INTRODUCTION

This chapter investigates whether existing studies of the identity of mixed-ethnic children are adaptable to studies of such children in Japan, a country which was formerly predominantly mono-ethnic where the mainstream ethnic group is non-white. While copious literature can be found concerning the identity of mixed-ethnic children, these studies have tended to draw from empirical data from white-dominated countries such as the United Kingdom or United States (Bratter 2007, p. 826; Eytan et al. 2007, p. 2; Patel 2009, p. 122). Thus, much of the literature concerns whitenessand its relation to mixed-ethnic populations, and empirical data on mixed-ethnic children from entirely or predominantly non-white societies remain scarce (Bratter 2007, p. 825). In this study, the identity of mixed-ethnic children will be examined on the basis of empirical data gathered in Japan. The results of this study will contribute to our understanding of how existing research frameworks might be adaptable to cases of diverse mixed-ethnic populations in Asia.

This study examines the following two issues relating to mixed-ethnic children in Japan: (1) whether mixed-ethnic children show a tendency to assimilate into the perceived mainstream and (2) whether mixedethnic children illustrate a multi-ethnic identity. The study analyses case studies of mixed-ethnic children in the target area of Nagoya City and its surroundings and pays particular attention to cases of children raised by single Thai mothers. First, I will provide an overview of current demographic shifts in Japan pertaining to the number of mixed-ethnic children and the rates of divorce among inter-ethnic couples. Second, I will analyse the choice of ethnic identity considered by mixed-ethnic children; essentially, whether to assimilate into the mainstream or not. Third, the multi-ethnic identityof mixed-ethnic children will be analysed. Finally, the mechanism that determines multi-ethnic identitywill be examined through some case studies of mixed-ethnic children raised by single Thai mothers.

A Sociological Perspective on the Identity of Mixed-Ethnic Children

The concept of race as developed in both scientific and cultural discourses is a social product linked to notions of hierarchy within human beings (Patel 2009, pp. 1–2). The same can be said of the concept of ethnicity. Previous studies have indicated that the boundaries and identities of race and ethnicity are contextual and fluid (Bhugra 2004, p. 85; Wood 2009, p. 437).

How do states manage ethnocultural diversity? States have always been eager to control their borders. However, only recently has the importance of states in facilitating or constraining immigrant incorporation drawn academic attention (see Bloemraad 2006; Castles 1995; Freeman 2004; Hagan 2006; James 2005; Jayasuriya 1996; Joppke 1998, 2001; Papademetriou, 2003; Penninx 2003). A state's immigrant incorporation policies — such as naturalization rules, the provision of administrative services in an immigrant's native language, and the official endorsement of multiculturalism — can significantly facilitate immigrant settlement processes (Bloemraad 2006; Freeman 2004). Indeed, as Favell aptly noticed, the task of incorporating immigrants is increasingly conceived as “all things a state can ‘do’ ” (Favell 2005, p. 43). Favell's observation raises important research questions: Why do states decide to become involved in the business of incorporating ethnic minorities and immigrants? What are some consequences of such state intervention?

Comparing the concepts of incorporation, integration, and assimilation highlights the significance of state intervention in immigrant incorporation. Incorporation and integration are similar concepts, which include the measures and policies that assist immigrants in settling in the host countries. The notion of assimilation, in contrast, indicates a particular mode of incorporation. Assimilation is characterized by the fact that immigrants are expected to adopt the cultural traits and values of the host countries. The well-being of immigrants is influenced by the state's decision about whether to intervene in the incorporation of immigrants, and also by whether the state requests that immigrants assimilate. In the following section, I discuss and compare different modes of incorporation and their impact on immigrant incorporation in more detail.

The questions raised above are important in various Asian contexts. There is an increasing volume of immigration to several Asian countries. The well-being of these immigrants depends largely on specific immigrant incorporation policies. South Korea is one of the states facing the challenge of incorporating ethnic minorities. Korea has often been considered one of the most ethnically homogeneous countries in the world. In recent years, however, the ethnic composition of Korea's population has become more diverse than ever before — or more accurately, its ethnic diversity has finally been officially recognized. According to immigration statistics, the number of foreigners living in Korea doubled in the past five years, to about 2 per cent of the total population.

INTRODUCTION

Since the early 1980s, Japan has used foreign workers to compensate for labour shortages in blue collar industries and other forms of employment deemed dirty, dangerous, and difficult (the 3Ds). Economic structural dependence on foreign workers has contributed to Japan's foreign resident population increasing to 2,186,121 in 2009, or 1.71 per cent of the total population (Figure 2.1).

