Those quick to pass judgment may think that Maria Farida Indrati, the only woman in the Constitutional Court, was also the only judge out of the nine-member panel to doubt the necessity of the pornography law because of her gender.
But on closer inspection, it turns out her objection to the Court’s recent decision to uphold the pornography law did not specifically defend women, but Indonesia’s pluralistic social reality in general. Coincidentally, she happens to be a woman.
Sitting behind a spacious desk at her office on the 13th floor of the Constitutional Court building, this 61-year-old small-framed judge spoke to The Jakarta Post about her views on the pornography law and her role as the only female judge in the highest legal institution in the country.
Last month, the Constitutional Court headed by Mahfud M.D. turned down a judicial review filed against the pornography law on the basis that the law provided exceptions for the arts, literature, traditional customs, sports and culture.
The court ruling however failed to address the legislation’s divisive nature. The tourist haven island-province of Bali, whose people have been one of the most vocal opponents of the law, refused to comply with it. Since its inception, the pornography law has drawn a huge outcry from women and human rights activists as well as artists.
Wearing a violet suit adorned with a golden flower brooch, Farida, as she is popularly called, said the law would obviously affect women the most.
“Because people see women differently. People think it is impolite for women to expose their skin, while a man walking topless on the street doesn’t cause the slightest stir,” she said.
Her objections to the pornography law are fourfold: The law is open to too many interpretations, the definition of pornography is ambiguous, the law is divisive and bound to be difficult to implement.
“The formulation of the law has drained the country of its energy because of its many pros and cons.”
Farida said a panel of judges was created to reach a verdict. For the pornography law, she headed a panel of three judges.
“All of the judges in that panel disagreed [with the plaintiff] except myself,” she said. From there, a plenary session of judges was held. “In the plenary session, all the judges agreed to reject the request citing the law did not ran counter to the Constitution. But the moment I looked at the first clause, I was certain this [the law] could not work,” she said.
The first clause defines pornography as “pictures, sketches, illustrations, photographs, articles, sounds, voices, moving pictures, animations, cartoons, conversations, body movements or other forms of messages through various communication mediums and/or public displays that contain obscenity or sexual exploitation that violates community norms”.
Other judges nevertheless respected her dissenting opinion, she said, treating her equally irrespective of her gender.
However, Farida acknowledged that a feminine presence in the panel of judges does help cool down the heated atmosphere during plenary sessions. “All of them are bapak-bapak [older men] with loud voices. I can speak sternly too, but am calmer.”
“When all of the bapak-bapak raise their voices, I just sit calmly. They soon realize I have turned silent and they are being too loud,” she said, smiling.
Farida said that being a Constitutional Court judge changed some parts of her life. Previously she used to help the government draft legislation, now she reviews the drafts. Sometimes, she confessed, when reviewing (a flawed) legislation, she would become agitated and wished she could go back to her old job of writing the legislation. “Because I know how hard the process of drafting legislation is,” she said.
Being a judge has also taken its toll on her social life. An amiable and social person at heart, Farida said she used to enjoy lively interaction with government officials, friends from academia, and students before her job as a judge became so demanding on her time.
“People leave me alone, now. When I used to teach, many people would want to talk to me. I had many friends; I used to talk in forums; departments would invite me to talk. I was more available to my students,” she said. “That’s something I miss.”
However, she said she understood that as a judge she should be more independent.
Farida still makes a point of keeping in touch with the important people in her life, namely her elementary school teacher, who made her believe in herself despite her ailment.
Sister Monika C.B., 72, now a nun at Panti Rapih in Yogyakarta, “was the one who always guided me and made me believe in myself”. Sister Monika, who was visiting Jakarta, even caught up with Farida at her office during the time of the interview.
The eldest of eight children, Farida — now a professor of Law in University of Indonesia, said she had never dreamt she would become a judge. “I wanted to be a piano teacher.”
Her childhood dream wasn’t so much driven by a love of music, but by the desire to pursue a career that would suit her ailment.
“I suffered from polio when I was little. I used to walk to and from school and people would imitate how I walked. I learned to play the piano, and thought that teaching just a few students piano would be nice.”
But her father, who worked as a journalist for the state news agency Antara in Surakarta, did not approve of
her career plans. He believed the music industry in Indonesia at that time — circa 1969 — was still in
So she pursued her studies at the University of Indonesia, where she became the top student in campus, then in Netherlands and the United States.
Only after she became an assistant to Prof. Hamid Attamimi, the founder of the Indonesian Constitution Science, did she know law was her path in life.
“I realized that I was good at this, and this is the path God has shown to me,” she said.