Footsteps (51 page)

The youth Abdoel Moeis did not show any fear. He answered spontaneously: “So if they don’t wear shoes, I’m to blame?”

“Shut your mouth!”

And so the attack began. How did it all end? With his clothes torn and ripped apart, his bicycle lying bent and ruined by the side of the road, his shoes vanished to who-knows-where, he crawled in the dusk to the local police station. The police ignored him. The youth crawled out of the police station, and was then helped by passersby to the hospital.

Marko’s piece was clearly an expression of his hatred for the officials, as had been his previous articles. The actual incident with Abdoel Moeis was secondary to these feelings.

The police felt they had been slighted. Commissioner Lambert came to my office and threw a copy of
Medan
on my desk. He pointed to the report, which had been circled in red ink and asked: “You permitted the publication of a report such as this?”

“Correct.”

“Who wrote it?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Very well. Don’t you realize that this report is an insult to the police?” His face had gone a deep red, and he refused my invitation for him to sit down. He stood with his fists on his hips, as if he were facing a burglar or thief.

“So you do not believe that the report is true and that this incident took place?”

“You have insulted the police.”

“And you know that this incident did in fact take place.”

“You have put a slur on our name.”

“And you have insulted the facts,” I accused as I began to stand up, fists on hips, in the same style as he. “Mr. Uninvited Guest who does not even know how to behave politely. Get out!”

He was shocked that he, a European and a ranking servant of the law to boot, could be challenged this way by a Native. But this lasted just a second; then he recovered his composure and roared: “Do I need to teach you a lesson with my own fists?” while waving his huge right fist at me.

It seemed that the roar of Commissioner Lambert had been heard in the print shop. All the workers came out. Marko was there too, and he walked straight up to the European and said in Malay: “I myself helped carry Abdoel Moeis to the hospital. I myself saw him ignored by the police. So what are you going to do?”

“And this incident here in my office,” I said to Marko. “Make sure it is written up and published in
Medan
too.”

“Of course, Tuan,” replied Marko without turning around.

“There is no point in your having a fight here, Tuan,” I went on to say. “It would be better if you returned to your office and prepared a case against us. That would show that you know the law.”

Seeing that there were so many people there, Lambert swung around and stormed out of the office. Everyone followed him out on the street cheering and goading him merrily. They returned to their work in high spirits indeed. We didn’t actually publish a report on Lambert’s visit to the office. But Marko did do some more research on the background to the Abdoel Moeis affair.

Marko’s next report made the accusation clearly—it was the chief minister of Bandung, the bupati’s right-hand man, who ordered that Moeis be beaten up. Marko also knew that the minister
himself had received the order from the bupati. But we didn’t mention that in the report.

After that second report, all sorts of opinions began to emerge in the community. There were those who blamed Abdoel Moeis. There were those who blamed the minister. The most sickening thing was that once again all the priyayi came out in support of the minister. There were a few readers from the villages who wrote in to say that Abdoel Moeis’s behavior was not correct (but at least they didn’t express support for what had happened to him). For them, to wear European clothes was to deny the traditions and religion of their ancestors. They opposed every example that eroded the authority of their ancestors.

Support for Abdoel Moeis mainly came from among those Natives with an education. There were only a few. What are shoes anyway? Just clothes. If people change the clothes they wear, does that mean that their soul and body suddenly turn into something different? If someone went for a swim in the river naked, does that mean he no longer has ancestors and no longer has a religion? And no matter what clothes he wears, doesn’t he remain naked underneath it all anyway?”

The police did not press charges against
Medan.
Instead, they began investigations into the attack on Moeis. Three people were arrested. Then the opposite of what was expected happened. The minister himself laid charges against
Medan.
Based on my
forum privilegiatum
and the fact that I was only one degree removed from a bupati, I refused to appear before a Native court.

Meanwhile, the three who were arrested were brought before a Native court where they admitted that they were under orders from His Excellency the minister. The court was forced to adjourn. The minister himself, as a high official and a noble, also had
forum
rights and could not be brought before a Native court.

Hendrik Frischboten urged us to continue our reports on the affair.

And with these reports the Indies began to learn that shoes are not sacred objects; they are not symbols of the gods or of the priests as in wayang. They do not have to be worshiped. Shoes are nothing but a means to protect your feet from broken glass, sharp stones, and dog shit. Wearing shoes is not the same thing as becoming European or Christian. They are not a symbol of how close you are to the Dutch authorities, so the Native rulers
do not need to be offended and infuriated when they see another Native wearing shoes. They need issue no orders to have people beaten up.

This was such a small incident! Such a minor affair! But it made so many things clear. And the impact! Even while the trial of the three was still under way, the shoe shops were besieged by young people wanting to buy shoes. And so Bandung was full of youths defiantly striding the streets in their new shoes, knives hidden in their belts, ready for any attack ordered by the Native authorities. But nothing happened. A week went by and there were no reports of any new attacks.

The three thugs were sentenced to a three-month jail term. The minister was publicly reprimanded—by the bupati who had given the orders in the first place.

Marko was furious that the Netherlands Indies courts were able to pursue the matter only that far. This village boy, who had been with the paper just a few months, not only did not regain any confidence in the authorities but, indeed, had his hatred against them further inflamed.

