Korupsi Dana Kapitasi

Korupsi Dana Kapitasi Dewi Anggraeni  ;   Staf Divisi Kampanye Publik Indonesia Corruption Watch

                                                        KOMPAS, 09 Maret 2018

                                                           

Pemerintah telah menggelontorkan anggaran yang besar untuk dana kapitasi melalui Badan Penyelenggara Jaminan Sosial (BPJS) Kesehatan. Tahun 2016, sebanyak 9.767 puskesmas dan fasiltas kesehatan tingkat pertama (FKTP) lainnya di seluruh Indonesia menerima dana kapitasi sebesar Rp 13 triliun. Pada 2017, dana kapitasi yang digelontorkan diperkirakan Rp 14 triliun. Rata-rata setiap FKTP akan mendapatkan dana kapitasi sebesar Rp 400 juta per tahun. Besarnya dana kapitasi ini dihadapkan pada permasalahan korupsi di tingkat daerah. Hasil pemantauan Indonesia Corruption Watch (ICW) terhadap potensi korupsi dana kapitasi di FKTP milik daerah, ada delapan kasus dalam rentang waktu 2014-2018. Kerugian negara yang ditimbulkan mencapai Rp 5,8 miliar. Jumlah tersangka terkait kasus korupsi dana kapitasi ini mencapai 14 orang. Menariknya, meski dalam jumlah kasus dan kerugian negara kecil, tetapi korupsi dana kapitasi tidak hanya melibatkan birokrasi menengah bawah (kepala puskesmas dan bendahara), juga pejabat dinas kesehatan, bahkan kepala daerah. Jumlah kasus korupsi ini ‘terlihat’ kecil karena yang dihitung hanya kasus yang sudah sampai pada tahapan penetapan tersangka. Dari 14 tersangka, ada tiga kepala puskesmas, dua bendahara puskesmas, lima kepala dinas kesehatan, satu bendahara dinas kesehatan, satu sekretaris dinas kesehatan, satu kepala bidang layanan kesehatan, dan satu bupati. Pada awal Februari lalu, penangkapan bupati Jombang menjadi salah satu sorotan publik. Inna Silestyowati, pelaksana tugas Kepala Dinas Kesehatan Pemerintah Kabupaten Jombang, terlibat dalam kasus suap kepada Bupati Jombang Nyono Suharli Wihandoko. Uang suap ini dikutip Inna dari 34 puskesmas di Jombang selama Juni-Desember 2017. Kasus ini terkait permintaan Inna supaya ditetapkan sebagai kepala dinas kesehatan definitif. Komisi Pemberantasan Korupsi telah menetapkan Nyono dan Inna sebagai tersangka korupsi dan menahan lima orang lainnya. Modus yang ditemukan dalam kasus korupsi dana kapitasi beragam. Rincian temuan antara lain terkait memanfaatkan dana kapitasi tak sesuai ketentuan peraturan perundang-undangan (2 kasus), manipulasi bukti pertanggungjawaban dan pencairan dana kapitasi (1), serta menarik biaya dari peserta yang seharusnya telah dijamin dalam biaya kapitasi dan/atau non-kapitasi sesuai standar tarif yang ditetapkan (5). Selain korupsi dana kapitasi, ada isu lain yang juga mencuat terkait pengelolaan dana kapitasi, yakni isu pemotongan dana kapitasi di Jawa Barat, Jawa Timur, Sumatera Utara, Aceh, Sumatera Selatan; penggelapan dana kapitasi seperti di Sulawesi Selatan; dan penyimpangan dana kapitasi seperti yang terjadi di Jawa Barat pada 2014.Dari aspek penegakan hukum, kasus korupsi dana kapitasi paling banyak ditangani kejaksaan negeri (7 kasus) dan