Paying the right price isn't a bad practice.

Since the whole article is a rant,
here is the cutest piggy bank.

"Hi everybody, I would like to have some graphic design done, it should look professional and clean, from a concept I have in mind. I need it pretty urgently but, since I'm in Bali I'm not ready to pay the Bule price."

Every single time I hear such a thing, my gears grind to a complete halt.
On regular basis, I stumble about this enormous assumption that since one lives in Indonesia, more specifically in Bali, and not excluding Ubud, one should benefit from professional service for a fraction of its real price - guilt free, at that.

Having dabbled myself in the creative industry for a certain amount of years, I'll be the first to tell you that whenever you're supposed to produce something even remotely good looking, you will have to be extremely careful if you don't want to do so while bending over (not really comfortable, neither productive). At a local level though, the bending tends to go so far that poor designers, web designers, creative marketers, videographers, along with gardeners, maids, repairmen and the whole service industry can now fit in tiny boxes without needing to warm up.

Since it's a pretty long read, so here are bullet points to avoid an acute TL;DR attack:

• Choosing cheap over good is bad for industries as a whole
• Economy of scales cannot work for freelancers
• Good, fast or cheap: pick two
• Thinking "You have to be cheap because you're a local" is not okay
• Paying a fair price will help the community, grant you a joy dance

Now, O greedy one, let me count how many times your'e wrong (and explain you why):

1001: Quality or price: your choice influences the whole industry

Offer and demand mechanisms can get tricky at some point, but at this level it remains pretty simple: when you're opting for the cheapest services, chances are extremely high that you will also get one of the worst, and there's a 100% chances that you will never get anything more than a slightly over average result.
This is to say, when you opt for price over quality, you increase the demand for... cheap and crappy services. That's right.  In some extreme cases, this behavior can completely deplete an industry from its skilled workers.

But that's not all. As a reaction to a large demand for cheap and dirty work, services achieving an average quality will rarefy. What goes together with scarcity? A price increase.

Right now, in Indonesia, you can find as many low quality web developer as there is  banyak in banyak minta ampun, but medium quality ones will cost you as much as a top quality service elsewhere... if you ever find them.

1002: Economy of scales don't work for freelance workers

To make is really simple, let's say you're producing cars. You buy a car-making machine, raw material, and you start your production line. Your first car will cost you as much as the raw products plus the price of the machine. After 1000 cars, one unit will cost you as much as the raw products plus a thousandth of the price of the machine. After a million cars, you can sell for the price of the raw product with almost no cost and do the dance.

In the case of creative workers, the machine is their work process. They need to build it from scratch before every project, unless you want to buy the copy of their previous work. If you really put some effort into getting greedy and nagging with a creative (congrats), it might very well happen. But what about a maid? Will she sell you the cleaning she did for the house owner before you? Well if she does, she deserves to be paid for that trick -enough to patent it.

24 hours in a day, so much energy per hours, and a rate for that energy is what you will get for a given price. Only seasoned veterans can work fast and reliably, but they will not do it for a modal fee.

Asking for professional work at the rate of a high school summer job because "this is Bali" simply means "I don't care about your experience or expertise, you are Indonesian so somehow basic economic rules don't apply for you and no it's not racism at all, why?"

1003: Playing fair is awesome.

The minimal legal monthly wage in Ubud is set below USD150. This, is what some of the tourists coming here can spend in a couple of days -or in one evening if they're feeling that way. This is also the electricity bill of a standard villa.

Knowing that, inquiring first about the standard international rates for a given quality (it bears repeating: quality, quality, quality) work and comparing with what local workers will get you is a good start.
For an equal result, there is no reason you shouldn't pay an local graphic designer less than a expat graphic designer who happens to live in Ubud.

For all work that's not creative, you can inquire about the standard local rate before hand and refuse to pay less than USD250 a month, because you have a heart. And do the dance, because having a heart grants you that. Doing so will automatically have you contribute to the economical growth of the area, as in "that person can actually afford three meals a day on their honors".

Finally, if you honestly cannot afford quality work and really need it, and I know it can happen, the good old 'asking a friend a favor' works really well, as much here as it does everywhere else.

