maaf email atau password anda salah
Satu Akun, Untuk Semua Akses
Belum Memiliki Akun Daftar di Sini
Satu Akun, Untuk Semua Akses
Konfirmasi Email
Kami telah mengirimkan link aktivasi melalui email ke rudihamdani@gmail.com.
Klik link aktivasi dan dapatkan akses membaca 2 artikel gratis non Laput di koran dan Majalah Tempo
Jika Anda tidak menerima email,
Kirimkan Lagi Sekarang
Satu Akun, Untuk Semua Akses
Enter your email, untuk mereset password
Konfirmasi Email
Kami telah mengirimkan link reset password melalui email ke rudihamdani@gmail.com.
Ubah No. Telepon
Ubah Password
Topik Favorit
Hapus Berita
Apakah Anda yakin akan menghapus berita?
Ubah Data Diri
Jenis Kelamin
Democracy happens because the ignored and belittled rise up to affirm themselves. When Don Quixote was published in 1605, democracy did not exist in daily life. But Cervantes introduced his times to Sancho Panza, an illiterate farm laborer who wanted something impossible: to become governor.
In the conflict and competition between ‘left’ and ‘right’, what came to the fore was not embittered ideologs or tough guerillas, but the skills of political campaign managers, the competence of advertising bureaus, the canny display of clothing styles, handsome faces and slim bodies.
AI, artificial intelligence, is both exciting and worrying—and that is our state right now. It is often observed that the more super-intelligent these machines are, the less autonomy we have. We can no longer call ourselves decision-making subjects. It could spell the end of individuality.
In Bergman’s film, The Seventh Seal, Block does not seem worried that it will all be pointless. He is returning from war, he has travelled through plague territory. He has seen how easily lives are lost. The thin knight with the tense expression is anxious not because of Death, but because God is silent. He has found no basis to his faith. Faith is a torment.
As we know, blackboards are where teachers write lessons and students pay attention. This simple technology facilitates the giving and receiving of knowledge. The blackboard cannot be separated from the teacher. It is their first and last sign, like the flag in a scene of defeat.
The ‘Malay world’ in this novel is not a closed, impenetrable world. In this novel at least, that kind of world does not become ‘local color’. Usually in literary criticism, what is called ‘local color’ is something identifiable—because it is whole, homogenous and distinctive: descriptions of landscape, customs and local dialects used in the story.
The past does not stop. Over and again, we fail to recapture it in memory. Of course, we have history books and think that this is where the past is recorded as memory. But memory is the product of the present, and the present is not a station where memories pause, unchanging. This is why we often try to recall the past in other ways.
The phrase "the desert of the real" conveys that ‘the real’ is the destroyed world, gloomy, fantastical, inexplicable through language, especially when viewed from the ordered world. In Indonesia, we are actually in that ‘desert’: with incessant floods, landslides and earthquakes.
Independent journalism needs public support. By subscribing to Tempo, you will contribute to our ongoing efforts to produce accurate, in-depth and reliable information. We believe that you and everyone else can make all the right decisions if you receive correct and complete information. For this reason, since its establishment on March 6, 1971, Tempo has been and will always be committed to hard-hitting investigative journalism. For the public and the Republic.