According to the MOJ (2007) in its 2007 Immigration Control Report, increased migration to Japan can be attributed to six factors: (1) availability of Trainee Programmes; (2) special residency and opportunities for Nikkeijin (See Abella 1995, pp. 418–23; MOJ 1992, p. 12); (3) abundant jobs for foreign students and entertainers; (4) job opportunities for undocumented workers; (5) family reunion opportunities for those in international marriages; and (6) the ease with which foreigners can enter Japan and overstay their visas. This increase may be expected to continue as part of a comprehensive strategy to deal with the projected labour shortage (The National Institute of Population and Social Security Research 2006, p. 6). These state views on migration echo the views of neo-classical economic scholars that migration is a result of both macro-level pressures that compel or make migration possible, and the micro-level aspects of individual choice (Massey et al. 1993).

Employing the social integration metrics of structural integration, cultural integration, interactive integration and identificational integration, this chapter investigates the multicultural coexistence/social integration practices of two local governments in the Tokyo Metropolis (hereafter Tokyo): Shinjuku and Adachi. Its objective is to examine how local governments and ethnic communities contribute to the formation of local government-led social integration practices. Through understanding how ethnic communities influence social integration practices, local governments would be better able to mitigate the challenges of governing multiethnic municipalities, furthering the social integration of various ethnic groups while diminishing the inevitable frictions that arise when new ethnic groups settle in urban settings. Drawing on interviews with local government officials and primary documents collected during my doctoral studies in Tokyo (2004–08) and my tenure as the International Relations Coordinator in a local government in Tokyo (2001–04, 2005–06) this chapter investigates the different approaches that Adachi and Shinjuku take to the development of social integration policies.

Public events involving musical performance at Yogyakarta's state institutions in 2001 tended to produce discernible combinations of struggles for statist capital with practices I have described as grounded and cosmopolitan. At the Regional Parliament on Malioboro Street, cosmopolitanism and political practice were manifest in articulations of themes of nation and unity on the one hand, and the localisation of outside influence on the other. The capital of physical force dominated the Armed Forces examples that incorporated, respectively, campursari and jalanan musics. By contrast, musical performances at universities produced unique combinations of national ideals and standardisations on one hand, and playful experimentation on the other.

The realities of the bureaucratic field were never far removed. Political, business, and religious leaders used the music and associated promotions and speeches to curry favour with those who came to listen, and music enthusiasts in turn exercised influence in Yogyakarta's bureaucratic field. In some cases, such as the street musicians' ethnically diverse and politically oppositional performance at the Air Force Academy, performers were to some degree able to steer the agenda away from an exclusivist, homogenising, Javacentric, and nationalist one. I have also suggested that viewing music performance and social relations at state institutions solely in terms of a contest for statist capital is insufficient. A major domain in which scholars and others have long sought meaning beyond quests for power is ‘the sacred’ (Shils 1982): the above chapters have offered grounded cosmopolitanism as an alternative domain, a consideration to be further discussed below, in the Conclusion to this monograph.

In the midst of the intense political, economic and religio-ethnic quests for dominance in Indonesia over this period, it is easy to overlook or dismiss how street-level grounded cosmopolitan practices could help to temper intergroup enmities. A good example of this was the interactions between people of diverse occupation, religion, and cultural orientation at angkringan snack stalls along Malioboro Street.

In Yogyakarta's Sosrowijayan neighbourhood, ‘village-like’ kampung conventions intermingle with urban dynamism. Sosrowijayan is bordered by Marlioboro Street to the east and the city's central railway station to the north (see Map to Part One). It accommodates the majority of Yogyakarta's ‘sloppily dressed western tourists’ (Mulder 1996:180) and merges into the Flower Market (Pasar Kembang) red-light district. The nearby areas of Pajeksan and Dagen indicate the earlier courtly roles of prosecutors and woodworkers respectively (John Sullivan 1992:23); and the Flower Market's former name of Balokan (timber yard) is well known. By contrast, the history of Sosrowijayan rarely receives much attention, in everyday conversation and scholarly research alike. The neighbourhood was a single administrative district up to the time of Japanese occupation (1942-1945), but was subsequently divided in two. In 2001 the eastern tourist-oriented half consisted of ten neighbourhood units (Arta 2002).

