Footsteps (38 page)
“In our organization the highest priyayi we had was a patih.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“Agreed, Tuan. Except I still can’t stop myself from thinking about the Sarekat’s death. What do you think, Tuan, is it possible to have an effective organization without recruiting the priyayi?”
“You still haven’t given up, have you?”
“Because Boedi Oetomo’s mistakes are obvious from the outset. First, they are basing themselves on the priyayi. Second, they are denying the reality that the Indies comprises many peoples. What is your opinion?”
“I don’t think the real issue is whether you base yourself on one people or many. You have to identify what can unite people. You have to find those things on which unity can be based.”
“You’re right! And you find those unifying elements within and among the various peoples, Tuan.”
He didn’t go on but waited until refreshments were served. He invited me to partake. He was still reluctant to continue the discussion.
“And what is it that can unify us?”
“Religion. Islam.”
His answer astounded me. He didn’t include anything to do with education. I asked a few more questions but he wasn’t really interested. He didn’t want to be disappointed a second time. So I took my leave, carrying with me his ideas—religion and Islam.
Back in Buitenzorg I became absorbed in thinking about these ideas. The Prophet had united his people. The vast majority of the people of the Indies were Moslem. And yet a feature of the modern era was that the non-Christian peoples of the world had been defeated by Europe. Was it only because they had not yet modernized? What was the use of unity without modernization, ‘without education? You might share some superficial feature, but what else would there be? The kind of strength you can gather that way—assuming you can actually build a strong organization—would just turn into a heavy boulder, unable to be lifted, unable also to move forward, until one day someone comes along and destroys it with dynamite.
Being educated, having a progressive outlook, these also must be among the principles that guide the organization. Islam and being educated! Only modern learning and understanding can show the way!
Boedi Oetomo succeeded in its first year. It succeeded in isolating itself from the other colonized peoples of the Indies. It ignored the reality that the Indies comprised many peoples. If an organization was formed that was based on religion…but there are many religions among the colonized peoples of the Indies. There are those who have no religion, following the old beliefs of their ancestors. What was it that could really unify our peoples?
Once again, for the umpteenth time, I was groping in the dark.
A big event took place—in Surabaya. Who would ever have imagined that such a little incident could evolve into such a major affair, just because of a principle!
A Chinese merchant had gone to a big European firm to buy some goods. There was a misunderstanding. The Chinese merchant was humiliated and thrown out. People had forgotten that since the formation of the Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan in 1900 the Chinese had emerged as a powerful force. They had advanced dramatically in commerce, leaving behind the Natives, Arabs, and other Orientals in all fields. This new unity and solidarity had not
only strengthened them but also isolated them more from the other colonized peoples.
Within just a few weeks something wondrous happened. All the Chinese merchants in Surabaya—followed later by those in other towns—refused to patronize the European merchant houses. The big European trading house where the initial incident had taken place went bankrupt. Soon afterward several others also had to close up. These bankruptcies were followed by chaos among the banks. The business world was thrown into turmoil and confusion. The impact was felt right down to the lanes and alleys of the villages.
“It’s a boycott,” said Frischboten. He explained the Irish actions against Captain Boycott proving that it’s not just the strong who have power, but also the weak, providing they organize. “And only through organizing can the weak show their true strength. The boycott is the concrete form of the power of the weak.”
His words burned through me. I was set aflame. Everything could be won merely by organizing the weak. So simple! I could do that, I thought, tomorrow, the next day, even now.
“There is only one thing that is necessary—unity of mind,” added Frischboten. And he did not come forward with any other conditions. He didn’t talk about religion, being educated, let alone having official positions. Just the united outlook, the unity of purpose of the weak. And the weak have much in common, precisely because of their weakness, that can unite them.
I wrote an editorial on the boycott and sent it straight off to the printers.
I had to study further this boycott movement of the Chinese. I needed to make connections.
I needed to gather enough material so that I could prepare a handbook about boycotts as a weapon.
And I began to think that the boycott, this new weapon of the weak, could be used not only against the big Dutch firms but also against the government itself. The Samin movement, a movement of peasants, had already tried this. The government was never able to get one cent out of them. This fanatical group of rebels had been able to defy completely the will of the government. If all the people of the Indies united, if there was a total boycott of the government, maybe the Dutch would then also have to close up shop, and move out!
Three days after the editorial was published, suitably modified, there was more news—the Mangkunegaran Legion had been transported out of Solo by train. Destination—Bali and Lombok. But they refused to board the ship in Surabaya that would take them to Bali. The Dutch failed in their attempt to pit Javanese against Balinese. And there was more boycott news—the Samins were rebelling again.
I received two letters about the mutiny on the same day and at the same time. One of them read:
We know, respected Tuan Editor, that in Bali there are more women than men. The men of Bali are spoiled. They are kept ready to go forth as heroes into the battlefield, perhaps never to return to their wives and children, or their lovers. Just like the fighting cocks of Java. And it is not uncommon either for the women to be ready and willing to die riddled by bullets. Because when the army’s cannons start roaring, respected Tuan Editor, even the spirits flee. Satan himself could not compare with the army for its brutality. Its cannon send shivers into everyone’s hearts, including Hanuman’s, the king of the monkeys in the Ramayama story.
I myself, Tuan Editor, have three daughters. If we go to fight our brothers in Bali, let alone to fight the women of Bali, then that would be the same as waging war against our own daughters because do not these girls have the same dreams about life whether they live in Bali or Java? The girls of Bali will fight us with the same resolve and bravery as the men, their husbands or lovers or fathers. And if I did fight them and was able to return home to my family, what could I tell them? Even to explain the beginnings of the story would be too difficult. So we refused to be put aboard the ship, let alone to be landed in Bali and Lombok as fighting cocks for the Dutch.
