Abstract
Based on research and activism on early childhood education and care in the area of Yogyakarta, Indonesia, we argue that the Indonesian government’s focus on early childhood has come at a cost to local women. Community-based early childhood programs are delivered by women whose work is unpaid or underpaid. Although early childhood education in the form of kindergarten has long existed in Indonesia, its extension to the very young through Pendidikan Anak Usia Dini or early childhood education programs for children aged 0–8 years is more recent. Yet, there are many contradictions in this attention to the very young child. While the programs are designed to empower young children and improve their chances of success in education, the community-based programs promoted by the government are delivered through the work of women who may be denied these same benefits. Based on our separate researches, local women offer their services in early childhood education for a variety of reasons: they believe in these programs, they feel pressured to support their communities, or they desire to improve their own chances, and often all three. Yet, the opportunity to gain more education and to become a certified teacher is extremely limited for these women. As a result, they are trapped in unskilled, low, or no-waged work. While this contradiction can be described as a result of neoliberal policy, it has been the long-standing practice of the Indonesian state to depend on women’s “volunteered” labor to deliver social service programming. Here, we challenge whether this is “neoliberal” policy or just a continued disregard for the value of the care labor in social reproduction and the simultaneous relegation of women to the “informal” sphere. We ask, what kind of policy options exist for linking the improvement of children’s education and women’s education simultaneously?
Keywords
Payment in heaven
In a rural hamlet in central Java, a group of small children four years and younger stood for a photograph. They were dressed seragam (in uniform) in orange and yellow. Their mothers and helpers all beamed as they showed the foreign researcher, Jan Newberry, their Pendidikan Anak Usia Dini (PAUD) program. PAUD programs are early childhood education programs that have appeared in the years since in 2000 in Indonesia. 1 This particular program was in a poor agricultural community south of the court city of Yogyakarta. Twice a month, local women offered young children the early stimulation that was being advocated by the provincial and national government. In a bright little classroom next door to the hamlet head’s house, which was also the local meeting hall, children made pictures using belimbing or star fruit. Their classroom included educational toys (alat permainan edukatif) and signs about religious tolerance. Children were seated in circles with their teachers and they listened obediently when they were asked to wash their hands as they left the classroom.
A young Catholic activist was the host and she described the impressive self-sustaining character of this small community-based program. She noted that very little money was provided by the government and most of the work was done on a volunteer basis by this active community that was sangat swadaya or very self-supporting. Her pride in the people of this hamlet was inspiring. Yet, in a group interview with the women who were running this PAUD program, the difficulties were clear. They were extremely poor. This region was known for its lack of water and for the production of tiwul ayu, a local delicacy made from cassava. But they noted, this delicacy was actually poor people’s food that was often all they had to eat. They pointed to their new vision and mission statement mounted in the hamlet head’s office and its reflection of the recent dictates of transparency and accountability in government since the end of Suharto’s New Order in 1998. But this PAUD program was added to all the other social welfare programs they were expected to deliver in their own communities. Many of these programs were a continuation of New Order forms of governmentality that harnessed the community to deliver no-cost and low-cost social service through the work of local women (Newberry, 2010). While pleased with their new early childhood program, there was also a very real sense of exhaustion in balancing their agricultural work with the demands of program delivery.
Like many PAUD programs, this small rural version showed the influence of the global push to improve early childhood education and care, a push that has been associated with neoliberal restructuring of the economy and polity. In Indonesia, this expansion of early childhood programming has occurred at the same time as the reorganization of governance, including the education sector.
Yet, there are many contradictions in this attention to the very young child. While the programs are designed to empower young children and improve their chances of success in education, the community-based programs promoted by the government are delivered through the work of women who may be denied these same benefits. Local women offer their services in early childhood education for a variety of reasons: they believe in these programs, they feel pressured to support their communities, or they desire to improve their own chances, and often all three. Yet, the opportunity to gain more education and to become a certified teacher is extremely limited for these women. Consequently, they are trapped in unskilled, low, or no-waged work. While this contradiction can be described as a result of neoliberal policy, it has been the long-standing practice of the Indonesian state to depend on women’s “volunteered” community-based labor to deliver social service programming.
