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It’s not often you read a story complimenting Bali’s
sticky-fingered law enforcers, particularly after their exposure by
Dutch entrapment artist Van Der Spek.
He’s the skinhead journo
who uploaded a YouTube video of a traffic policeman accepting a bribe to
waive the ticket. It’s an arresting video.
Anyway, here’s my cautionary tale.
Some
time ago in Kuta we needed rupiah. Then, as now, there was no shortage
of money changers along Jl. Legian offering juicy rates, far sweeter
than those posted at banks and hotels.
Keen to “maximize returns on investments” as bankers say (aka “greedy”), we chose the top offer
in
town. What did it matter that the rate ended in an odd number and the
bank was a dirty desk in an unlit corner of an overstocked clothing and
artifact store?
Of course, I knew of caveat emptor, but I was one
big Westerner who had studied math at university and was armed with a
real calculator. No local with a doctored abacus was going to outsmart
me.
The friendly shopkeeper apologized for his lack of large
denomination notes, but, he chuckled, five, 10 and 20 thousand rupiah
notes were legal tender, even though well worn and confusing to
outsiders. Of course. Ha, ha!
I laid down US$500 in traveler’s
checks on one side of the counter. A curious assistant sauntered across
to watch his colleague and made small talk.
“Where was I from and how much did I pay for the camera?” Nice fellow.
The
suckers enjoyed the chat and watched the piles of notes grow, get
resorted, moved and double counted. Handshakes all round. Receipts?
Not necessary.
Back in the hotel, we were hit by reality and Rp
600,000 shortfall. The righteous receptionist said I should have used
their service and ridiculed requests to call the police.
“They won’t come,” she said. But they did in minutes, five young muscle men in casual clothes, pistols in belts and a jeep.
They
drove us back to the shop. The moneychanger denied knowledge. One cop
walked round the counter and started ransacking the desk. Another
barged his way into the back room.
Their mates started manhandling stock. Roughly. Very roughly.
Soon fragile goods tumbled off shelves, clothes were ripped, artwork shattered. Customers fled. The staff blanched.
It
seemed the confrontation would turn violent. Maybe getting our money
back wasn’t such a good idea. The scene was like a movie about the
prohibition era with American cops raiding a sly moonshine shop.
If the police were trying to make an impression on a greenhorn foreigner then they were doing a splendid job.
Our
checks were found. One officer tapped the cheat’s chest and requested a
refund. Rp 200,000 was offered. Clumsy cops started bumping into the
furniture.
A further Rp 200,000 appeared. Belts were hitched and sidearms adjusted. The rest of the money jumped onto the desk.
Back
in the jeep, I congratulated the cops and told them that in my country
the police would have just taken statements. They’d need search
warrants. Lawyers would get involved. Should charges be laid the case
would take months to reach court.
The chances of the artless
dodger getting more than a warning and my cash would be slight. But
here in Indonesia, fraud had been fixed in a flash and the criminal
given one hell of a fright. Instant justice — brilliant!
Happy
to help, said the sergeant, all part of the service. Just one small
issue — there’s another difference between Australian and Indonesian
police; “we locals are badly paid”.
I rapidly reckoned Rp 100,000 split between five men was a fair price and an appropriate penalty for my own stupidity.
Corruption? Technically, yes. Effective? Absolutely. Qualms? A few and evaporating.
Back
in Bali this year, I tried a different shop to see if the scam was
still alive. Sorry, Pak, only small notes available. My friend just
likes watching and chatting. You’re right, the light needs fixing. Cute
camera, what did you pay? Now how much do you want?
So nothing changes — and thanks to Van Der Spek we know the police are still accommodating.
— Duncan Graham
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