We are ready to receive our punishment. We will not go. We remain in Surabaya, or go home to Solo.
We respectfully request that this letter be published without name.
The second letter said:
Your Excellency Tuan Editor, allow us to express to you the inner feelings of our hearts, the units of the Mangkunegaran Legion. We have deliberately and consciously refused to be sent to war. We refuse to be made to fight against our brothers in Bali. If we do not do this now, Your Excellency, then there will be no end to the Javanese being sent all over the Indies to fight their brothers. Already too many of our people have died in Aceh, in Sumatra among the Minangkabau, in Sumatra among the Batak, in the land of the Bugis, then in Bali, and now they want to send us to Lombok…. If we talk about clearing the jungle, building the rice terraces, the fields, digging the mines, building roads, starting plantations, yes, Javanese hands have done all these throughout the Indies. There is not a single steel bridge outside Java which was not built by Javanese hands. But making war…
These letters were not really meant for me, but for all the governed people of the Indies.
The Chinese merchants’ boycott, the revolt of the Mangkunegaran Legion, the social revolt of the Samin peasants—none of these would have been possible without organization. Even the peasants must have an organization, an organization of their own kind. Peasants! The so-called lowest class in society! They had organized, and rebelled! And we who have received an education, we are still learning how to organize and have not, or at least have not yet for certain, mastered how to do it. I myself had tried and failed. So what was it that unified them?
It’s four years since the retired doctor made his call for us to organize. It’s a pity he didn’t talk about the question of the basis for unity, didn’t discuss the question of there being many peoples in the Indies. Boedi Oetomo chose to organize only one of the peoples, the Javanese. It was only I who was left groping, feeling my way forward in the darkness.
A messenger from Boedi Oetomo came to our office in Bandung with an invitation for me to attend its second congress, to be held in Jogjakarta.
“You’re having two congresses in one year?” I asked.
“We have no other choice, sir. BO has been growing as if it
had been whistled up out of the earth. And it hasn’t been one year yet. This will be our second congress in seven months!” he answered, glowing with pride. “The congress won’t be complete if you are not there. And anyway, sir, BO’s success is also partly due to all the much valued assistance you have given it.”
“You have come here as an emissary of the BO, but why are you speaking Dutch to me?”
“Just a matter of being practical, sir.”
“So Javanese is not a practical language, according to BO?”
“It seems you want to repeat your questions from last time.”
“And they still haven’t been answered either.”
“We’re not here to argue, are we?”
“Of course not. It’s just that this organization of yours is a Javanese organization. And Java is called Java because of its culture, not just because of the island it’s found on. Tell me, I would be very interested to know, which has the higher status—the editor of a newspaper or a doctor or a candidate doctor? If my status is higher, you must speak
kromo
to me. Isn’t that the rule in Javanese? I’m not looking for an argument with you. I’m just interested in knowing, because the Javanese are so sensitive on matters of social caste.”
“I promised last time that these matters that you have raised would be taken to a plenary of the Council of Leaders. Forgive us that we haven’t done that yet,” he went on, still in Dutch.
“Good. And at the congress, will Javanese be the official language?”
“We will discuss all these matters, sir.”
“Good. I accept your invitation.”
“Thank you very much, sir. All your transport, accommodation, and daily needs will be taken care of by the BO.”
“No need, sir. Add the money to your funds for building schools in Jogjakarta. There’s still no BO school there, is there?”
He went home to Betawi. A few days later I left for Jogjakarta. This was December 1908.
Seated in the train, which was by now fourteen years old, I could not help but be amazed at how the BO had been able to gather the money to hold two congresses within seven months. The nobles and merchants of Solo and Jogja, both known for their miserliness and their usurious activities, must have been convinced to make generous donations.
And I was even more amazed at Sandiman. It was he who had blazed the trail into the hearts of the Legion soldiers, and the princes and the merchants too. It was a pity, though, that between him and me there stood the Javanese devil—of social hierarchy—separating each Javanese from all Javanese, and all Javanese from each other, and everyone from each other. He should be my friend, not my subordinate.
At Kroja everyone alighted from the tired-out train to change to another. We continued on to Jogjakarta. At Kroja a new passenger boarded and sat next to me. He wore Javanese dress: a clean, white, buttoned-up top, his own destar, and a kain with big broad pleats. He wore black leather slippers and carried a black wooden cane with a carved ridge coiling round it.
As soon as the train started off he took out a copy of
Medan
from his bag. He browsed from page to page, unable to concentrate properly.
“Tuan is going to Jogja?” I asked in Malay.
He looked at my European clothes, giving a friendly nod. From the way he looked, and the fact that he was in first class, I could tell he was a VIP.
Suddenly his smile disappeared. His eyes blinked open wide, and he asked hesitatingly: “Excuse me. Perhaps I’m mistaken,” he spoke in Dutch. “You studied at the medical school?”
“That’s right, sir,” I answered in Dutch also.
“Ah, I was right. And you’ve forgotten me?”
“So it’s you?” I cried. “How could I ever forget you?” while I groped around trying to remember who he was. “So you’re the doctor in Kroja?” I asked, making a guess.
“For two years now.”
He’d been a doctor two years. How was it possible for a doctor to travel first class?
“On the way to the BO Congress?”
“You too?”
It turned out he had been two years ahead of me. He owned large areas of paddy fields at Karanganyar and would inspect them after the congress was over. When I asked for his address, I found out that his name was Mas Sadikoen, a member of the Kroja BO leadership, and a doctor at the government hospital. He spoke enthusiastically about his organization and explained that, providing no unexpected obstacles arose, they would be starting a Dutch language primary school in the next year.
“Our main problem is finding a qualified teacher,” he said. “If you can help us find one, we will pay him one and a half times the government salary.”