Scholarly attention to care labor in recent years has considered the role of globalization in reorganizing families and domestic labor and the effects for gender (see, e.g., Hoang et al., 2012). The care labor involved in early childhood programs has also been considered (Kjørholt and Qvortrup, 2011), but the focus has often been the developed world. The role of neoliberal policy in expanding this reorganization of care labor has been another thread in this argument (Newberry, 2017). Here, we challenge whether it is “neoliberal” policy or just a continued disregard for the value of the care labor in social reproduction and the simultaneous relegation of women to the “informal” sphere (Vogel, 2000). Instead, we focus on the contradictions posed for working women who are asked to deliver this care labor and we point toward the role of community in producing these contradictions. While the Indonesian state has long used the community as a way to mobilize women’s labor, their own desire to support their communities is also a factor. Yet, the continued dependence on women’s unpaid, community-based care labor to deliver early childhood programming in Indonesia is tied to the lack of opportunities to professionalize. We ask, what kind of policy options exist for linking the improvement of children’s education and women’s education simultaneously?
The analysis presented here is not the result of a single research project or methodological approach; instead, we draw upon the combined analyses of two anthropological researchers looking at early childhood programs in Indonesia from very different positions, only to reach strikingly similar conclusions. 2 In the following, we begin with the question of whether “neoliberalism” is useful for understanding the emergence of early childhood programs in the era of democratization devolution in Indonesia. We then move between our separate research projects to illustrate the emergence of PAUD programs in the work of non-governmental organizations, including those devoted to the interests of women, and how these programs dovetailed with needs of the Indonesian state as it responded to global dictates on early childhood. Then, in the final sections, we consider evidence for how these programs are staffed and the effects on women’s professional lives.
Developing global neoliberalism in Indonesia
The roots of the global interest in early childhood can be traced to the 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child, particularly the General Comment 7 in 2005, but also the Millennium Development Goals and the 2000 Dakar Framework for Action: Education for All. Yet, these roots go even deeper to the principles of developmentally appropriate practice, with its beginnings in the Western developmental psychology literature of the early twentieth century (Cannella and Viruru, 2004). Two things are noteworthy here. First, there is the colonizing character of early childhood education and care knowledge practices identified by Cannella and Viruru (see also Bloch, 2006). Second, there is the expansive sense of development in recent approaches to early childhood that includes “the physical, cognitive, linguistic and socio-emotional development of young children until they transition to primary school…. ECD is an integrated concept that cuts across multiple sectors, including health and nutrition, education, and social protection” (Naudeau et al., 2011: 5).
The doubling down on development to include both the ongoing “development” of the Global South and the comprehensive “development” of the child continues and extends several patterns of inequality within Indonesia and beyond. The focus on early childhood represents the Global South as childlike and in need of intervention to improve and progress (Burman, 2008). Others note that the Western discourse on the construction of the empowered self is central to a continuing colonization of children and societies (Bloch, 2006). These patterns are woven together with continuities and changes in international political economy and national regimes.
Indonesia has been described as having been shaped by global neoliberalism in the aftermath of the 1997 Asian financial crisis and the reform movement that brought an end to Suharto’s regime. Democratization in Indonesia, so the argument goes, occurred in tandem with regional autonomy and decentralization such that the kind of market-based, small-state solutions favored in neoliberalism (Harvey, 2007) were readily achievable. And yet the Suharto regime (1967–1998) excelled at forms of governmentality that are now called neoliberal. That is, development was organized through the work of locals whose labor was conscripted through forms of community ideology that highlighted self-support and community cohesion. The formation of the modern Indonesian state has relied on liberal forms of governmentality beyond the state that reduced its costs and produced Indonesian selves dedicated to their improvement; but, in fact, using the village community form to organize inhabitants to manage their own social welfare is perhaps as old as colonialism itself in Indonesia.