Despite the renown of Sosrowijayan (or ‘Sosro’), a surprisingly large number of Yogyakarta residents I spoke with knew little or nothing of the area. Some who were familiar nonetheless did not know their way around its many back alleys behind Malioboro Street, and many described the area as ‘grubby’ or ‘shabby’. One man further commented that many mischievous people frequented the area. When pressed to be more specific, he described the eastern, Malio boro end as ‘an international kampung’ in a fairly neutral tone, and then denigrated the western end inhabited by a plethora of commercial sex workers who, as Patrick Guinness (1986:89-90) notes, had been in operation since before 1975 (see also Mujiyano 1985).

Economic disparities between locals and foreigners underpinned the high financial stakes for local business. A sense of the differing levels of economy is evident in the average prices of commercially purchased meals in 2001:

Meals were at least 400% more expensive in Sosrowijayan than in surrounding villages. Economic imbalances between foreigners and locals were even more striking, particularly after the onset of the economic crisis.

Background

On Saturday night in Yogyakarta, the fourth of August 2001, the full moon cast iridescence through the city lights. Thousands of Indonesians, cashed up after their monthly payday, were further cramming the bustling city centre. Preparations for Independence Day added to the fanfare. Megawati had replaced Gus Dur as Indonesian President, after a drawn out and often heated showdown between leaders and supporters alike. On the streets of Yogyakarta, hundreds of red flags were posted along roadsides and across the front of buildings, while the Islamic parties’ green flags had, for the time being, all but disappeared.

In the Sosrowijayan kampung near Malioboro Street, the Shower Band had just finished their first public performance at Resto café/bar. Most of the band's dozen members worked as tourist street guides, and resided close by the popular backpacker-patronised Resto. An air of jubilation surrounded the Shower Band musicians, most of whom, with several others, drank and talked at their hangout across the street from the bar. Gradually they clustered into smaller groups: a few settled on the makeshift benches; some made their way home; and half a dozen, carrying three guitars and small bags, headed eastbound toward Malioboro Street.

At the Sosro Bahu becak driver stand, the musician-guides met with a drifter who carried and played his trumpet wherever he went. The bench inside the stand, usually occupied by becak drivers, was now transformed into a venue for a drinking and music-making party for street guides and a few of their friends. The young guides, already quite merry, settled in and began to strum and sing along together. Soon some of them were slouching back comfortably in the relatively luxurious, padded roadside seating; others standing and singing at the tops of their lungs.

Significantly, Sosro Bahu becak drivers returning to their stand from their evening's rounds neither joined in the gathering nor expressed any discomfort toward the guides. Instead, they walked their becak along the nearby alleyway and to the rear section of the Yogya Tours office.

Universities and education systems more broadly are key sites for the struggles to control and reproduce statist capital (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:114-5). Entrance to the game of cultural capital accumulation is determined in the first instance through com petitive recruitment examinations. These examinations ‘institute an essential difference between the officially recognised, guaran teed competence and simple cultural capital, which is constantly required to prove itself’ (Bourdieu 1986:248). At the same time, universities and anthropology departments in particular have become central to debates over cosmopolitanism. Pnina Werbner (2004:11) contends that Hannerz's definition of a cosmopolitan is ‘really an anthropologist!’. Kahn (2003:409) too suggests that ‘anthropological practice is best thought of (and assessed, for better or worse) as cosmopolitan’. In this sense, we can expect university scholars and students, especially those in the humanities and social sciences, to be concerned with inter-cultural tolerance and appreciation.

Indonesia's tertiary education sector has contributed to the codification and standardisation of the national language, and to formulating the meaning of Indonesia as a nation. As such, it has long been embroiled in relations of power (Hadiz and Dhakidae 2005) and is a part of the bureaucratic field. Intellectuals more generally have played important roles throughout the history of Indonesia, firstly through ‘educational and administrative pilgrim ages’ (Anderson 1983:140) in the nation's formative period, and second, in recent decades as sites of engagement between student activism, journalism and nation building. But while many student groups have been lauded as central to social and political change, in my experience many circles have often criticised students for being idealistic but altogether unrealistic.

Apart from being a centre of government and cultural tourism, Yogyakarta is for good reason renowned as a student city. With an urban population of a mere half million, in 2000 it was home to most of the province's estimated 70 tertiary institutions (Yogya dalam angka 2000). Most large education institutions in Yogyakarta were not associated primarily with musical performance, the notable exceptions being the Indonesian Arts Institute and the Middlelevel Music School.

