The Day of Living Dangerously

Thirteen years ago today, I thought I might not live to see another day.

The fall of 1997 marked the height of the Asian financial crisis. I was in Jakarta for a couple of weeks on business. From the time I landed to the time I left the rupiah depreciated at least 25% and each day there were reports of protests around the city. I hadn't seen The Year of Living Dangerously (and still haven't) but I knew a little about Indonesia's history and Jakarta, at that point, felt as if it was teetering on the edge of a coup or revolution.

A new central bank building (pictured above) was under construction. At the conclusion of our meetings Friday afternoon we were instructed to meet at the new building Monday morning.

At 9:00am Monday, I was sitting at a conference table on the 21st floor of the new Bank Indonesia building, my chair near a window. About 15 minutes into the discussion a faint smell of smoke began to fill the room. As a look of concern crossed my face, our host smiled and said "don't worry they are still working on the upper floors of the building. That must be from some welding being done."

A few minutes later, as I continued to be distracted by the smell of smoke, I glanced out the window and 20 floors below I saw people running out of the building while others looked up at the new office tower and screamed.

I turned and interrupted the discussion, "We need to leave NOW. The building is on fire."

As we hurriedly left the conference room I was surprised by the normality of what I saw and didn't hear: people still working at their desks and no loud clangs from fire alarms. Word spread quickly and within seconds a steady stream of people began making their way toward the stairs.

Floor 20, floor 19, floor 18, floor 17, floor 16. We slowly descended the smokey stairwell. As we passed each additional floor the number of people on the stairs expanded which slowed the descent further. Fortunately no one panicked.

Floor 15, floor 14, floor 13, floor 12 By now the stairwell was packed and the smoke continued to thicken. Off came my suit jacket to use as a makeshift mask.

My mind raced trying to answer the unanswerable and thinking the unthinkable:

"Where is the fire?"
"Is it above or below?"
"Why is the smoke getting thicker? The fire must be below."
"Smoke kills more than flames."
"If I get to the 5th or 4th floor I have a chance if I have to jump."

Floor 11, floor 10, floor 9, floor 8. The smoke is almost unbearable. Some people scream out from a lower floor and being to run back up the stairs. Not a good sign. This can't be a happening. The fire must be below. It's too high to jump.

We exit the stairwell, many rush to balconies for fresh air. I follow a different group to another stairwell. Within seconds the power goes out. It's pitch black, the smoke is nearly intolerable, people frantically pull out cigarette lighters to guide the way. It's relatively quiet except for the footsteps and the coughing.

Floor 7, floor 6, floor 5, floor 4. There's no sign of fire and the smoke starts to thin out. I begin to think we may make it out safely.

Floor 3, floor 2, floor 1. Finally at ground level. I breathe a deep sigh of relief and gratitude.

I realize I misinterpreted the worsening smoke as a sign that the fire was below but it was the exact opposite. Since smoke is heavier that air, it was dropping down the ventilation shaft, coming out of openings in the stairwell, and thus getting thicker the closer we got the the ground.

My colleague and I exit from the rear of building. I glance up and see a little smoke coming from the upper floors and think it's not nearly as bad as it seemed.

We walk to the front of the building and as we turn the corner, a different scene unfolds. People are laid out on the grass, broken glass from windows that have fallen hundreds of feet litters the street, and enormous flames engulf the top floors of Bank Indonesia.

Just as we're leaving, a few feeble fire trucks began to arrive, almost 20 minutes after I smelled the initial scent of smoke. At first I was disturbed they took so long to get there but then realized that with the fire so far up there was nothing much they could do to extinguish the inferno.

I arrived back at my hotel and headed to the lounge. By now it's around 9:45am. The hostess came to my table and asked if I'd care for anything. "Yes" I replied, "I'd like a double martini please." She kindly told me they don't serve alcohol so early in the day. I nod in understanding then point towards the large window I'm sitting next to, "See the building over there, the one with the flames and smoke coming out of it and the helicopters overhead? I just came out of that building, so if you could bring me something I'd appreciate it." She quickly returned with a glass of wine.

The next day, a local newspaper article stated that 15 people died in the fire. The suspected cause was an electrical shortage three floors up from where my meeting was held. The rumor, however, was that the Ministry of Finance had suspiciously caught on fire a few weeks earlier and as a result some suspected arson.

I never did hear if an official cause was determined. I left Jakarta several days later. Within five months Indonesia's strongman, Suharto, who had ruled the country since 1965 (The Year of Living Dangerously) had resigned.

Each year on December 7th I think about the tragedy that took so many lives and reflect on how fortunate I am that things didn't turn out differently for me.

A BBC article about the fire is here.