Footsteps (18 page)

I learned about all this at the auction paper. One afternoon at the paper, a white-bearded priest came in, together with a flaming-red-faced
man. The crucifix hanging around the priest’s neck seemed to want to comb his disintegrating chest-long whiskers. Both were Pure-Blood Europeans. They sat down on the guests’ divan and, ignoring anyone else present, continued their argument—in German.

“Impossible, my friend,” said the priest. “Van Heutsz is a soldier. There are only guns in his skull, and the little brains he needs to be able to use them for killing.”

The other man, in his short-sleeved white shirt, undone buttons, and white pants, rubbed out his cigar in the ashtray: “But those with small brains are usually scared of bigger killers. How many warships does the Indies have? And anyway they’re already falling apart. How many warships could the Netherlands send? Even with another hundred ships, we could not secure the Indies’ ten thousand miles!”

“But the Netherlands is an ally of the British! And the English rule the waves!”

“Once van Heutsz fires on one of the free states, Father, one of his colonial rivals will come to their aid. He won’t move before the crisis between Russia and Japan comes to a head. Killers are always afraid of their more expert rivals.”

My boss winked at me. I went across to the two men. And in my broken German asked what I could do for them. They went quiet, and left without excusing themselves.

After he heard from me what they’d been talking about, my boss repeated one of his most common instructions: “Make all our customers understand: There will be no war! I don’t care if it’s a German, Swiss, Belgian, or English, who is thinking of selling his mine or plantation. There will be no war! Even with the support he’s got from the Liberals and the campaigners for the Ethical Policy, van Heutsz will not risk the Indies.”

This was the message that we repeated to all our clients: There will be no war. War will not come. What we did announce every week was—emigration and…emigration. Emigration for the Javanese peasant—a caste that has become the grass eaters and is no longer of use to the meat-eating caste. Grass-eating
animals
can still be a meal for meat eaters. But in the human world? Mankind has civilization, he doesn’t pounce and kill in one go, people still have a chance to redeem themselves, even in installments.

And so it was with van Heutsz’s promise. For the emigrants, everything was guaranteed—transport, tools, kitchen utensils,
food for six months. You could repay in installments—in accord with the spirit of human civilization. Thus propagandized the busy village officials! But there were only a few Javanese farmers who pulled up roots and moved. Because, said an anonymous leaflet, the land was filled with a mystical power that bound the Javanese peasant to his land. Even when the land was no longer his. Those who did pull up roots were those without grass among the grass eaters, those for whom the earth provided no livelihood at all.

And Mr. Kaarsen for the umpteenth time soldered onto me his ideas: “No other general could have conquered Aceh except van Heutsz. That iron-hearted man will do whatever he thinks he has to do. Even the tiger’s whiskers would droop before him. And look at the emigration policy. Does he force anybody to go? See how he can show great compassion to people as well. He is moved too by the plight of the peasants who have no land, who have no secure livelihood. So what does he do for them? They can open up as much jungle as they are able, and that land will become theirs, and they’re even given a money stake as well.”

“Very generous. And whose forest is he giving away, sir?”

“Government forest. Yes, Mr. Minke, it’s no longer guns that determine how things go. It’s no longer those who rule with their magical weapons,
pasopati
or
rujakpolo
, but the genius who can use his weapons in a game of outmaneuvering his enemy. You too, sir, if you had weapons and could use them properly, you too could decide what happens in the world. Even a cat could.”

“A cat?”

“Or an
iguana
, and you don’t even have to own them. You can get guns on credit.”

It was also in 1904 that Mr. Kaarsen reported that it would be van Heutsz who started to implement the second plank of the Liberal platform—education, the establishment of primary schools
for village people. According to Kaarsen, van Heutsz was trying his hardest to get the support of the Free Democratic party.

The Russian-Japanese crisis exploded. And the Tsushima Straits witnessed the destruction of the Russian armada. Japan ruled the waves; and Asia rode the wind. The war did not spread. And the Sabang coal station returned to raking in profits without having to worry about any threats from anywhere.

Before I could digest all this, let alone come to some kind of appropriate conclusion, something extraordinary occurred at school. There was a “public lecture.” It was announced that any member of the public could attend—even from outside the school. And everyone would have the right to put forward their opinions, ideas, and criticisms.

“A demonstration of democracy,” I said to Mei when I suggested she come along, and after I had learned a little more about the meaning of democracy. “It should be very interesting. Just think. Everyone will have equal rights to put forward their views and criticisms. It’s like a fairy tale. Would you like to go, Mei?”

The “lecture” was given by a graduate of several decades before—a retired
Java Doctor
from the palace in Jogjakarta.

The doctor was a small, thin, bent man. He wore a
surjan
and a Jogjakarta destar. His long mustache drooped at the side of his mouth. His eyes were sunken, yet they shone in his old age. He bowed to different people around the hall as he entered. Several teachers, all Europeans, followed behind him. He looked like a genuine priyayi of the old school. His movements were smooth and refined, as were his words and his voice.

He sat in the front row with the teachers. When he was introduced to the gathering by one of the teachers, he stood up and, stooping, walked over to the podium, nodded to the teachers and the students, fixed his destar, brushed the sleeves of his surjan with his hands, placed his hands on the podium, cleared his throat, gave a fatherly smile, and began.

“May God give his blessing to you teachers, students, and other people present here tonight.” He spoke in thickly accented Dutch, with a true Javanese accent. “I give thanks for this opportunity to meet you all, who have been willing to waste your time to listen to my simple words. However my voice may sound, I very much hope that what I say tonight will be heard not only by your ears, but also by your hearts.”

I gave my wife a bit of a translation.

“He speaks so slowly,” she whispered.