Many musical performances that project across public space are socially inclusive. But as Martin Stokes (1994:9) reminds us, so too can the crashing sound of one group be a deliberate ploy to enforce the boundaries between groups. Such inclusive and exclusive ploys and their effects also featured at Sosrowijayan-based musical groups' rehearsals and public performances. One example of this in the kampung was the long-running kroncong group, which rehearsed most Saturday evenings in the Old Woodpecker restaurant at the north end of Gang One. Friends and relatives often sat in, sometimes taking the lead singer role, all of which helped to elevate the atmosphere from that of a formal rehearsal to a music-oriented social gathering. During my research however, passing pengamen in Sosrowijayan did not join the Old Woodpecker gatherings, even though they shared the repertoire. Furthermore, becak drivers and street guides seldom if ever participated in these sessions. By contrast, a couple of groups I was introduced to shared more in common with becak drivers and street guides respectively, and thereby warrant attention here. These were the Sekar Wuyung and Shower Bands.

THE SEKAR WUYUNG GROUP

I first saw Sekar Wuyung perform outside the Sultan's Palace, and later came to know them in Sosrowijayan. They rehearsed on Thursdays and Sundays from two until five-thirty pm at Pak Wawan's under-patronised guesthouse along an alleyway between Gang Two and the red-light area. There were 15 members, including the singers, most of whom were in their mid-30s or older. Reflecting the influence of context on intersections between taste and genre outlined earlier, the term they applied to their repertoire alternated between campursari and dangdut Jawa. The group's founder and manager owned two hotels in the area, and was attempting to buy and incorporate a set of gamelan instruments. Given that Sosrowijayan no longer had a gamelan set, this was a particularly popular prospect among regionalists. In the meanwhile the instruments, all played by men, included the keyboard and the tabla-style drums typical of a dangdut group (Sedyawati 1998:128; Weintraub 2010), and Udin on mandolin (cuk) added a kroncong sound.

The ‘acoustic panorama of the Indonesian city’ (Colombijn 2007:269) is both distinctive and under-theorized. In Yogyakarta's Sosrowijayan, music and the broader ‘soundscape’ (Shafer 1977) were integral to the roadside/alleyway division outlined in the previous chapter. These in turn influenced and were influenced by social relations such as those between street guides and becak drivers. Greater Sosrowijayan is hemmed in by three noisy, busy roads, and Sosrowijayan Street itself, which in 2001 was sleepier but nonetheless accommodated waves of motorised transport ranging from motorcycles to trucks and buses. To enter the alleyways off any street, however, within metres the street sounds gave way to a soundscape of kampung activities. Varying with some consistency over the course of each day, sounds included chatter, faint echoes of children playing, murmurs and scuffing shoes of passers-by, devotional sounds from mosques and churches, soap operas on television, melancholy ballads and talkback on radio, guitars and singing, the clinking of cooking utensils and whoosh of gas cookers, trickles of running water, cooing pigeons, and the ‘tok tok’, ‘puk puk puk’ and other signals of passing traders (Nakagawa 2000:133-4). The neighbourhood aural environment resulted from a combination of thin walls and open windows, in turn deriving from climatic compatibility and economic scarcity, as well as locally enforced noise regulations such as bans on riding motorised vehicles, and on making undue noise after hours, especially after midnight.

This chapter explores the two main spaces and forms of public music making that regularly took place on the roadsides and alleyways in Sosrowijayan: that of mobile buskers (pengamen) and that at hangouts. Self and cultural expression played a role in both kinds of music making, but they differed in terms of social affiliations, musical genres, and also in their relation to monetary exchange. Moving buskers sought cash directly, while those playing music at hangouts did not, although as outlined earlier such locations also served as bases for seeking business.

A key feature of the modern state is its monopoly of the legitimate use of violence, with its military and police forces the main instruments (Pierson 1996; Cohen and Service 1978). Military institutions are therefore central to the constitution of the bureaucratic field. On the other hand, the idea of a ‘cosmopolitan soldier’ is more difficult to entertain. Their careers are premised on being prepared to violently defend or expand the ideals or strategic interests of particular states. Yet military personnel in many states undertake humanities studies, travel the world, and in leisure time may gain a broad appreciation of cultural diversity.

With the rise of the Indonesian nation-state, its Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI, Indonesian Armed Forces) has played an important but often controversial role in Indonesian politics. The heroes of the anti-colonial revolution established and built up TNI. During the period from 1959 to 1965 however, TNI extended its political influence to the point of becoming what Munir (2003:71) called an ‘octopus institution’. Through the New Order period, TNI further extended its direct involvement in politics, through guaranteed seats in parliament and positions in local political structures, often abusing human rights in the process.

