Bali’s Sacred Day of Silence

Bali is predominately, and dominantly, Hindu. And while all other islands in the Indonesian archipelago are majority Muslim, Bali still vehemently maintains its religious practices that date back to the 1st century A.D.

Take Nyepi, the holy day which marks the new year in the Balinese calendar (March 25 in 2020). The day before Nyepi, every corner of the island sets off fireworks, joins in purification rituals, and marches through the streets adorned in traditional Hindu garments. The goal of these practices is to prepare for the new year and create so much commotion that the evil spirits around us flee Bali before the new year.

They also parade the fantastical Ogoh-Ogohs. Handmade from bamboo, cloth, and tinsel, these statues represent humanity’s ugliest traits in all their grotesque glory. Greed, anger, and envy are personified in the form of towering monsters, which dance and writhe through the streets before being burned in effigy to symbolize purification for the new year. Unfortunately, in these unprecedented times of Corona-virus contagion, the traditional ceremonies were curtailed significantly. I only caught glimpses of Ogoh-Ogohs and couldn’t take much part in any ceremonies. Still, here is an image of the crafted creatures I found online, and I also included a mini Ogoh-Ogoh that our neighbors displayed outside their home.

On the day of Nyepi, the entire island shuts down. According to legend, when the evil spirits come looking for humans to torment in the new year, Bali is silent. No one is allowed on the street. Lights are off all day long. Even the airport is closed. Internet service providers turn off the juice, taunting you with this notice when you try to go online.

I had no idea that the community, government and industry would go to such measures to maintain this religious code of silence.

In some ways, Bali’s approach to Nyepi is a bit too militant and orthodox for my taste. Regardless of your beliefs, you are forced to follow this religious quarantine for the day. Without internet or phone line, there is no way to contact anyone in case of emergency. If you haven’t stocked up on food or water, be prepared to fast. Although some emergency services are supposedly still available, going to the hospital would be a nightmare. You can even be arrested and fined by the cultural police for leaving your house!

That being said, I do admire the willingness of four million people to adhere to a day of silence, reflection, and Luddite living. Balinese Hindus also fast and abstain from any worldly pleasures on this day. In my opinion, the zealous nature in which the island dictates total compliance to Nyepi is a reaction to Bali’s storied history in post-independence Indonesian politics.

Ever since Indonesia gained its independence from Dutch colonial rule in 1945, the Islamist national government has attempted to constrain Indonesia’s other religions. For example, in 1952 the Ministry of Religion defined a “religion” as monotheistic in Indonesian law. As religion and citizenship are intimately intertwined in Indonesia, Balinese Hindus were not recognized as full citizens under this interpretation. They were stripped of voting rights among other liberties. Since then, Balinese Hinduism has been reinterpreted as monotheistic, allowing it to qualify as an official Indonesian religion and making it decidedly different from Hinduism in India.

These religious conflicts, combined with the steady stream of Muslim migrants from other parts of Indonesia to Bali, make for a religious climate under threat of self-preservation. In this context, the actions of the Balinese government to enforce Nyepi upon all residents, including Muslims and tourists, make more sense. On a final note, an unintended consequence of Nyepi is the utter darkness that consumes the island that night. I had the privilege of viewing the brightest night sky I’ve ever seen. Hundreds of twinkling stars and constellations light up the void left by Nyepi. I even got to see Saturn without a telescope, as well as a couple of shooting stars. Without any light pollution, an invisible orchestra lifts up its veil and dances in the silence.