Citizenship on the line 

Not so long ago, my life as a citizen came to a crossroads. It was exactly a year before my Indonesian passport expired and 10 months before I planned to next use it for travelling. Clearly, I had to renew my passport if I were to pass the scrutiny of immigration authorities who normally insist on travel documents having a validity period of at least six months.

As I was seeking information on passport renewals, I started thinking about life and my permanent residency in Australia.

For three years, my family – consisting of me, my Australian husband and two children – had lived in Australia, settling down after five years of globe-trotting. The kids were now at school; there was plenty of space to run around and lots of fresh air to breath; we had a dog, a car and a mortgage. All the signs told me this was home. For the first time in my life, I wondered about the relevance of my Indonesian passport and – the flipside of the coin – the possibility of acquiring Australian citizenship.

I thought about what it meant to be Indonesian and the implications of being an Indonesian woman married to a foreign man. For one, I would continue to have that special bond with my parents and relatives; and secondly, I’d be able to vote. Unfortunately at the time, the possibility of my children ever gaining Indonesian citizenship was remote – I had been waiting eight years, from the time my eldest child was born, for the day that citizenship could follow female lineage. Obviously, my life was moving at a faster pace than the Indonesian legal system.

Then I recalled the two years we had tried to live in Jakarta and the helplessness I felt at being unable to sponsor my family and lead a normal life. There we were, constantly leaving the country for visa runs because, for my husband’s young company, this was cheaper than obtaining KITAS residency permits and paying the fiscal tax for his frequent travel.

Then there was the shock of discovering the future costs of sending our kids to an international school, which we would have had to fund ourselves. My husband was skeptical.

“State schools in Australia have facilities and an oval that’s as good as international schools in Jakarta, but without the costs, pollution and time wasted in traffic,” he pointed out.

So we had a look at the more affordable Indonesian private schools where middle-class locals sent their kids (the English medium “national plus” schools currently popular with upwardly-mobile Jakarta families were non-existent then). After one visit to a popular local private school, my husband said: “No way are our kids going there. They burn plastic rubbish in the playground, sending toxic smoke into the classrooms.”

The safe-air requirement terminated our search for local schools in Jakarta.

One of my biggest challenges, however, was trying to convince my friends and family that I wanted to raise the kids on my own with minimal assistance from the help, as I had done before we moved to Jakarta. I was determined to be a full-time mom; I assigned the maid a list of household chores but insisted that the children were my domain.

At the same time, though, I couldn’t bring myself to completely let go of my “work ego” as I agreed to do part time work from home in the hope of being near the kids while doing my own thing.

The arrangement proved disastrous; on hindsight, it was probably the most stressful time in my life. I wanted to look after the kids, but was reluctant to entrust them with the maid for too long; I drove through Jakarta traffic everyday and insisted on doing many household chores myself (leaving the maid with nothing to do).

At the same time, I worked from home, but was prepared to drop everything as soon as I overheard the maid handle the kids inappropriately. It was hard work and totally put me off maids, working with kids in the background and Jakarta in general.

Having not enjoyed “expatriate life” in Jakarta, it was easy for me to see the downside of being the only Indonesian in a family that was three-quarters Australian. I failed to see the importance of keeping my Indonesian citizenship. What good was I as an Indonesian if I couldn’t sponsor my family to live a good, peaceful life in my country? And why couldn’t people understand that I wanted to raise the kids my way, not the maid’s way?

Then I thought about what it meant to be a foreigner: it certainly wouldn’t stop me from visiting Indonesia and, more importantly, it wouldn’t change my love for my family and friends. It wouldn’t stop me from being a critical observer and supporter of the country. And it wouldn’t stop me and my family from possibly returning, one day, to live as expatriates in Indonesia (though preferably not in Jakarta).

In the end, my decision to take up Australian citizenship was a pragmatic one. I had a lot to gain and little to lose.

By then, citizenship had become a non-issue and seemed the natural thing to do; and as I didn’t think much of it, it never occurred to me to consult anybody about my decision – not even my parents. So I was shocked when my mother shed some tears when I told her in passing that I had taken up Australian citizenship.

To be honest, I couldn’t understand why she was so upset. I was still her daughter and nothing between us had changed. In fact, I was slightly perturbed that she didn’t share my relief at having the same citizenship as my children.

The application process for Australian citizenship was fairly smooth and simple. Weeks after lodging my application, I was called for an interview to assess my knowledge on the rights and responsibilities of an Australian citizen. It took about 15 minutes for an immigration officer to determine then and there that my application to be granted Australian citizenship was successful.

My citizenship ceremony was held in a surprisingly laid back atmosphere which I was unfamiliar with. Although people wore formal attire, there was plenty of loud chattering and kids running around the ceremonial hall. It only quietened down for a few minutes during speeches by city officials and for the national anthem. About 60 people from all over the world, but living in surrounding suburbs, pledged their allegiance to Australia that day, either swearing on the Bible or declaring their non-Christian oath.

We got our bit of paper and celebrated with close friends and family outside the hall, enjoying free finger food and champagne. And that was that.
+ Ambar Tri Astuti

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