KPK (1). Minimnya kasus yang ditangani KPK kemungkinan karena keterbatasan wewenang yang dimiliki. Adapun 1 kasus yang baru terjadi ditangani KPK karena melibatkan kepala daerah. Faktor penyebab Ada berbagai faktor yang jadi penyebab korupsi dana kapitasi. Pertama, dana yang diterima puskesmas sangat besar. Puskesmas tidak hanya menerima dana kapitasi, juga dana Bantuan Operasional Kesehatan (BOK), dana jamkesda, dan APBD. Besarnya dana ini menjadikan pejabat pemerintah daerah tertarik mencari keuntungan. Dorongan ini juga diperkuat adanya kewenangan yang dimiliki pemerintah daerah dari perencanaan hingga pencairan dana yang diterima puskesmas. Adapun pegawai puskesmas medis maupun non- medis tidak berani menyikapi pemotongan, pemerasan, atau pungutan liar karena tekanan karier dan stigma yang bisa didapatnya, juga hierarki yang kuat antara puskesmas, dinas kesehatan, dan kepala daerah. Kedua, pengelolaan dana kapitasi puskesmas tidak transparan. Pengelolaan dana kapitasi, mulai dari perencanaan hingga pertanggungjawaban, sepenuhnya tertutup; dikelola oleh kepala dan bendahara puskesmas. Publik tidak bisa mengakses besaran dan pemanfaatan dana kapitasi puskesmas. Ketiga, sistem pengawasan dan pencatatan pertanggungjawaban yang belum baik. Aparat Pengawas Internal Pemerintah (APIP) yang seharusnya mengawasi tidak mendapat program dan anggaran untuk pendampingan, pengawasan, maupun pemeriksaan dana kapitasi. Keempat, belum adanya sanksi tegas terkait pemotongan, pemerasan, maupun pungutan liar untuk dana kapitasi. Hal ini terbukti dari jumlah kasus korupsi dana kapitasi yang sudah masuk tahap penetapan tersangka. Penyelewengan dana kapitasi diduga terjadi sistematis dan luas, tetapi banyak yang diselesaikan tanpa dibawa ke ranah pidana. Terakhir, belum adanya sistem perlindungan saksi pelapor dalam pemerintah daerah. Modus korupsi terbanyak adalah pemotongan atau pungutan kepada petugas puskesmas. Mestinya banyak keluhan dan laporan dari para petugas puskesmas, tetapi ini tidak terjadi karena ketakutan dan ancaman pada kelangsungan karier mereka. Meski jumlah kasus korupsi dana kapitasi tak banyak, tetapi pemerintah pusat maupun daerah sepatutnya memberi perhatian serius. Hal ini karena dana kapitasi yang dianggarkan dalam jumlah besar dan meningkat setiap tahun mengikuti jumlah peserta Jaminan Kesehatan Nasional (JKN). Selain itu, dana kapitasi menjadi celah baru melanggengkan kekuasaan, terbukti dari OTT KPK di Kabupaten Jombang. Pengawasan lebih serius dibutuhkan dalam segala aspek pengelolaan dana kapitasi, baik dari APIP maupun dari kementerian dan lembaga terkait. Pengawasan dan perhatian lebih dibutuhkan jika ingin mewujudkan cita-cita universal health coverage (UHC) di mana puskesmas menjadi ujung tombak pelaksanaan JKN. Dibutuhkan juga peningkatan kemampuan manajemen dan keefektifan pengelolaan dana kapitasi di puskesmas. Pemerintah jangan hanya menggelontorkan uang ke daerah semata-mata mengejar  UHC tetapi tidak memikirkan kemampuan daerah dalam mengelola dana sebesar itu. ●