The emergence of early childhood programs and their relationship to community governance and the reorganization of services identifies the quandaries and compromises necessitated by social reproduction as a long-term problem for capitalism and the state in Indonesia. The organization and delivery of PAUD programming in the Yogya area shows the persistence of particular solutions to the dilemma of social reproduction that draw on women’s labor organized through the community form. The period of rapid growth in PAUD programming in the Yogya region was also a period of reorganization in governance (Aspinall and Fealy, 2003; Schulte Nordholt and Van Klinken, 2007) and a period of growth in the middle class. These shifts produced not only a desire for more local control through regional autonomy, but also a flowering of non-governmental governance. At the same time, rising incomes and the loosening of some forms of governmental authority produced a space for the development of private, for-profit day care and early childhood centers. In the next section, we turn to the close connection between early childhood programs and advocacy in the era of reform or Reformasi.
Organizing for women and children
In this section, we present at length the reflections of one of the authors, Sri Marpinjun, on the early days of organizing for reform in the early childhood sector (see Marpinjun and Ramsey 2017). Although the results of her ethnographic research are presented in later sections of the paper, here we draw on her experience as an educator and activist, who, along with her organization, Lembaga Studi Perkembangan Perempuan Anak (Institute for the Study of the Development of Women and Children, LSPPA), established a PAUD center known as the Early Childhood Care and Development Resource Center (ECCD RC) by setting up a non-profit foundation. Her multiple roles in these early days offer a particular vantage point for understanding not just the blurring of lines between the interests of women and children, but also the lines between activism and educational reform and between advocacy and research. Since 1998, my former organization (LSPPA; Lembaga Studi Perkembangan Perempuan Anak, Institute for the Study of the Development of Women and Children) has turned its involvement to PAUD for several reasons. Since 1991 LSPPA has promoted gender equity to Indonesian people through intellectual activities such as public discussions and book publishing. However, there have been many obstacles. Gender equity has been labeled as “western” or “Zionism” by some, and LSPPA faced strong rejections from some groups of people, including threats of violent retaliation. As a result, we rethought our strategy and methodologies in promoting gender equity. Since learning that gender identity is built during early years of life and that education is an instrument for social transformation, we changed our focus to early childhood education. After our strategy changed, LSPPA started to work with PAUD teachers, and other PAUD networks in Indonesia, but without leaving our feminist networking. We had researched the quality of young children’s education in the family, schools, and media and community from the perspective of gender equity. Then we developed modules and trainings for parents, PAUD teachers, and kaders (cadres). We also built two centers for PAUD, one of these was the ECCD RC. But, there were critics. Some other feminist non-governmental organizations said that LSPPA was “soft” because it maintained a gendered division of labor as we worked with children. However, we kept going because we were targeting the identity development outcomes of boys and girls and we saw the opportunity for women to change the culture through early childhood when identity development in children starts. We wanted all children to learn that girls are equal with boys. At the same time, we got support and recognition from some international feminists working in early childhood. When I was director of LSPPA, Plan International offered support in establishing the ECCD-RC by collaborating on a proposal to AUSAID. As part of our work, we helped the Indonesian government to develop quality indicators of child development outcomes from a gender equity perspective. At that time, the government was not yet aware of the importance of child identity development, and that was one of our contributions. In this work, LSPPA “tolerated” the use of women’s volunteered labor organized through the government’s programs. As a service provider, we understood that the price for child programs is influenced by the market, and we did not want to increase our prices so that we could also recruit children from the lower class. But it was a dilemma for us: how to keep costs low for poor families but still be attentive to gender equity for the childcare workers themselves who were underpaid as professional teachers and caregivers. This dilemma is at the heart of the issue described here.
Community-based PAUD and continuities in governance in Indonesia
The end of Suharto’s authoritarian New Order government in 1998 led to a devolution in government power to grant more regional autonomy. Along with this decentralization, there was a reorganization of many ministries and departments. PAUD programs are an excellent example of both the explosion of responsibilities and the overlapping agendas that emerged as a result.
In the era of reform, the Indonesian state seemed to re-institutionalize the utilization of community participation in providing educational services. The National Education System Act (no. 20/2003) shows the political will to recognize PAUD in a special article (Section 7, Article 28). This article has since become the legal basis for the state to provide PAUD programming. Its timing related to Indonesia’s ratification of the 2000 Dakar Declaration on Education for All. Based on this commitment, Indonesia targeted delivering PAUD services to 75% of children aged 0–6 by 2015. In Section 4 of the National Education Act no. 20/2003, the rights and obligations of parents, community, and government to provide education services were identified, and in Article 9, the community is described as being obliged to support this work with resources. As a result, PAUD services are the responsibility of the community to provide. This act also encourages the use of the RW (Rukun Warga, Harmonious Neighbor) neighborhood section of civil administration and the Family Welfare movement (described in the following section) to deliver these programs.
