So Long Lord Didi, You've Helped Us Through Our Ambyar Time In One Piece

Campursari is Didi and Didi is campursari. Talking of campursari without making mention of Didi is a sin, for he occupies a lordship status, a legend in that line of music. It is a mix of many kinds of music: western, eastern, local tradition touch, as well as the music of my country, dangdut.

Didi embarked his music pursuit in the 1980's. He first made it in the streets of Jogja as pengamen (street musician). He also reached out to Jakarta. He picked his stage name Kempot, Kelompok Penyanyi Trotoar meaning street singers, to refer to his main root.

Asked why he chose campursari, Didi felt challenged to change the young who favored popular musics over it. Judging from how far Didi has come, Didi has taken over his quest.

We can sum up some of his messages: to be persistent in waiting for your lover, be realistic and do not let carried away by distant fond memories.

It's okay to celebrate being dumped, betrayed. It's fine to enjoy pain being in wait. It is so because after a rain comes a rainbow, and a break up is not the end of life.

What he is most remembered for and probably the iceng on the cake of his great feat is an online fund raising he collaborated with Kompas TV about a month ago. It marked 7.6 million rupiah in only a few hours.

Didi's journey is an exemplary one to remember: you go places in your own line of profession, and you help make a worthy contribution to a wider public, in Didi's case fighting a deadly pandemic. When all this passes, Lord Didi is a hero, and he dies a hero's death.

Rest in peace beautiful soul. God just gained an angel


Reference:
https://www.facebook.com/961333513929517/posts/3146019048794275/

https://tirto.id/lord-didi-kempot-boleh-jadi-fana-tapi-air-matanya-akan-abadi-eeVl

Tau-Tau: Ancestral Figure

The following description is based upon fieldwork conducted in 1991 at Malimbong, Rembon, in the district of Saluputti, Tana Toraja. The article focuses on the ritual art of making an effigy of an old woman called Ne' Bine' (80 years old) who died in 1989 and was given a high class (rapasan) funeral ceremony which was still based on aluk to dolo in 1991.

The rites and wood material of the tau-tau may vary from region to region and in accordance with the social status of the deceased. Some people are permitted only to have tau-tau lampa, 'the temporary effigy which is made of bamboo'. Others may afford to have tau-tau made of kapok tree. The high class people may have an effigy which is made of jackfruit tree.
The effigy of Ne' Bine' is made of jackfruit wood (nangka), one of the highest quality of wood material reserved for a noble man and noble woman only. As we know, in Toraja man and woman have an equal right to have an effigy. The construction of an effigy of Ne' Bine' is an integrative part of the second part of the death ritual, which was carried out from July to August 1991.
The person who carved Ne' Bine's tau-tau is called Ne' Sanda. At the age of 70 the master artist has been able to make three effigies. He claimed that he was the only effigy maker, being available for the villages of Kole and Ulu Salu. This means that only the person of utmost importance in the villages could have the tau-tau. He strongly criticized the present style of effigy whose face resembled the face of the dead person. For him, such construction has lost its sacred quality.

Effigy in Toraja is called tau-tau, and this word is derived from the root tau (its cognate form is to) which means 'person'. The reduplication form of tau-tau implies a negative sense, that is 'not a real person'. It is sometimes called bombo, 'spirit' or payo-payo, 'shadow'. Within the death ritual context, tau here refers to to mate, 'dead person' while tau-tau refers to its representation so the contrast is between tomate and tau-tau. How are we to understand the relationship between the two within the cultural framework of Toraja people?
While many people have interpreted this effigy as a representation of the dead person (patung orang mati), one must be careful of such interpretation because it seems to emphasize the death aspect of it. Rather, this effigy is best understood as an ancestral figure emphasizing the Torajan worldview of the principle of continuity of cyclic life.