Now, forgive my rant, everybody knows I am old, bald and grumpy.
But I wrote it anyway.
Neener neener.

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What do Balinese Taxi Drivers and Internet Anarchist Have In Common?

Remember, remember...

During one of my numerous late night dinners, at this rather good barbecue warung near Bintang Supermarket (seriously, don't shop there), something peculiar  drew my attention as I was applying myself to devastate yet another serving of chicken.

A couple of thin, long faced white masks proudly harboring a "Fawkes" beard style, embellished with some inventive additional eye make-up were stacked between kerupuk and local newspaper, on sale for IDR 150.000 apiece.

What about Fawkes?

The "Fawkes" beard style isn't called so for nothing. 

Guy Fawkes, a military man part of what we would now call a religious terrorist group, attempted to blow up the UK Houses of parliament in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605.

The 2005 movie V for Vendetta, where the main protagonist constantly harbor a Fawkes mask as a symbol of his desire for anarchist, vengeful and badass retribution has largely contributed to that beard style's popularity… and is at the origin of the mask becoming the symbol of a something much, much bigger: the Anonymous movement, an Internet based activist group responsible for several global initiatives ranging from innocuous pranks to massive cyber-attacks against governments and corporations alike.

"We are Anonymous. We are Legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect us." is one of the group's motto, one to be believed if you are an Internet celebrity, a cat molester or, say, Israel.

Guy Fawkes white face is now one of the most famous memes on the internet.

Here is the original mask, now a widespread expression of anonymity.
(source)

Now, what does any of this have to do with Bali? 

Indonesians being in general a social media hungry population, it's not surprising to see meme's instances randomly pop-up every now and then. But what made me tick isn't the mask. It's the make up.

With a few drops of paint and a standard white mask, an early 17th century terrorist, the symbol of internet anonymity, the paragon of anarchy, is now officially Balified, for the lulz and, well, IDR 150.000 a piece.
Naturally, questions are now dancing in my chicken fueled brain: did the mask vendor know about the meme? Does it have a meaning beyond being pretty, or disturbing, or weird?

Personally, I am convinced that the person behind it isn't aware of the symbolism, of if s/he is, don't give a rodent's bottom about it. After all, we're not all meme-literate and many of us just won't bother -and well that's not a bad thing.

But here, right here, this Bali style meme show a number of cultural disconnections: Internet versus non-Internet versus Balinese versus non-Balinese.

• Those who know about both Balinese creativity and the lol-based aspect of Anonymous will smile, when those not knowing Anonymous enough to see the derision or actually fearing the group will cringe. 
• Those not knowing about the Balinise often mischievous artistic sense but knowing about Anonymous, even as a nondescript meme might see the item as a proof of ignorance. 
• Those not knowing about either Bali or Anonymous… well, suffice to say that Wikipedia isn't going anywhere. 

You can imagine that, in any case, reactions will be few. After all, we're talking about a rather nice audience here. But this is just another iteration of a phenomenon even better illustrated by the No Taxi Lady.

What with the taxis again?

A couple of days ago, I was grabbing a chat with a long time friend from Jakarta, sitting at Anomali Cafe, Ubud, and saw a foreign woman slowly walking down main street with a HUGE 'NO TAXI' sign held visible at chest level. Said lady looked rather upset if you're to believe anything about facial expression and body language.

But it's okay, it's got a smiley face on it.
Note: edited for anonymity purpose, i'm not attacking anyone here.

"If you don't like it, just go home and stop trying to grab attention", my friend reacted.
I understand his feelings, but I think there is much more going on here.

For as longs as I remember, Balinese taxi drivers have been quite direct about offering their services. If, in Ubud, most of them are polite and non-intrusive, it's a different story down South: they will go as far as following you even if you repeatedly show them your helmet, car keys, or blood-stained serrated fangs.

Here again, disconnection. On one hand, lads who obviously don't come from privileged backgrounds, working to the point of endangering both themselves and their passengers. On the other hand, people who try to escape the mundanities and stress of our modern life, sometimes spending years of saving, being repeatedly offered a service they obviously do not want.

What do taxi drivers and Guy Fawkes have in common, then?