A little while later I started to urge him to learn Dutch. He needed a weapon that would help him explode at the right time and place and in the right way. Without an understanding of Dutch, he could become a volcano that destroyed his comrades together with his enemies at one and the same time. He took my advice and began to study with Wardi.

It was such a moving thing to watch those two, as unlike as heaven and earth in both education and origins, sitting there facing each other. One taught, the other studied, but leaving behind altogether the tradition of obeisance and hierarchy of their ancestors. This village boy did not crawl along the ground, and neither did Wardi feel insulted to be near him. Even though he was a Raden Mas like me. They were friends. They sat at equal levels, like older and younger brothers, in the European way. And indeed it was one of
Medan
’s tasks to eliminate these stupid differences, which were made so much of by the servants of stupidity.

The minister suddenly withdrew his charges against
Medan.
But
Medan
did not withdraw and has never withdrawn its accusations against the minister.

Douwager came to express his congratulations and to continue the discussion we had been having.

“Look, Minke, in the outside world man has already subjugated
lightning and thunder, putting them to his own use, to power electric engines, locomotives, ships, and other giant machines. Electro chemistry is creating even newer miracles. And in Bandung, the city in the Indies with the most Europeans, people still can get in an uproar over whether it is proper or not for Natives to wear shoes! And what are shoes anyway? Just leather and thread! How far removed are these shoes from that nationalism which hides behind the stars above!”

“So you have changed your mind? You understand then that the time is not yet right for a nationalist party?”

“We still have much work to do just to create the right foundations.”

“This is now your firm opinion? In that case, why don’t you help us with the SDI then?”

“But I’m not a Moslem.”

“Consider the SDI as an organization that is preparing the ground for the rise of nationalism, Douwager.”

“But nationalism cannot be founded on religion. Religion is universal, for everybody. Nationalism is for a single people; it helps define one people from another.”

“The conditions for the rise of nationalism will not emerge by themselves,” I said. “Everything has to be fought for and built beforehand. And if so many people agree with this method, of building the SDI now, isn’t that then the best way to do things? This is also an education in democracy for all of us. And isn’t it democracy that will accustom people to choose for themselves how to organize according to their own needs?”

“But you do agree, don’t you, with my argument, that a nationalist approach is the correct one?”

“Absolutely, Douwager. It’s just that the time is not yet right.”

And it was then that I had to admit to myself that all this time my attitude toward the Indos had been unfair and dishonest. Racial prejudice, ancestry, had created in me a dislike of them. These children of the lowest caste of Native women and Native society had been able to rise to levels in society and positions of authority that were out of bounds for a Native. That’s how I had felt. It was Haji Moeloek who had begun to soften my attitude. But in Douwager’s case, in his particular case, I found that I still could not bring myself to soften my attitude.

In all the towns along the northern coast of West Java the SDI had branches with memberships of between forty and a hundred people. In the mountain towns it was more stagnant. But in Tasikmalaya, Garut, and Sukabumi there were quite fantastic developments. Garut entered the history books with the first ever public meeting to propagandize the SDI. An important breakthrough, yes, even if it was held at the request of the assistant resident.

I had an excellent new helper with all this additional work—Princess, my wife. So now I was not only no longer a kedasih bird that sings alone, but was in charge of an organization that had gained an indefatigable new worker.

Princess threw herself into helping with the work of the SDI Secretariat. She was a first-class administrator. She would work late into the night correcting the manuscripts of my writings on the boycott, which were then distributed to all the branches throughout Java. Outside Java we still had branches only in Palembang, Pangkal Pinang, Medan, Banjarmasin, Poso, and Benteng on Togian Island.

Sandiman was no less remarkable. As soon as he was back in Solo he was once again harvesting the ground that he had earlier prepared, and indeed, harvested during the heyday of the Boedi Oetmo. Within fifteen days he had won over Haji Samadi, a big batik merchant in the hamlet of Lawean. And a huge branch sprang up in Solo as if whistled up out of the depths of the earth.

Sandiman continued on to Jogja and there too he met with success. Then he started visiting all the district capitals of Central Java and speaking to all the Native merchants, whether they were Javanese, Madurese, or from Banjar. After that he shifted across to Surabaya, where he also had brilliant results. The Surabaya branch was not as big as Solo, but it was the fifth biggest after Madiun and Tulungagung. These two branches sprang up by themselves.

There was no chance of a response from Bali. Because of SDI’s Islamic name, the courageous fighters of Bali could not be incorporated into the new organization. The cannon and rifle had only just fallen silent in Bali. The clouds of gunsmoke had not yet been swept away. The tinkling percussion sounds of the gamelan had not yet resumed the people’s celebrations of the quiet cool Bali evenings. These people, now conquered, had nothing
for their offerings to their gods. And from the Colonial Army’s barracks came only cackle and laughter at the expense of the vanquished.

From all the towns of Java where Native commerce still flourished came letters requesting that the local group be formally registered as a branch. The massive correspondence that was required was, of course, looked after by Princess. There was even more of this work following a visit from Thamrin Mohammed Thabrie.

“We must hold a conference to decide what we should do next, Tuan Thamrin,” I began as soon as he had sat himself down in a chair.

But he already had his own answer to that issue.

“Tuan Minke, living in Betawi I’m too far away from SDI headquarters here in Buitenzorg. It’s not good for the organization. I think I should concentrate on looking after the Betawi branch, and hand the treasurer’s responsibilities back to the Leadership Council.”