This principle is culturally played out in three cultural forms of eulogizing the effigy (massinggi'tau-tau), the ritual of making an effigy (manggaraga tau-tau) and the death ritual (rapasan), the structure of which bears iconic relationship to each other. The text of eulogy of the effigy (singgi' tau-tau), which is narrated by the ritual specialist (to minaa) after the completion of the effigy has the structure which consists of the beginning of life in heaven, life in this world and life after death. The purpose of making the effigy is to symbolically enact such continuity of life, through the mediation of east ritual and west ritual interchangeably performed within the totality of death ritual context. One can not fail to note that a number of rites performed in the death ritual are actually structured on the opposition between life and death (as it is exemplified in the opposition between ma'karu'dusan, 'to cause the dead person to die' and ma'tundan, 'to cause the dead person to wake up'). The first section of eulogy deals with the two phases of life: the heavenly origin of life, the mythical reality of pregnancy and childbirth in heaven, and the earthly life in this world. The heavenly origin of life is performatively enacted by pande tau-tau (the effigy maker) by carving the head and the body of an effigy on the wood material of a jackfruit tree. All rites that accompany the fashioning of the head and the body of the effigy are classified as life ritual (aluk rampe matallo). The art work begins after performing the rite of ma'tundan, 'to wake up the dead person', the rite of the second part of the high class death ritual. Using a pencil and a sharp knife, the effigy maker begins to fashion a life-size effigy detailing each part of the body from the face (dibala lindo) to the legs and arms (ma'lette' and ma'lima'). After shaping the head, the effigy maker continues to carve in sequence the mouth (ma'sadang), nose (ma'illong), eyes (ma'mata), ears (ma'talinga), teeth (mangngasa isi), neck (ma'baroko), breast (ma'barangkang), waist and sexual organ (ma'lassak), legs (ma'lette'), and arms (ma'lima), each of which is respectively preceded by a rite of sacrificing a pig (bai todi') used as an offering to both deities and the ancestors.

When the carving is finished the rite of massabu is performed to mark the completion of the effigy. This part is the symbolic enactment of the birth of the noble lady. One pig is sacrificed for an offering to the deities and ancestors. The performance of this rite marks the beginning of a number of activities for the coming big ritual.
The eulogy further talks about the second phase of life, focusing on the growth of the noble lady from childhood to maturity, her agricultural activities and ritual achievements in this world (lino). Within the ritual context of carving an effigy, such growth is symbolically enacted in the rite of cutting the hair (ma'ku'ku') for the first time, the rite of giving attire to the effigy (ma'pake), and the rite of betrothal (ma'pasa' tau-tau).
The rite of cutting the hair signifies nobility and marks the separation from the previous world. In this ritual event one pig is sacrificed, the meat of which is used as offerings for deities and ancestors.
Once this is over the effigy is given attire and accessories according to sex (ma'pake). The effigy is dressed in traditional Toraja clothing and the use of such costumes symbolize maturity. Over her head is placed a folded sarong (lullung) which indicates the style from that area. Around her head is tied the sa'pi' (a kind of ornament made from beadwork and silver), the front part of her head is given ornament consisting of strips of bamboo with curly ends (pangngarru'), spangles of goldleaf (tida-tida), and chicken feathers (bulu manuk) . A necklace (manik kata) beautifies her neck, and around her waist is tied the beadwork (ambero). Over her shoulder a small pouch containing betel nuts (sappa manik) is hung.

As soon as this work has been completed the effigy is placed at the west side of ricebarn facing the house in which the dead person is located. In the following several days the rites that are performed center on the wrapping of the bodily remains (mebalun). Previously, the body is let to decompose in the temporary boat-shaped coffin (karopi'). Further in eulogy, it is mentioned that as she becomes adult she goes to the market and meets her partner there. Within the ritual context, on the day when the temporary coffin is buried, this event of meeting a spouse is performatively enacted in the rite of ma'pasa' tau-tau . It is a kind of the rite of betrothal which is performed by carrying the effigy in a ritual procession to the market on the market day at Rembon. As the procession arrives the effigy is put to rest. People in the market come to bring the offerings such as betel nut, tobaccos and others. A pig is sacrificed to mark this event.

The next day the rite of ma'parampo tau-tau, 'marriage ceremony' is performed. This rite enacts and commemorates the marriage ceremony of the dead person. Another pig is sacrificed for the day. Finally, the second section of eulogy talks about the most important rite which marks the transition from the earthly life to the heavenly one. This transition is enacted in the rite of ma'tatau, 'the conversion ritual' which is a kind of the rite of passage entering into the next phase of life. After being given some offerings and food the effigy is turned first to east (symbol of life) and then to west (symbol of death). At this point the effigy partakes in the next phase of life of the deceased (life after death). As it is narrated in eulogy, the soul travels to south and ascends to sky and becomes deified ancestors (to membali Puang). When the funeral procession is made to the funeral site the effigy goes with it. And when the dead person is interred into a stone grave the effigy is also put there. Traditionally, the effigy is placed on the balcony in front of the grave but considering the fact that the stealing of effigies have increased in the past several decades, Ne' Bine''s tau-tau is placed inside the grave.