Militarism on Java itself is not a new phenomenon, a fact illustrated by the role of violence in ‘traditional’ Javanese culture. The dagger (kris) stored, ever ready, behind the back, as well as the prevalence of violent episodes in the wayang, demonstrate that ‘Javanese culture’ is not just about politeness (Boon 1990). Central Java also has longstanding links with TNI, and in the early post-Soeharto years the rise of militant youth and ‘terror’ wings of groups such as Laskar Jihad and Gerakan Pemuda Ka'bah (GPK) threatened and sometimes carried out violence both locally and in regions such as Maluku. TNI was implicated in these events, with various army and ex-army officers suspected of coordinating provocateurs (Violence in Ambon 1999; Hefner 2001).

In Part Two, I have classified music performances that took place in Yogyakarta's kampung and commercial entertainment venues according to detachment engagement, other worlds and sexualisation forms of musical physicalisation. Musical performance created arenas in which gender and other aspects of identity were negotiated, maintained, celebrated and/or contested in these venues, and by extension in Sosrowijayan. Among the kampung events discussed, wedding receptions were characterised by musically detached guests and hosts, regardless of class position. Physical engagement with music was greater at kampung events premised on other themes. On these occasions, inter-group animation generally reached its peak in the middle segment of the evening, as did transitions between generational groups and their favoured musical genres. Often an intermediary period of dangdut-related music and performance briefly enlivened the proceedings. Few young women and perek attended the kampung parties I witnessed, but some of the older, established women played leading roles at them.

Gendered behaviours in high-class hotels were broadly consistent with arguments that equate physical immobility with the expression of power in Java. Nonetheless, female staff, performers, and perek in these settings sometimes mobilised their physicality to enhance their positions in such high-stakes environments, characterised as they were by great economic disparities and a musically detached clientele. Performing work was generally insecure and unreliable. Nonetheless, performers' engaged and animated roles sometimes generated interactions, and arguably a kind of habitus plasticity, that were denied both general staff and perek. In the more middle-class kafe nightclub scene, spaces opened up for performers and clientele to mix across genders and outside kampung and other more traditional contexts. With the exception of Yogya Kafe however, music at kafe was not a central focus to the same extent as at Kridosono sports hall.

Other world jatilan events seemed to soothe gender tensions rather than intensify them. However, these kampung events differed from those at Kridosono in two main ways.

In this monograph I have sought to construct a framework through which to analyse musical performance and social relations as I observed them in early post-Soeharto Yogyakarta. To achieve this, I drew on Bourdieu's concepts of capital, habitus and field, and coun terpoised these with the alternative perspectives of inter-group social capital, musical physicalisation and grounded cosmopolitanism respectively. My wider aim has been to produce a nuanced account of social relations and cultural influences that highlights the roles of music in peaceful inter-group relations in Yogyakarta in the early post-Soeharto period. I now wish to conclude by discussing events at the Sultan's Palace (Kraton), as these serve to bring together the main social groups, musical genres and concepts already addressed.

The Kraton and its Sultan, Hamengku Buwono X, continued to wield great symbolic power following President Soeharto's downfall. This was evident to me in that virtually everyone on the street, from visiting villager to radical democracy activist, spoke positively of Kraton culture and its importance for the stability and progress of the nation. The Kraton is deservedly renowned for its Javanese arts and traditions, with gamelan and wayang kulit being cases in point. At the same time, less widely advertised performances featuring musical genres such as campursari and jalanan characterised several events held in the Kraton grounds. Collectively these involved hundreds of organizers and performers and tens of thousands of spectators, and highlight connections and separations between the social worlds of street workers, community leaders, and other social and political networks.

A central hypothesis running through this book is that the enormous popularity of campursari music was largely confined to certain social groups and contexts. I have identified campursari with lower class becak drivers who plied the inner city seeking fares while maintaining permanent residence in villages, and discussed examples of the genre as performed in settings ranging from kampung to state institution.

The kampung and commercial-venue sections of this chapter both begin with events featuring extremely immobile participants. This, I will argue, was primarily a result of levels of formality and economic disparity respectively. Other events in these settings involved transitions into greater inter-gender engagement, though still in comparatively subdued forms. While musical detachment in these contexts generally reflected significant power imbalances among the participants, I will seek to show how engagement in various ways challenged and addressed these imbalances.