During Suharto’s era, early childhood education was separated into at least three categories: formal, non-formal, and informal. Formal PAUD programs included TK (Taman Kanak-kanak or kindergarten) for ages 4–6 and these were managed by the Ministry of Education. Non-formal PAUD included day care (TPA or Taman Penetipan Anak) and was managed by the Social Ministry. Informal PAUD included programs to support families with children under five (Bina Keluarga Balita or BKB) that were managed by the Family Planning Coordinating Board (BKKBN), Indonesia, under the Ministry for the Coordination of People’s Welfare. These distinctions between formal, non-formal, and informal PAUD were continued in the National Education System Act no. 20/2003. These categories suggest not only who is the target of these programs, but also how they should be staffed. Informal PAUDs, for example, are understood to include support for parents as the first educators of their children.
For Indonesia, the majority of these early childhood programs are offered by the community, and so could be considered private or non-governmental. Some are the result of non-profit organizations, like LSPPA, that respond to local, national, and international directives and funding. There are also public PAUD programs funded and run by the government, but these are few. For example, the city of Yogyakarta has started three public PAUD programs. In the Bantul Regency south of the city, there is only one public PAUD in contrast to 525 private PAUD ones. These numbers are based on a 2008 survey conducted by LSPPA and a private association of kindergarten teachers in Bantul (Paguyaban Guru Wiyata Bakti or PGWB).
More importantly for the argument here are the community-based PAUD programs, called “SPS” (Satuan PAUD Sejenis; hereafter, community-based PAUD). First promoted in 2010, these programs were meant to be organized by local women (PAUD – Anak Bermain Belajar, 2016). The aim of these programs was to deliver PAUD services closer to the community so that it would be easier to reach children and increase the coverage of PAUD programs. It was politically important for the government to reach the 2015 target of 75% access for children aged 0–6. The wives of mayors were encouraged by the PAUD Directorate of the Ministry of Education to become bunda (mothers) of PAUD by setting up a certain number of SPS. Although encouraged by the government, these were understood to be community-based, private programs.
The role of women’s organizing, particularly its changes during and after the Suharto regime, has been considered by many (Budianta, 2003; Rinaldo, 2002; Robinson, 2000; Suryakusuma, 1996; Wieringa, 1993). While their domestic roles have been considered, the relationship of those roles to the support of the community is less remarked upon (but see Newberry, 2017). Gotong royong is understood by locals as a powerful traditional value that encourages people to take action for their community and country. On the other hand, this value was used effectively by the government (Bowen, 1986), until the present day. The tension between the desire to support one’s community and its use by the government is an enduring one in Indonesia, and it is evident again in the recent rollout of new PAUD programs.
Staffing early childhood education programs
In 2009, Nita Kariani Purwanti, working with Newberry, conducted an invaluable set of interviews at early childhood programs in Yogyakarta and its peri-urban periphery. The 10 programs visited ranged from new middle-class developments, to older mixed communities of farmers and factory workers, to a downtown neighborhood in Yogya’s tourist area. In each case, Nita approached staff and teachers of these community-based centers as well as the local government head. In some cases, it was the head of the rural hamlet or its urban equivalent, the neighborhood district.
These interviews demonstrated that while there are many paths to PAUD, all relied on the work of local women. In some cases, this was the expected social work of the wife of the local leader; in others it was the women organized by the government to look after their communities,;, and in others it was the budding entrepreneurialism of a local woman. In all cases, the issues of professionalization and pay were paramount. Optimism about the opportunities associated with these new programs was matched by obstacles to their growth and the related improvement in women’s professional skills and advancement.