After a long period of time, the ritual of conversion for effigy is further reinforced by the rite of ma'balik bane'. By performing this rite the family members believe that the soul has turned into deified ancestor (tomembali puang), which according to some, is then manifested in the effigy. The tau-tau then functions to re-present life cycle of the deceased with the emphasis on the continuity of life after death, the pinnacle of life which can be achieved only through the mediation of death ritual. For that very reason tau-tau is best understood as the representation of ancestral life. The tau-tau is respected by Toraja people and it is held to be sacred. When tau-tau has been placed on the balcony in front of the grave it is strictly forbidden to touch it except on the ma'nene' ceremony (contacting the ancestors). In this ritual event, the clothes of tau-tau worn out by rain, sun and wind should be changed. When the family members want to give an offering to the dead, it is placed on tau-tau's palm. Author: Stanislaus Sandarupa Hasanuddin University, Makassar (South Sulawesi) The University of Chicago

Bryan Garner on Words

Shall We Abandon Shall?

Posted Aug 1, 2012 1:20 AM CST
By Bryan A. Garner

In March 1968 I was a fourth-grader at Rex Reeves Elementary School in Canyon, Texas, a small college town in the Panhandle. My teacher, the beloved Mrs. Pearcy, had a not-beloved student teacher, Mrs. Phillips, who was seeking her teacher certification. Mrs. Phillips, I realized early on, was not partial to me.

One day—it was the ides of March—Mrs. Pearcy announced to the class that Mrs. Phillips would be leading us in a lesson. There was a professor of education in the back of the room, Mrs. Pearcy explained, to observe Mrs. Phillips—who soon took her place at the front of the classroom.

“Children,” Mrs. Phillips said, “today I am going to teach you about contractions.” This struck me as a little silly. We had learned all about contractions in the third grade. “Can anyone name a contraction?”

My hand shot into the air.

“Bryan.”

“Shan’t.”

“Umm, no. That’s not a word.”

“It is, Mrs. Phillips! It’s a contraction of shall not.”

“No, that’s not a word. Can anyone name a contraction? Craig.”

“Won’t.”

“Good, Craig.”

Other pupils started chiming in:

“Can’t! Isn’t! Doesn’t! Shouldn’t! Wouldn’t! Aren’t!”

“Good, children, good! Those are all contractions—and real words.” She glanced disapprovingly at me with that last remark. I went silent for the rest of that class. I felt flushed. I remember the moment as if it were yesterday.

In the corner of the room, I knew, was a huge dictionary—as it turns out, Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, published in 1961. As soon as class was over, I went to the corner and looked up shan’t. There it was: “shan’t. Contr. Shall not.” I heaved the huge tome off its stand and cheerfully approached Mrs. Phillips to give her the good news.

She was talking to the professor, so I stood by quietly. When they finished speaking, I said: “Look, Mrs. Phillips! It is a word! Shan’t is right here in the dictionary!”

She turned from me and waved her hand behind her back, as if to shoo me away.

“But it’s right here. ...” My enthusiasm melted as she turned back to me and said sternly: “Bryan Garner, that’s not a word. I’m not looking at that. Put the dictionary away and go play. It’s recess now.” So ended one of the most important lessons of my life—the one that would ignite my interest in lexicography. It was also the beginning of my recognition of an anti-intellectual strain in my hometown.

WHAT YOU’RE REALLY SAYING

In retrospective fairness, Mrs. Phillips had a point: No American says shan’t. I had heard a television character use it—the very English Mr. French in the 1960s series Family Affair.

Nor do Americans use the positive form, shall, except in two expressions: We shall overcome and Shall we ... ? Otherwise, this modal verb isn’t really a part of normal American English.

Which brings us to legal English, where shall is ubiquitous in contracts, statutes, ordinances, rules and regulations. In the ordinary contract, almost every sentence contains a shall. The U.S. Constitution is chock-full of shalls.

In law school, we learn that shall is “mandatory” and may is “permissive.” There are even statutes enshrining this idea. If you don’t look closely at shall and its semantic content, those statutory provisions seem to make sense.

But let’s do look more closely. What about laws stating that “No person shall ... ?” If shall means “has a duty to” or “is required to,” we have a problem. We’re negating a command to do something: You’re not required to do it (but, by implication, you may if you like).

That’s plainly not the meaning. What is meant is to prohibit altogether—to disallow. Hence it should be “No person may ... .” That is, no person is allowed to do this.

Confronted with a “No person shall” provision, courts routinely hold that shall means may. In every English-speaking jurisdiction that I know of—don’t be so shocked—shall has been held to mean may. As Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg remarked in a majority opinion: “though shall generally means must, legal writers sometimes use, or misuse, shall to mean should, will or even may.”