‘Cina’ or ‘Tionghoa’? Why it matters, and why now? Dewi Anggraeni  ;   The author of Tragedi Mei 1998 dan Lahirnya Komnas Perempuan (The May 1998 Tragedy and the birth of the National Commission of Violence against Women), a book forthcoming in April, published by Penerbit Buku Kompas

JAKARTA POST,  25 Maret 2014

                                      

                                                                                         

                                                      

Take it from me, if you think something sounds trivial, but it hurts a large number of people, then it is not. Chances are, it sounds or looks trivial because you only see it from your own perspective, or you have never really experienced the hurt or something comparable to the hurt. This is an issue idiosyncratically Indonesian. In other countries in the region where Malay is used, ethnic Chinese have always been referred to as Cina or China (pronounced the same). The words Tionghoa and Tiongkok only began to be used at the turn of the 20th century in this country. Since then, though the terms Tionghoa and Tiongkok were preferred by many people of Chinese descent, to Cina, it was not such a serious issue until 47 years ago. Presidential letter No. SE-06/Pred.Kab/6/1967 of 28 June 1967 was issued during Soeharto’s New Order regime, which specified that all things Chinese be called Cina instead of Tionghoa. Thus the People’s Republic of China was from then on officially translated in Indonesian as Republik Rakyat Cina, no longer Republik Rakyat Tiongkok. Following the implementation of that presidential letter, a stream of policies were conceived and executed that effectively boxed Indonesia’s ethnic Chinese into an ever more limited space in terms of means of earning a living, as well as culture and expression. Yet a relatively small number were also accorded patronage in a very public manner, for all — including those struggling to make a living — to see. By choice and by default, ethnic Chinese became the business or enterprise class of Indonesian society, an inchoate group which transcended divisions of social class, as they inhabited the whole continuum, from the struggling to the very wealthy. However, because the wealthier they were, the easier they were to tell apart, the lasting impression of the ethnic Chinese in the collective psyche of the general population was that they were all rich, and that they were rich because of their collusion with the elites in power. The ethnic Chinese thus became vulnerable to being made political and social scapegoats. Though not an everyday occurrence, victimization on different scales did happen, and often. And when they were attacked, bullied or met with verbal insults, they were told that they were fielding all this because they were Cina. So ethnic Chinese had to live with the awareness that on occasions when they were attacked, they had no effective recourse apart from fleeing. And when those who could afford to, did flee, they were further accused of taking their money (obtained through collusion with someone powerful) out of the country. They became a pathetic class of society, always cowering, often obsequious, to those in power, because they themselves had no political power. In brief, this is the kind of memory the ethnic Chinese have of being named, called and dismissed, as Cina. It was far from trivial. So when on March 14 President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono officially revoked the offending presidential letter of 1967, and thus reversed the use of the word Cina to Tionghoa, it was welcomed by the country’s ethnic-Chinese community. In reality, after the terrible May riots of 1998 when ethnic Chinese were largely victimized, along with the summary sacrifice of many of the urban poor, most Indonesians, not only those of Chinese descent, began replacing Cina with Tionghoa when referring to ethnic Chinese. This was done following the public acknowledgement accorded to Chinese culture by then-president Abdurrahman Wahid, and later on, then-president Megawati Soekarnoputri. The May riots indeed jolted many people into pondering the state of affairs with regards to the country’s ethnic Chinese, among other issues. So why the fuss about an official name change? What’s in a name? A great deal. Ethnic Chinese can now feel they have regained their self-respect vis-à-vis the authorities and the community. The reversal represents a symbolic gesture on the part of the government that by shedding the name Cina they are no longer held in contempt, that they can hitherto shed the extraordinarily negative image attributed to them by the New Order government. Are you, however, curious as to why President Yudhoyono took this step, and why now? Was it one of his last gestures for his ethnic-Chinese friends? Did he suddenly receive a kind of epiphany? I have discovered that it was the fruit of sustained lobbying by Murdaya Poo, a former legislator, and Eddie Lembong, the founder of the Nabil Foundation, who persuaded the President to get rid of the last major impediment in the restoration of the country’s ethnic Chinese’s sense of self-worth in order for them to participate fully in the endeavors of nation-building. On the other hand, it may very well have been the President’s own initiative, merely spurred on by Murdaya Poo and Eddie Lembong. Who knows? ●

Women and social convention : A lesson for Indonesia

Women and social convention : A lesson for Indonesia Dewi Anggraeni  ;  A Freelance Journalist

JAKARTA POST, 12 April 2013

  