For example, in one program, a local woman had started a private early childhood program with two friends. Her own background was in Islamic finance and accounting, so she brought business expertise. Based on her experience with this playgroup, she approached the wife of the local leader of her own hamlet to set up a playgroup with a sliding-fee scale to help lower-income parents. Although inspected by the non-formal education sector of the regency, there was no money from that level of government. Instead the program was supported by local donors with a little aid from the next level of government service.
This educational entrepreneur had taken some private training but had no connection to the government education offered through the PAUD Forum or HIMPAUDI – two sites for the professional training of early childhood educators outside of university education. In contrast to the first program she started, this playgroup was never intended to make money. To staff the program, she encouraged two friends to help, including a teacher at another early childhood program.
Interestingly enough, PAUD programming was also offered in the hamlet through a PosPAUD, which is one way the government has extended early childhood programming through existing health services, in this case the Posyandu local health post. A PosPAUD typically runs only once a month in connection with the monthly weighing of babies under five years of age, and they are usually organized by the local women organized through Pembinaan Kesejahateraan Keluarga (PKK) ). Often translated as the Family Welfare Movement in the past, PKK is a quasi-public organization of all-adult (i.e. married) women throughout Indonesia that has long been used to organize and support local community-based social services. In many poor areas, it is the work of PKK cadres that provides PAUD programming. In these cases, the association is less with education than with the expansion of health and care services. Although perhaps more closely intertwined with government initiatives, these programs typically offer the least money and opportunity to the women who are providing the early childhood programming. The six community workers who are helping with the PosPAUD only get health insurance as an incentive for their work.
A contrasting case was found at a playgroup connected to a Sanggar Kegiatan Belajar (SKB, Learning Center) associated with the regency (the rural equivalent of a city administratively). In this case, teachers with interests and experience in early childhood education were recruited, including some with degrees or diplomas in this specialty. Because of its close connection to the regency and the SKB learning center, there were strong connections here to the professional training available through HIMPAUDI and the PAUD Forum. One reason for the success of this program was support from the local tobacco industry and the reputation of a local high-school teacher who was involved early on. Here, the teachers were paid through incentives, whether from the Regency or local organizers, and tuition. This playgroup illustrates the influence of educational initiatives in shaping early childhood programs. The teachers made a distinction between this playgroup and PAUD per se because of PAUD’s association with the health services.
Two city programs were offered by the small neighborhood RW administrative units and the work of women associated with PKK. In both of these cases, relatively young neighborhood leaders, husbands, and wives were attempting to respond to government directives on PAUD. Their context differed from the peri-urban areas because their residents were older and many had left to work in Jakarta. In both cases, the PAUD was free to children and the teachers unpaid. The contrast between the two was their connection to the government and its programs. In the first case, the program had received a little money for educational toys and food for the children. There had been some training offered and some connection to PAUD Forum and HIMPAUDI, although the wife of the neighborhood leader had benefited rather than the teachers themselves. In the other case, the PAUD was described as “purely by the community” with little or no relationship to the official infrastructure of early childhood education. Here, one of the teachers had a Masters in Child Psychology and had her own practice. Given her own busy life, she actually got to do very little teaching. As she said, Even though I feel that I haven’t given my best since I’m still busy with my other job and other activities. Actually, I want to attend the training so I can learn more things too. It’s also actually related to my field, but it’s never in the right time.
In fact, three patterns emerged in these interviews. PAUD and playgroup teachers were either women whose skills were not being used elsewhere, teachers in formal education who were asked to contribute their time to programs in their own neighborhoods, or untrained PKK cadres. The conflict between the desire to support community initiatives and children and the desire for professional work and pay was a consistent theme.
Obstacles for women becoming childcare professionals
In the preceding section, we outlined some of the causes of the growth of PAUD programs and how they have been established and operated. From non-profit activism, to government directives, to business opportunities, early childhood programs have become a significant platform for social change in Indonesia. And yet, in many cases, the work of delivering early childhood programs appears to have become an obstacle to women’s own development. A regulation from the Education Ministry in 2009 (Permendiknas no. 54/2009) describes the standards for educational labor in this sector, and the qualification and competency of PAUD teachers are described in the regulations from the Ministry of Education (no. 16/2007). Those who do not yet meet these qualifications are to be called “caregivers”.
