not answered.”

Right.

He studied me carefully. He drew in his breath.

“I had a doctor once who was an atheist. Did I ever tell you about him?"

No.

“This doctor, he liked to jab me and my beliefs. He used to schedule my appointments deliberately on Saturdays, so I would have to call the receptionist and explain why, because of my religion, that wouldn’t work."

Nice guy, I said.

"Anyhow, one day, I read in the paper that his brother had died. So I made a condolence call.”

After the way he treated you?

"In this job," the Reb said, "you don’t retaliate."

I laughed.

"So I go to his house, and he sees me. I can tell he is upset.

I tell him I am sorry for his loss. And he says, with an angry face, 'I envy you.’

“’'Why do you envy me?’ I said.

“ ‘Because when you lose someone you love, you can curse God. You can yell. You can blame him. You can demand to know why. But I don’t believe in God. I’m a doctor! And I couldn’t help my brother!’

“He was near tears. ‘Who do I blame?’ he kept asking me. ‘There is no God. I can only blame myself.’ "

The Reb’s face tightened, as if in pain.

“That,” he said, softly, “is a terrible self-indictment."

Worse than an unanswered prayer?

“Oh yes It is far more comforting to think God listened and said no, than to think that nobody’s out there."


Page 77-82, Have a Little Faith – A True Story, Mitch Albom