“You must be patient when dealing with a true Javanese aristocrat, who has been educated in the old Javanese ways of writing and speaking,” I answered in a whisper.

“What can he say with such a weak presence?”

“How do I know? Let’s listen and observe this demonstration of democracy.”

The retired Java Doctor continued with his speech.

“Today’s medical school is more advanced than it was thirty years ago. The science of medicine has also added much to its store of knowledge. More and more germs and bacteria and their characteristics are being identified as a result of the new methods of making cultures. And more than that, the new generation of medical students looks more dashing, more enthusiastic, more handsome, and more interesting.”

A happy murmur rose up from the students.

“He’s clever with the polite chatter,” whispered Mei.

Of course, he went on, the teachers are also cleverer, more knowledgeable, have greater understanding, and are wiser. So therefore the number of students has also grown.

His thickly accented Dutch almost brought the non-Javanese students to laughter, which they had to strain to keep under control. I myself began to doubt whether this bent, old, and weak retired doctor with his thick accent could possibly have anything to offer. His opening wandered, was full of trivial chitchat, boring and uninteresting. And it was made even more tedious for me by the fact that I had to translate it all. I began to regret inviting Mei.

He’d been practicing as a Java Doctor now for thirty years. None of the students had yet reached forty years, which was the best age of all. At that age people start to look back and ask themselves: What have you contributed to this life, you, educated man? Medicine only for the sick patient, or for a sick way of life too? Already you students can probably imagine asking yourself that question one day. The reason is simple. Students are among the educated class, a class who have had the opportunity to obtain greater knowledge and understanding than their fellow countrymen. Intelligent people, clever people—not those with only scientific knowledge—will always be interested in the problems of life, and especially the vital aspects of life. They will be interested in thinking about them, solving the problems, and making some
contribution. The vital aspects of life were, he went on, happiness, suffering, love and compassion, service, truth, justice, power…. In a few years’ time, the students here will be out practicing as doctors, excelling in one of the vital areas of life—alleviating suffering. The most intense of sufferings, a suffering intertwined with poverty, with powerlessness.

His words came out faster, took on more substance, and became more interesting.

All the time he had been a doctor, he said, he had been saving money in the bank. Who knew if one day it would be of use? He lived from his pension, had never touched his savings. Now in his old age, with only a little strength remaining (he lifted up his little finger, pointing to his fingernail), he found himself having to face more and more of the big issues of life. Sometimes they came in a group, sometimes unexpectedly. Sometimes people weren’t aware of what was needed because they just didn’t have the capacity to understand. He didn’t know if among the students there were any who knew, knew what was really needed…yes, what was it they should know? He seemed to be plucking at the air for an answer—an old man who’d forgotten what he had to say.

People laughed, and he seemed to be encouraged by the laughter.

Yes, what…He grasped about again…something, something that is absolutely not a laughing matter.

There was more laughter, even from Mei.

“Because,” he said, at last, “what I am talking about is the awakening of a people’s consciousness. Not the decline of a people.”

The laughter ceased.

He pointed northward. Up there was to be found an Asian people who stood tall and firm and were respected. They were recognized by all the civilized peoples of the world as their equals. What other people had achieved that recognition except the Japanese? We are far, far away from Japan but we still feel the waves that it has made—we, the educated. And this is even more the case for the intelligent. What is it that we should understand from this? It is that the emergence of Japan has begun to change the face of the world. Only those who understand this will grasp what is happening. It would be a great pity if there were among the students any who did not understand what had made these devel-
opments possible. Come on then, who here among the students, or anywhere in these Indies, understands what was behind this development?

He looked down on the first row—the teachers—then shifted his gaze to the rest of the audience. No one attempted an answer to his question.

He seemed disappointed that there were no answers. He went on: “No, none of you understand. It is only the Eurasians and the Chinese Mixed-Bloods who understand what has to be done. Indeed, it was actually the Chinese who first showed that they understood the lessons of Japan. They responded to Japan’s awakening. They organized themselves. They organized themselves here in the Indies so that they could begin the process of awakening their own people—through education. Their first organization was the Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan. And it was the first organization of its type in the Indies—the first modern organization.”

Then he asked another question: What then is a modern organization? Again there were no replies.

Such an organization, he explained, was not only organized democratically but was also recognized by the authorities—in this case, by the Netherlands Indies Government. And furthermore, he added, such an organization stands before the law with the same rights as a Pure-Blood European! Such an organization is recognized under the law as a body corporate.

This organization, he said, was founded in 1900 when we Natives were still asleep, asleep in our cradle of ignorance. It was a beautiful and peaceful sleep. And it seems that nothing has changed today. He asked that he be forgiven if this was not truly the case. So we Natives have been left behind not only by the Chinese but also by the Arabs who live here in the Indies. Three years after the Chinese, realizing their deficiencies compared to Japan, began their struggle, the Arabs did likewise. They established a similar organization called the Sumatra Batavia Alkhariah. While all this was happening the Natives continued to sleep peacefully.

Quiet and an atmosphere of concentration descended upon the auditorium. No one noticed his accented Dutch and his strange style of speech anymore.

The Arabs established their first organization in 1902. Now a more advanced one was being established, the Jamiatul Khair. It had a program similar to that of the Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan—
it emphasized education. It had also registered as a legal body, so it too now had the same status under the law as a Pure-Blood European. Both the Chinese and Arab organizations were working to bring their people into the modern era. The Chinese brought in teachers from China and Japan, while the Arabs’ teachers came from Algeria and Tunisia. If we Natives began organizing now we would be starting from behind. The score at the moment is Chinese 4-Natives 0; Chinese 4-Arabs 2, and Arabs 2-Natives 0. That’s how many years we are behind.