KAMPUNG TRANSITIONS

Wedding receptions that I witnessed in 2001 were sites of markedly detached bodily postures among guests and hosts, a situation at least partly a result of the symbolically important transitions underway. For guests, the reception phase most often consisted of arriving in formal wear of kain and kebaya for women, and shiny batik shirt and tidy pants for men, shaking the hands of the wedding party, and then sitting down to a meal in a spatial and social arrangement not conducive to conviviality. Throughout the reception, the bride and groom sat on display in a separate chamber.

The musical detachment pervading wedding receptions was not especially related to class position. I attended the predominantly middle-class wedding reception of a senior police sergeant's son at a national police training school outside the city, where music was provided by an ‘electone’ keyboard player accompanying various singers. Most of the 200 or more generally wealthy guests conveyed the sense that they were fulfilling their duties as witnesses and were eager to leave. There were parallels to this at the wedding involving the brother of an Astro Band street musician held near their humble home by the river near the city centre. The band dressed in newly acquired cowboy shirts and played with great exuberance, yet the lower class but well-dressed guests were visibly detached and preoccupied from start to finish. In both cases the event took little more than two hours of a late morning.

Background

For some years now I have often heard Yogyakarta's Sosrowijayan neighbourhood described as either a ‘typically conservative kampung’ or a ‘tourist ruined commercial zone’. In Part One I sought to problematise this division by examining music making and capital conversions among becak drivers and street guides. Part Two begins by focusing on women in Sosrowijayan, with subsequent chapters mapping out manifestations of gendered physical behaviour at musical events that took place in kampung and commercial venues across the city. By analysing and comparing nonverbal forms of communication and interaction in these cultural spaces, I seek to identify connections between intergenerational/communal and cross-cultural/commercial influences on gendered identities, and in turn between the kampung and commercial activities that took place in and around Sosrowijayan's public spaces. These influences can thereby be related to the village/urban, campursari/musik jalanan and becak driver/street guide divisions already identified and scrutinised, but now analysed across multiple spaces and genres.

The lives of male street guides and/or street children have been the subject of rigorous research on inner-city Yogyakarta. A useful starting point for the present discussion is to schematize the public life of women in Sosrowijayan. I suggest that three broad groups interacted socially around the neighbourhood during my research, each of which tended to gravitate toward some musical worlds and not others. First were those not especially kampung-bound nor commercially exploited. These included public-oriented wives of kampung association leaders, as well as some university students and NGO workers. Second, some women in staff positions, approaching the age of 25 and facing expectations of marriage and children, sought financial and other means to escape ‘kampun gan’ pressures and avoid dependency on men by developing their English language, business and, in some cases, musical skills. And third were a dozen or so women I wish to call ‘perek’, from perempuan eksperimental and meaning ‘experimental girls’ (Murray 1991; Richter 2008b).

In contrast to detachment engagement transitions, the musical events in this chapter reveal ways in which gender and other social boundaries were negotiated in situations of intensified musical physicality (Cowan 1990; McIntosh 2010). More specifically, the other worlds and sexualisation forms of musical physicalisation that variously arose and merged in Yogyakarta's kampung and commercial-venue events challenge conventional understandings of Javanese power. These physicalisations, I argue, shine light on the relationships between musical performance, gendered bodies and the social dynamics characteristic of downtown Yogyakarta in the early post-Soeharto years.

KAMPUNG JATILAN AND KRIDOSONO METAL/ELECTRONIC

‘Other worlds’ refers to the highly physicalised dance and/or related bodily movements that reflect an actor's entrance into an alternative reality or state of being. While political campaigns in early post-Soeharto Yogyakarta sometimes included menacing other worlds-style hysteria, the more popular and widespread cases derived primarily from Javanese mysticism and western-influenced metal and elec tronic musics. This section seeks to demonstrate how these latter cases produced outlets of expression that helped to transcend performer/audience and gender-based social divisions, which in turn influenced and were influenced by the gendered habitus in daily life.

Of the numerous indigenist and regionalist performance types that have long challenged stereotypes of conservatism in Java (Richter 2008a:180, note 6), in 2001 the jatilan trance dance was immensely popular. Jatilan is generally performed in a cordoned-off arena, within which the dancers enter into a trance, as reflected in performers' trance-like or possessed movements and facial expressions. M. Wienarti (1968) has discussed jatilan and its animist associations, as well as its historical function in rites of passage such as marriage. Margaret Kartomi (1973) has explored ‘folk trance art forms’ more broadly in terms of their pre-Hindu origins and contemporary entertainment functions. I found the performances noteworthy for the way in which the trance phases signalled the submergence of performers into an ‘other world’, and also because audiences consisted of women, men and children.