The pregnant 17-year-old was told that unless she signed the adoption papers she wouldn’t get any help from the organization. Alone, scared, confused and unaware of her basic rights, the girl signed the papers. Almost immediately she regretted it, but saw no recourse.  On the day she gave birth, she was put on the birthing table, and roughly told to push and keep pushing. When the baby began to come out, a pillow was placed between her head and her belly. All she knew of the baby’s presence was its cry. She wanted to see and hold it but was too scared to ask. They quickly took the baby out of the room, and she felt totally alone, though there were people around her.  There had to be; they still had to take the placenta out. But, if they said anything to each other they didn’t once include her in their conversation. She was seized by a terrible sense of loss, of despair, and she just wanted to be swallowed by oblivion. A scene of a tear-jerking telenovela (soap opera) on Indonesian television? There was a familiar ring to it and so feasible in Indonesian culture anywhere in the country. But, no. It was a true story that took place in Australia in the 1960s.  On March 21, Prime Minister Julia Gillard delivered an apology to some 250,000 mothers and children affected by Australia’s forced adoption policy between the 1950s and 1970s.  Addressing hundreds of victims who had come to Parliament House in Canberra, Gillard said, “Today, this Parliament, on behalf of the Australian people, takes responsibility and apologizes for the policies and practices that forced the separation of mothers from their babies, which created a lifelong legacy of pain and suffering.” She then announced that the government would provide A$5 million (US$6.5 million) of funding to improve access to specialist support, records trading and mental healthcare for those affected by forced adoption, and A$1.5 million for a special exhibition, a gesture of recognition for their suffering. The term “forced adoption policy” may have led people to think that there was actually such a policy in Australia. There was not. There was, rather, a social convention that gave birth to the abominable practices.  Social convention demands tidiness; one dictum being, young people marry before they sleep together. Then, and only then, will they have children. Nowadays, at least in Australia, while the dictum still exists, and is considered preferable, some have begun to defy it and yet the world does not come to an end.  However, during most of the 20th century (probably barring the war years) through the late 1970s, women who had children out of wedlock, known as “unmarried mothers”, were regarded with a great deal of suspicion, and seen as seriously lacking in morality, thus not the type whose society you sought, or invited to your home, in case your children — particularly your husband — became close to them. They also brought shame to their families. So, women would instinctively avoid falling into that situation; so much so that if they did become pregnant, to spineless boyfriends or in some cases irresponsible married men who quietly returned to their respectable married lives, they would do their utmost to hide the situation. If they had strong, supportive families, they would count themselves lucky. When a young teenage girl became pregnant and her boyfriend showed no intention of marrying her, it would be like a non-swimmer being thrown into the merciless sea: nothing to hang on to, and unless she grabbed at something, anything, fast, she would drown. Her family had either turned her out, or she was too scared to tell them. So, most likely in desperation, she’d go to one of the charitable houses she knew, run by government or religious institutions.  Unfortunately, while she may have received the help she immediately needed she was not in a strong bargaining position. Almost without exception, girls who found themselves in this situation were asked to sign papers relinquishing their babies.  Many naturally never recovered from the trauma of separation, though they managed to keep it under the surface, and often their mental health deteriorated.  In the 1980s, a number of organizations concerned themselves with tracing the children and reuniting them with their mothers. They discovered that the children had not all fared well, either. Even those brought up in happy family situations, upon discovering that they had been adopted — their mothers had given them up — had lived with an inevitable sense of rejection until they met face-to-face with their mothers (those who were lucky enough to have the opportunity). The most often-asked question was, “Did you want to give me up?” This is not a phenomenon peculiar to Australia. It can happen in Indonesia, or anywhere else in the world, where a similar social convention still prevails. Unfortunately, women are the hardest hit by the tyranny.  In many cultures, men who have impregnated their girlfriends but are unable or unwilling to marry them can generally go about their business with impunity, even continue living in a respectable family situation if they are already married.  With an increasingly liberated media, Indonesia has gone a long way toward understanding the tenets of basic human rights, and people are more uncomfortable, and more willing to speak up when they see unfairness or instances of blatant injustice. Would revisiting an unjust convention be too much to ask? ●

Criticizing rape cases : Trapped in mental, moral stagnation

Criticizing rape cases : Trapped in mental, moral stagnation Dewi Anggraeni ;  A Journalist and Adjunct Research Associate at the School of Political and Social Inquiry in the Faculty of Arts at Monash University in Melbourne

JAKARTA POST, 21 Januari 2013

  