In her work, Sri Marpinjun has noted that most preschool teachers who have not yet met the standard either attend university or plan to attend so they can meet it. For example, Ibu Kartini (Mother Kartini) only had a junior high-school diploma when she began working as a preschool teacher for the first time in a private program. She was underpaid; however, she was eager to join “paket C” (Package C), which was developed for those who had the equivalent of a senior high-school diploma. Then, when the regulation changed to require teachers to have a university degree, she continued learning in Open University. Two or three years ago, finally, she finished her study.
In contrast, Sri Marpinjun has yet to find a caregiver working in the community-based PAUD programs who was eager to go to the university to meet the standard. Here, we consider one example. This particular PAUD program began in 2006 as a part of an RW neighborhood section. In this case, it had been encouraged by the municipal education office (Dinas Pendidikan Kota) and the city-level PKK led by the mayor’s wife. Five women from the local PKK became the PAUD team. Three of these women worked outside the home. One worked as a preschool teacher in the formal system, one worked as a hospital nurse, and one was a fruit seller in the market. The other two women were housewives; however, they were PKK cadres who took charge of programs such as the health post and the contraception program (APSARI). The woman who was working as a preschool teacher was the main organizer of this community-based PAUD, because she had the most experience facilitating children’s activity.
Like every new community-based PAUD, this program was supported with stimulant funds of about 1,000.000 rupiah (US$100) to provide learning materials. Initially, this program operated once a month at the same time as the Posyandu health post, and it provided health services to children aged 0–5 years. The program mostly comprised indoor play activity. Older children were allowed to cut and paste in art activities, while the younger could choose any toy available. Because these activities were held during the time of the health post, they lasted about one hour. Then, in 2010, the cadres started to add extra hours of operation for this community-based PAUD. It was open twice a week for one hour per day, and because it was more active, it received other stimulant funds from the city government to operate the center. The funds were allocated for additional outdoor learning materials such as a slide and monkey bar. Some funds were also provided for capacity building of the cadres; a trainer from the professional PAUD center was invited to assist the cadres in developing quality activities for children.
Because it was open more often, local families responded positively, and they sent their young children to join this center. At that time, the program was serving about 30 children aged 2–7 years. The families were happy because their children had more opportunities for learning experiences, and the program was free. Yet, the operation of this community-based PAUD was challenged by the cadres’ own job. For three years, the preschool teacher had been working to get higher education through the university in order to meet the standard. At the same time, one of the other women became pregnant and wanted to look after her own baby. Without these two, the other three women were not confident enough to operate the program by themselves, and they were also busy with their jobs. The cadres felt guilty but they could not find other women who were willing to replace them.
Ultimately, this program stopped running. The community tolerates this, perhaps because children were already registered in other PAUD centers and they did not miss the program. The Education Service (Dinas Pendidikan) had never visited to monitor this program and did not know about this problem. In fact, they were not informed that the program had stopped operating.
It was not only this program that had collapsed. Other programs in the district were also in the same situation. The problem was the same: no one cadre was willing to activate the community-based PAUD. It was clear that these community-based early childhood programs were not the same as the integrated health post; the government thought they could replicate the success of the Ministry of Health and the Posyandu system, but they could not. Part of the reason for this failure is that these community-based PAUD programs required more professional skills, not just the monitoring of the height and weight of children. PAUD programs also require attention to stimulating development and more structured design and methods, and more intensive training is required to produce PAUD service providers and teachers.
The available training and other capacity building provided by HIMPAUDI and Forum PAUD are perhaps only desired by persons who mean to be professional teachers or caregivers. The neighborhood women who worked as PKK cadres did not intend to train as professionals. As one cadre, a professional nurse, said, I won’t come to HIMPAUDI meetings. My [professional] work is so different from the PAUD thing, I don’t understand when they talk about PAUD. The other woman who is working as PAUD teacher must like HIMPAUDI because it is relevant with her main [professional] job.
Community: the answer or the problem?
If neoliberalism is taken to mean the government of the population through forms of self-management that require little support from the state, it is easy to see the rollout of PAUD programs as neoliberal. Coming as they did in the late 1990s, after the Asian financial crisis, and in tandem with democratization, devolution, and regional autonomy, the programs look like small-state solutions in an era of global restructuring. Their appearance in response to global policy dictates on child development and education for all, including the very young, seems to underline this explanation. Yet, what is interesting in the Indonesian context is the attention to community.