In the ninth edition of Black’s Law Dictionary, I list five meanings for shall:

shall, vb. (bef. 12c) 1. Has a duty to; more broadly, is required to “the requester shall send notice” “notice shall be sent”. This is the mandatory sense that drafters typically intend and that courts typically uphold. 2. Should (as often interpreted by courts) “all claimants shall request mediation”. 3. May “no person shall enter the building without first signing the roster”. When a negative word such as not or no precedes shall (as in the example in angled bracket), the word shall often means may. What is being negated is permission, not a requirement. 4. Will (as a future tense verb) “the corporation shall then have a period of 30 days to object”. 5. Is entitled to “the secretary shall be reimbursed for all expenses”. Only sense 1 is acceptable under strict standards of drafting.

In short, shall is a chameleon-hued word.

For teachers of legal drafting, there are two main pedagogical approaches today for teaching lawyers and aspiring lawyers about this word: (1) restrict shall to meaning either “has a duty to” or “is required to” (meaning that 40 to 80 percent of the shalls in existing forms will be replaced); or (2) eliminate shall altogether on grounds that lawyers as a group cannot realistically master the semantic subtleties of the word (meaning that 100 percent of shalls get dropped).

When I acted as style consultant to the U.S. Judicial Conference’s Standing Committee on Rules of Practice and Procedure, beginning in the 1990s, the federal judges for whom I worked experimented with the first option, but settled on the second. Hence when I revised the full sets of civil, appellate and criminal federal rules, the shalls were dropped. Rule 10(b) of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure read like this:

“All averments of claim or defense shall be made in numbered paragraphs, the contents of each of which shall be limited as far as practicable to a statement of a single set of circumstances; and a paragraph may be referred to by number in all succeeding pleadings. Each claim founded upon a separate transaction or occurrence and each defense other than denials shall be stated in a separate count or defense whenever a separation facilitates the clear presentation of the matters set forth.”

Now it reads like this:

“A party must state its claims or defenses in numbered paragraphs, each limited as far as practicable to a single set of circumstances. A later pleading may refer by number to a paragraph in an earlier pleading. If doing so would promote clarity, each claim founded on a separate transaction or occurrence—and each defense other than a denial—must be stated in a separate count or defense.”

IF YOU MUST BE BOSSY

With one exception, shall has now been purged from all four major sets of federal rules, including evidence.

What is the exception? With Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 56—the summary judgment rule—the advisory committee confronted warring factions on whether a federal judge must or may award summary judgment upon finding the requisite elements. Initially, the rule was promulgated with a may. But so much rancor ensued that the committee retreated to shall. It issued a note saying, more or less, “We’re not sure whether this rule is mandatory or permissive, so we’re reverting to the ambiguous shall. Let the courts figure it out.”

What about contracts? Isn’t must a bit bossy-sounding in the context of a private agreement? Yes, it is—unless it’s a take-it-or-leave-it consumer contract. If it’s an ordinary bilateral agreement, will is perfectly adequate. “The parties agree as follows,” the lead-in says, and then: “Jones will do this. Smith will do that.”

The advantage of will is that nobody—nobody—misuses this word in any of the myriad ways in which lawyers misuse shall. Nobody writes will instead of may or should or is entitled to. In American English, will is the ordinary verb of promise.


Reflect on how we, as a profession, landed in this semantic snarl of shalls in our documents. Here’s how I reconstruct it. If you grew up in this country, you grew up without shall as part of your working vocabulary. You encountered shall in some of your reading, but you never used it. You did well in school and ultimately enrolled in law school, where you were bombarded by shalls in statutes and contracts. You intuited that shall is “the drafting verb” that makes legal instruments precise.

In fact, it does the opposite. In most legal instruments, shall violates the presumption of consistency: Words are presumed to have a consistent meaning in clause after clause, page after page. Which is why shall is among the most heavily litigated words in the English language (with hopelessly inconsistent court holdings).

My own practice is to delete shall in all legal instruments and to replace it with a clearer word more characteristic of American English: must, will, is, may or the phrase is entitled to. This approach might well please Mrs. Phillips, but shall we consider that factor relevant at all? No we shan’t.

Bryan A. Garner is president of LawProse Inc. and editor-in-chief of Black’s Law Dictionary. He is also the author of Garner’s Dictionary of Legal Usage, Garner’s Modern American Usage and Making Your Case: The Art of Persuading Judges (with Justice Antonin Scalia).

Source: http://www.abajournal.com/magazine/article/shall_we_abandon_shall/; downloaded on January 19, 2013 at 11.50 am.