A family friend, most likely to stress what a precocious brat I had been, related this to me. Many years ago as a child growing up in Jakarta, I asked my father what “rape” meant. He stopped and thought quickly, then replied, “It’s a very, very bad act, when a man forces a woman to do what he wants.” I suspect at the time, homosexuality was out of the equation, especially when talking to a child. “Why would a man force a woman? Not the other way around? Or a man forces another man?” I asked further. “Because a woman is usually not as strong as a man,” was his answer. Decades later, I realized how much was implied in my father’s answer: Cowardice, a bullying mentality and collective social attitudes concerning women. Unfortunately, the picture only fell into place in retrospect. Since rape represented a behavioral aberration, it was very rarely mentioned in polite conversations or family exchanges. And when I was growing up, the concept that women were physically, mentally, intellectually and emotionally inferior to men was ingrained in society. And for that reason, women should know their place. The ideal woman was one who came across as rather clueless, while a hopeless dependence on men was regarded as the utmost sign of femininity. Moreover, clothes should reflect respectability and unattainable desirability. Women who did not fit this pattern were judged as weird, vulgar, unfit for respectable society or downright undesirable. Occasionally, when it transpired that a rape victim was one of “those women” who fell through gasps of disapproval and pity, there was always the shrug of the often unstated “what’d you expect?” This was a form of mental tyranny that was subliminally and successfully planted and nurtured in society; as most people, men and women, naturally wanted to be accepted in the mainstream. And those who had the courage to challenge the notion, ran the risk of being branded as “radical”, thus not be taken seriously. And if they were women, there was an added epithet of “unfeminine” as well. In reality, this did not do men any good either, because it led patriarchy to the extent of mental and moral torpor, akin to the overall moral degradation of a dynasty that has ruled for too long. The problem is the notion was so insidious it transcended cultural boundaries, because patriarchy became an accepted norm in modern as well as traditional societies albeit to differing degrees. As a young adult in Australia, I met a larger number of men who showed greater respect for women than those I knew in Indonesia, men who believed that women could be as smart as they were. However even these men, when confronted by really assertively intelligent women, were nonplussed, commenting that they were too aggressive and unfeminine for their own good. It was interesting to note that many of their female peers agreed with them. In other words, you wouldn’t find many friends even among women if you did not vaguely conform to the accepted norms. I had my share of workplace sexual harassment, which opened my eyes to the complexity of the problem. The offending senior colleague was the husband of a close friend. To the distressing doubts whether I encouraged his behavior was added the fear of upsetting my friend who thought her husband was God’s gift to humanity. I did not even tell my own husband until a long time after the events. I was sure then even if I told people about what this man had done, nobody would have believed me, and worse still, everybody would have blamed me instead. Fortunately, I was able to dive into my fiction writing and my character died a painful death from being bitten by a scorpion. Needless to say, the fictional death didn’t solve the real-life problem immediately, but somehow it made me see what he really was — a weakling playing the role of a powerful character. And I think my suddenly acquired self-confidence might have disconcerted him and kept him away. Losing the friendship of his wife was the price I had to pay.  Not everyone in my situation has been that lucky. Some have even been raped without having the courage to report the crime because of the well-known odds against having their stories believed, and the added social stigma of being branded “liars” as well. A decade or so later, I invited a friend and her husband to lunch. They were funny and we laughed a lot. At some stage they told a rape joke. Trying to be a good hostess, I laughed, reluctantly. However, my daughter who was home from college did not. When we were alone, my daughter asked why I’d laughed at such a tasteless joke. I felt uncomfortable and heartened all at once. The grounds had shifted on the issue of rape. Nonetheless, rape in varying degrees of horridness, continues to be committed throughout the world, though with decreasing impunity. We are shocked now and again, with the most recent despicable incident being the Dec. 16, 2012 gang rape, and the subsequent death, of a young student in New Delhi, which stirred ire and resounding outrage around the world. The anger had not yet subsided when a judge seeking a seat on Indonesia’s Supreme Court commented that rape should be treated differently from other crimes, because both the perpetrators and the victims enjoyed the act. Then, dismayed by the amount of anger he caused, he tried to redeem himself by showing remorse. I presume the man has been mentally trapped in the old mind-set, and thought himself very witty in passing off the offensive comment. But the fact that he was hoping to be a Supreme Court judge chills me to the bone. This one was caught thanks to media vigilance, but how many slipped through the net and filled decision-making positions in the country’s power elite? One should wonder. ●

Freedom of speech, social media and multiculturalism

Freedom of speech, social media and multiculturalism Dewi Anggraeni ;  A Journalist and Adjunct Research Associate at the School of Political and Social Inquiry, Faculty of Arts, Monash University, Melbourne

JAKARTA POST, 22 Oktober 2012

  