Considering early childhood education services internationally, Duncan and One (2012) identify the importance of the community in the delivering of services. The authors argue for, a shift in positioning early childhood services both as the heart of the community and as the heart and hearth of the community, rather than as just an added option to a program. They argue that Early Childhood Education and Care (ECEC) services can, and should, play pivotal roles in building democratic communities, family resilience, and a family wellness. (2012: 1)
From Dutch colonial administration, to Japanese occupation, to its zenith in Suharto’s modernizing authoritarian regime, the community has been used to organize and administer localities. Its durability is evident in the continuing reference to the community in more recent development plans in the era of democratization (Antlöv, 2003). The durability of the community form in social service delivery undermines any easy identification of it as “neoliberal”. If we shift from this, as a problem of neoliberalism, to one of social reproduction, another explanation for the continuing role of the community becomes possible.
In 2001, Cindy Katz described the neglect of social reproduction in analyses of globalization – a description that remains true in 2016. Katz argues that social reproduction “hinges upon the biological reproduction of the labor force, both generationally and on a daily basis, through the acquisition and distribution of the means of existence, including food, shelter, clothing, and health care” (2001: 711). Childcare is a central part of social reproduction, and Qvortup (1995) reminds us that children’s work in school and childcare settings must also be considered as central to social reproduction.
In using the community as the infrastructure for the delivery of necessary social welfare, the Indonesian economy benefits tremendously by not having to pay for the costs of social reproduction. Yet, to understand this as merely a government imposition misses a crucial aspect of the long-term use of the community in Indonesia: local people feel responsible for one another. The community is viewed as both a source of support and a shared responsibility. In the case studies provided here, locals remarked on the need to provide early childhood programs to the community, whether it was for pay or not. Professional women and local housewives alike feel the necessity of contributing their labor to provide these programs regardless of their compensation or the obstacles to their professionalization and advancement. Some see opportunity; others see important service to their communities.
Global regimes of accumulation, neoliberal or not, depend on the extraction of value through the devaluation of reproductive labor (Meillassoux, 1981). The exploitation of women’s labor in the rush to provide early childhood programs is neither new nor necessarily neoliberal. Instead, it is the result of value extraction by state and economy. Calling this “neoliberal” distracts attention from this key dynamic. The combination of poverty and gender inequality remains the problem to be resolved.
What would a better policy look like?
In the foregoing, we have described how community-based early childhood programs known as PAUD are managed in Indonesia with case studies from Yogyakarta. These programs depend on the “volunteered” labor of women, a consistent thread in Indonesia’s development. And yet, much of this work is also guided by the real desires to cooperate as neighbors. This tension is heightened by gender ideologies that both denigrate women’s issues and depend on their work for crucial social reproduction. Given this context, what would a better policy look like?
Ideally, while the state would take the biggest part of responsibility in PAUD programming, community participation would remain important. Because women have consistently been a crucial part of community involvement in PAUD programming, there is opportunity for the protection of women’s rights from exploitation. We make three specific recommendations:
The connection between PKK and the district/village levels of government should be ended. More autonomy for PKK cadres would mean that they are counted as part of formal government staff, rather than only as helpers willing to volunteer their labor. If the government wants to continue to use PKK cadres to run PAUD programs, then sending those women to school before they begin these community-based programs would be a good policy solution. The payment for these caregivers should be regularized so that reasonable compensation is delivered consistently and equitably.
Ultimately, we do not propose severing the link between women’s work, community, and early childhood education. Rather we propose to recognize that this work should serve not only to empower the young, but to provide opportunity and compensation for the women who provide this labor. These policy recommendations can be generalized given the emphasis on harnessing the community in the global push for early childhood programs (see Duncan and One, 2012). Indeed, beyond early childhood programs, the community form has been mobilized across developmental modalities (Mamdani, 1996). Here, we draw attention to how the advantages of the community as a means of delivering programming can become a disadvantage for women, if that work is based on the unacknowledged and uncompensated work of social reproduction.
Footnotes
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.