The mask, the tourists, the taxis and the Not Taxi lady are all part of the same problem, the same lack of understanding between radically different cultures. This problem can only be solved through open-mindedness and communication between all involved parties, that's a given. But, there's a but.


Here it is: Indonesians, Balinese, aren't stupid. They observe, they learn, and they process information as well as anybody. Only, their main focus is on their own society -duh. Between ceremonies and work, they will find time to listen to what you have to say and show great interest, especially if you express yourself without anger.

This (and the fact that here, we are a guests), is why it's important that we, as foreigners, make the fist step and initiate the dialog without succumbing to knee jerk reflexes. It's not always easy, and even after 13 years of contact with Indonesia, I still regularly feel my patella tickle. But it's worth a try.



I know, I know, once again I sound like a condescending grump, but before you stop reading, ask yourselves: Indonesians/Balinese are just like us, they have ears to ear, eyes to see and a mouth to speak. We, as foreigners, are all responsible for our collective reputation. What will happen when we're seen reacting without being heard explaining? 



As I see it, foreigners and locals are on the opposite side of the diversity river and, if locals are definitely not inclined to burn the bridges, the building must start from our own bank.

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Confession: I once knew how to talk to birds.

Here is a chunk of my life. I don't usually like talking about myself in public, but I think some may relate.

I am born from strange, strange parents. My father was a professional trumpet player, then, for a long time, the only lawyer on our city whose hair would flow lower than his shoulders. He would defend conscientious objectors, deserters and anyone who had a beef with the system. The kind of people who pay later.

My mother was a painter, the perfect mix between an asocial hermit and your very own spare mom. She was the sort of person who would declare aloud, while lining up at the bank, that "love is more important than money and why are you looking at me like that?"

Details of my childhood are irrelevant until my 11th year, when we moved from a rickety, minuscule downtown studio to a full fledged farmette, lost in a pine forest near the center of St. Nowhere.

Mom decided to populate it.

From that day on, I spent my days in contact with many more animals than I'd bother to count, including 150 kilos of love in the shape of a pet pig.

Things tended to happen a lot, amidst this never ending woods. Understanding the intricate personality of goats, hens, sheep and ducks quickly became my daily task; to this day I still remember how to breed chickens.
We were practically off the grid, living from the produce we grew and gathered.

This mix of 'creative parents' and an every day life permanently connected to nature -want it or not- has resulted in several rather mind blowing revelations; the kind that only happen to you in your teen-age.

I will never forget the sparrows we rescued from a fallen nest, how we taught them to fly and how they would land on our fingers when we called them. I will always remember walks in the forest accompanied by a dog, two cats and, of course, the pig. I will never, ever forget the first time I had to face the unfathomable power of our earth when, one night, a storm felled every single tree of our 500 hectares forest.

It's not until I moved back to the city, 5 years later, that I realized how many, many people we craving for what had been my life so far. Yes I did run naked in the wood (somewhat) yes I did my homework perched in a tree (after which I took naps on the very same branch), and yes I did learn to talk to birds, at least a couple of words.

Yet, nothing is said of the buckets, the dirt, the swampy ground and icy nights, the coal stove, the secluding distance and the lack of drinking water. Searing summers and wicked winters they were. And hail or rain or whatever, the hens need feeding. Nothing more will be said, too, because it was all worth it.

Worth as in "worth paying that price". The price of hot and cold, the price of heavy and sharp, the price of far. Oh so far.

Now, here I am, half a world and half a life away from the farmette. And still I see people craving for the connection, for nature, for the feeling you get when the sparrow lands on your finger.

Some talk to the sky, to shapes, to themselves. Some fall silent, some just can't stop talking. They spin around, looking into their bodies, their sex, their clothes, their speech like a radar antenna.

It might sound patronizing, but I actually am sad. No hatred here; let the sky listen and who knows it will answer. I am not sad at their rites, their terms or their spiraling search.

I am sad because somewhere there's a fallen nest, and nobody to pick it up.

Confession: I once knew how to talk to birds. by Danny Hefer is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

PS: Great many thanks to the many great members of Ubud community without whom I would have never come up with this writing.