Demonstration

On September 17, 2012, demonstrators became violent outside of the American embassy in Jakarta.

I was in my car on Cipite Raya, coming home from teaching school when my cell phone rang. It was my friend, Cherylyn. "Turn on the TV," she insisted. "You are not going to believe what you see."

As soon as I got home, I turned the TV to the metro-1 channel, a local Indonesian news channel.

 With the kids cuddled next to me on the couch, we watched as demonstrators yelled, burned an American flag, and attempted to cross the police barrier. 

Disbelief. Fear. Sadness. And gratitude. These are some of the feelings the kids and I experienced.

 My husband was inside the embassy. I called him on the phone. He described how he could see the smoke from the fires from his office window and hear the gun pops as police shot tear canisters into the crowd. He said he never felt in any real danger. But this is the closest he had ever been to witnessing such vehement anti-American behavior.

 The Indonesian police did their job well, and I am grateful to them.

Perhaps even more unsettling for me than the actual demonstration was at school the next day. I showed footage of the demonstration to my students and asked, "Where is this?" Their answers were quick: Egypt, Libya. It wasn't until I asked them to look closer that they asked incredulously, "Is that in Indonesia?" The discussion that followed revealed a mixture of misinformation, prejudice, and ignorance. Ingredients for perpetuated confusion.

I wanted to be sure to record the events of this day somewhere. Because someday, I will want my children to remember. Remember the day we watched our flag burn on television knowing that Dad was in the building right behind the crowd. And remember the day we watched brave policemen protect people not even of their nationality.