Diary entry as you take vaccine for corona virus.
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Gabrielle Utomo is a Senior at the University of Pennsylvania majoring in Architecture and Political Science, with a minor in Art History. She was a summer intern at Perry World House in 2020.
Along with the many birthday celebrations, weddings, and even funerals that COVID restrictions have prevented, social distancing has also inhibited religious practices around the world. For Catholics and Christians, the start of social distancing occurred during the beginning of a Lenten season that culminated in online Easter services. During Passover, Jews celebrated at home, as did Buddhists during Vesak. For many Muslims across the world, Ramadan was spent mostly in quarantine, and along with it the usually exuberant celebration of its climax, Eid al-Fitr.
For a country like my native Indonesia where more than 80 percent of the population observes Islam, Eid is one of the highlights of the year. Schools close for holidays for up to two weeks, and migrants take their vacation days for “mudik” or exodus to visit families in neighboring towns or provinces. People paint billboards green, which represents nature and joy, hang green banners along the streets, and don traditional green garments to celebrate the sacred day. During the holiday itself, as migrant workers travel from the city to visit their families, native city folk usually breathe a sigh of relief with streets quieted of the endless horn-honking.
This year, unfortunately, was different. In an attempt to contain the virus, the Indonesian government banned domestic travel to and from cities that were considered the epicenter of the pandemic[1]. Flights, trains, and boats that traveled to and from the Greater Jakarta Region were canceled. Although the streets were indeed quieter, it was not for the usual reason of joyous travel, but quite the opposite as everyone stayed at home. The annual government-mandated holiday for Eid which would have occurred in the last week of May was pushed back to December. In the meantime, the government endorsed what they cleverly referred to as a “virtual mudik[2].”
The pandemic’s reign also hurt Indonesians economically as it affected the distribution of THR (Tunjangan Hari Raya). Much like a Western company would provide an end-of-year bonus during Christmas and New Year, THR is an annual and legally-required labor allowance given to permanent employees before the end of Ramadan. It is a cultural custom for adults to provide some financial support to their own families as well as their parents, so THR is crucial especially for lower-wage workers who have multiple dependents. Due to the pandemic, financial restrictions have forced some companies to cut their employees’ THR because they are no longer able to afford them[3]. This struck many migrant workers hard as they were not only unable to see their families, but they also were unable to provide the financial support that they had hoped to achieve by moving to the big city.
There may be a silver lining to all of this, however. Aside from staying safe and preventing the spread of disease to more vulnerable groups such as older family members, saving money from travel and holiday shopping means being able to give to the poor, an essential custom during Eid. Serene and solemn are two words that one Indonesian writer used to describe this year’s sacred tradition[4].
For many people practicing religions of any spectra, one of the biggest blessings that came from this pandemic is the opportunity to face our faith without the distractions that commercialization and material luxuries often provide. A Catholic myself, I found that being stripped of beautiful places of worship and a physical sense of community allowed more time for self-discovery and a more personal relationship with my faith. Across the globe, people have found creative ways to cope: from online services of all sorts to a drive-in church in the United States. Humans never cease to amaze with their creative ways of adapting and staying hopeful.
You may or may not be a spiritual person. Regardless, I think the strength by which COVID-19 has swept the world has taught us a new way to persevere. For some, it is to lean into their faith a little deeper, finding new ways to be at peace when the outside world is raging. For others, it may be to depend on family and friends, nurturing their relationships into roots that hold their world together as everything else feels like it’s falling apart. Ramadan in Indonesia showed me a beautiful merge of both sides: growing in faith together as a family, through innovative solutions just like virtual mudik.
The views expressed in the Penn Pandemic Diary are solely the author’s and not those of Penn or Perry World House.