A few days ago, a woman fled Singapore after posting some emotion-charged remarks on Facebook to which she received a stream of hostile feedback.  The bone of her contention was what she deemed as noise coming from wedding parties held in public spaces, known in Singapore as “void decks”, under housing blocks.  The noise, she claimed, prevented her from being able to rest. Frustrated, she apparently went straight to her Facebook wall and lashed out. She may have caused less damage had she omitted to name the ethnic group of the people who were the subjects of her anger; interestingly, not her own.  In a multi-racial Singapore, her comments roused considerable ire, not only on the part of the aggrieved people but also reportedly that of no less than the nation state’s Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, who condemned the comments as unacceptable and offensive to that particular race of people. In my early teenage years a hundred years ago — give or take several decades — I lived with my parents and siblings in a Jakartan suburb, next door to a gregarious family, without doubt aficionados of Betawi entertainment culture.  And much to the delight (or horror) of those in the neighborhood, being also very well-off, at least once a month, sometimes more often, this family would throw a party, complete with a live kroncong band and ronggeng (dance performers who woo the audience to join in).  These parties, which ostensibly celebrated some family event or other, would go on from the early afternoon till the small hours of the following morning. In fact, that was how my West Javanese-born mother and I (probably surreptitiously, my brothers as well) became hooked on Betawi tunes like “Kicir-kicir”, “Kroncong Kemayoran” and “Soleram”. We’d move around the house carrying out our respective tasks wriggling, shimmying and singing along, ignoring our bemused father.  I wouldn’t mind betting that karaoke actually germinated in Jakarta. On those occasions, we stopped listening to music on our own radio since our house was drowned in loud, free music.  Years later, bringing up my family in Melbourne, I forced those tunes on my children whenever I had a nostalgic turn, to the extent that they knew when to yell “hey” during my renditions of “Jali-jali” or “Soleram”. I admit that these events did not necessarily affect everyone in the neighborhood back then in the same way, as not everyone was native Jakartan and submerged in Betawi culture.  However, those who preferred to listen to their own music or merely enjoy a little peace and quiet, either complained in private, or resorted to accommodating and accepting to keep the peace in the  neighborhood.  I recall a throw-away line from an obviously exasperated neighbor — in private, of course — “Man, if they ever run out of birthdays, engagements, weddings and deaths, I wonder if they would kill one of their older relatives for an excuse for a party?” Multiculturalism did not start when the media began to use the term in earnest in the 1960s. A multicultural mode of living had begun long before that, each community negotiating its way in a manner suitable and appropriate for itself.  Language is often a cultural marker. In dominantly German-speaking Switzerland, for example, a confederation incorporating French-speaking and Italian-speaking cantons instituted a federal constitution in 1848, naming German, French, Italian and Romansh as the national languages. Despite the wide disparity in the number of speakers of each of those languages (German 64 percent, French 20 percent, Italian 6.5 percent and Romansh 0.5 percent), all four languages are accorded equal importance, used both in business as well as intimate family situations. Most Swiss people speak three languages as well as English.  In officially bilingual Canada, people move from English-speaking to French-speaking regions, and vice-versa, seamlessly as people are fluent in both languages. In Belgium, Flemish, Dutch and French speakers also speak at least one of the other tongues.  There are also de facto markers, such as religion and ethnicity. Each of these countries has its own legal infrastructure that serves to guarantee everybody’s rights. Indonesia has not instituted a specifically multicultural policy and has only one official national language, but in reality people live in pockets of multicultural communities. And every day these people negotiate their way around and across the markers. However, there are two elements that are essential in the continuous negotiations: respect and tolerance, which can be processed into a built-in sense of what remarks are appropriate for public consumption and what are not. Considering the much larger population and wider variety of subcultures, each with its own language and customs, in Indonesia compared to Singapore, dare I say that Indonesia is not doing badly?  Altercations of a similar kind do happen, but are relatively few in number. It would be interesting to observe, however, if increasing access to Facebook and other social media sites will change this situation. Even in countries where social media has been widely used for a decade or so, many users don’t seem to realize that they are posting private thoughts onto a public space. Or they may think they are merely exercising free speech.  Unfortunately, many do that without consciously according the objects of their potentially insulting remarks the same rights to free speech; or they simply appear completely unaware that their comments may offend anyone. Should something like “insult-handling management” be included in the school curriculum? Or is it enough to instill respect and tolerance when bringing up our children? After all, in our increasingly multi-glott and multicultural (albeit unofficial) society, these will become absolutely necessary if we want things to run relatively smoothly. ●