Like many other Asian countries, Indonesia is rather traditional when it comes to its views on women. Female members of the upper-middle class are expected to earn a bachelor’s degree and then, almost immediately after graduation, marry a wealthy man and bear his children. Soon after the birth of the first child, women quit their jobs, if they ever had one in the first place, to become housewives and spend the rest of their lives tending to their children. Most women were content with this life and my mother was no exception. The May 1998 riots, although a horrific event, became the catalyst for my mother’s desire to break away from the traditional Indonesian lifestyle to become an independent businesswoman.

As a young woman, my mom was a relatively average Indonesian. Her family had managed to claw its way out of the lower class several years earlier by running a successful local restaurant in Jakarta. Her brother was studying in the United States. Although her father had the money, my mother did not join her brother overseas as her dad did not believe in sending a girl to an American college. As a result, my mom spent her most of her time studying at the University of Tarumanagara for a degree in finance. My mother did, however, make sure to spend at least an hour every week attending her local Sunday school even though she officially remained Buddhist.     

The May 1998 riots, like most riots, began with a series of problems within the government. In this case, the rigging of the 1997 election in the favor of the Golkar Political Party caused massive outrage. Not long after, the Asian Financial Crisis shook the country. According to Indonesia Investments, the Rupiah, Indonesia’s primary form of currency, dropped an astonishing 70 percent in value. Wide-spread unemployment and skyrocketing prices quickly followed. The little remaining faith the public had in the Indonesian government was crushed. Demonstrations popped up everywhere and persisted in spite of the government’s ban on street protests. Skirmishes between student protesters and the local security forces became commonplace. This all came to a head on May 12, when several students from Trisakti University were shot during a demonstration. The May 1998 riots spread throughout Indonesia’s major cities less than a day later.

 As expected, it was rather difficult for the rioters to employ violence against those with more advanced weaponry. So, they turned to their age-old scapegoat – the Chinese Indonesians. The Chinese Indonesians make up a scant 5 percent of the population. Still, they managed to gain control of almost 70 percent of the wealth flowing into Indonesia. This, understandably, made many people bitter. As such, the rioters did not hesitate to pour into the streets and begin setting fire to Chinese property. Looting and the rape of Chinese women quickly followed. Murder was a more uncommon occurrence, but it still happened. Ironically, more Indonesian Nationalists perished than Chinese Indonesians due to their prolonged looting efforts in burning buildings. However, the Chinese were not without help in this situation. Some companies flew their Chinese employees to the nearby countries of Singapore and Malaysia to wait out the riots. Other people packed up their belongings and fled the country. Some ‘pure-blooded’ Indonesians hid Chinese Indonesians in their homes. According to my mother, the wealthy members of her family’s neighborhood hired bodyguards to patrol the area and keep rioters out.

 Fortunately for the Chinese, the riots ended quickly. Nevertheless, many local Chinese residents were too terrified to leave their homes for weeks after the incident. My mom, though shaken, did not make any changes to her plans for her life. However, my mother’s friend urged her to immigrate to America out of fear that a similar event would occur again in the near future. It took a couple of years, but my mom eventually listened to that advice and moved to the United States.

 The start of my mother’s life in America was rough. Nobody had accompanied her on her journey, so my mom was alone in a world she did not know how to be a part of. Her interest in Christianity became her coping mechanism. Time she had previously used to socialize was now spent praying. It also helped that most American Indonesian communities were centered around the church. Things began to look up. My mom moved to San Francisco and got a job as an accountant. She managed to befriend her coworkers and begin rising up the ranks. My mother also met my father in San Francisco. They dated for a while before finally getting married in their thirties. This was considered an unbelievably old age for an Indonesian woman to marry. It was just another way my mom managed separate herself from the norm. About a year into their marriage, they had me and the rest is history.

Deciding whether or not to continue despite risk is usually one of the more difficult choices one must make. My mother waited years before finally deciding to move to America. However, risk-taking often provides the transitional period one needs to become a better person. In that sense, taking the plunge is the cocoon a caterpillar must first create for itself before becoming a butterfly.