House of Glass

  He was seen visiting Soendari’s father’s house dressed this way as well. And nobody ever found out what the two of them discussed.

  Several days later, still in Pemalang, in a rather disheveled state, he was seen trying to sell his pocket watch in a Chinese shop. He was seen once more after that day sitting under a tamarind tree, his clothes filthy, barefooted, no more cane, and then we lost all sight of him. It seemed he was also unable to trace Soendari’s whereabouts.

  It was several days afterward that I received news that he might be arriving by freight train at Gambir station in Betawi at ten o’clock that evening. I wanted to meet this new kind of Indies man. I needed to hear for myself what he had to say, to see what gleam there was in his eyes, and, if possible, to exchange ideas with him.

  The car carried me slowly down from Buitenzorg to Betawi. I went by carriage from my accommodation to Gambir. The freight train pulled in and stopped, but there was no sign of Marco.

  Back in my office the next day, I reread Soendari’s letter to him, which we had seized from Marco’s pockets when he was arrested almost eight months before.

  What I want to do, Mas, what I still want to do, even now, is to continue like this, to keep doing his work until Tuan Minke returns from exile. How inspiring it would be to learn from him how to manage the publication of a newspaper by ourselves, and to handle all the other related aspects as well. Just see how even today there is no paper that has ever been as successful as Medan, that has been able to understand so well exactly what the readers want. Mas Tjokro’s paper, Oetoesan Hindia, hasn’t been able to do that. None of the papers have had the kind of influence that Tuan Minke achieved. We need to study all these things, and of course I am sure you will not be disappointed that I have chosen this as the topic for my letter to you, Mas.

  If this letter was written to reflect her real intentions, then it was probable that Siti Soendari was waiting for the return of the Modern Pitung. Perhaps she was waiting even now, even though we had lost all trace of her movements. It was as if she had vanished into the emerald sky. It was clear, though, that she was hiding away, living off her father’s savings. And with the news that Marco was heading for Betawi, the thought arose that she might be hiding somewhere in the capital of the Indies too.

  Was it true that Siti Soendari was in Betawi?

  It was four more months before I had the answer to that question. She was in Rotterdam in the Netherlands. A few months later there came further news. Marco was in Rotterdam too.

  Three people all closely connected with Raden Mas Minke now found themselves in the same country—Wardi, Soendari, and Marco. And the Modern Pitung, their spiritual father, remained in exile in Ambon.

  The three of them had escaped from my house of glass, and were no longer under my magnifying glass. Wardi had been exiled by the Netherlands Indies government. Soendari had escaped to Holland by herself. Marco had followed her.

  As political people they would be safe from harassment from the Dutch government as long as they did not get involved in any criminal activity. They all had the right to hold their own beliefs and to propagandize them or, for that matter, to stay silent about them. They would be swallowed up by European life and they would become little lilliputians with the minuscule knowledge that they had brought with them. The land where they now found themselves was not the muddy rice fields of their own country, but a more arid place, where nothing could be produced without much knowledge and science and the application of many advanced skills.

  And the situation in the Indies continued to develop, leaving behind those who were outside.

  My boss never mentioned anything to do with my leave anymore. I never raised it either. What was the point? Europe was still at war. My children and my wife preferred the Netherlands to the Indies and me.

  Then one day my boss came in to see me. His face was shiny. There was never a sign that he had ever grown a mustache or beard, which was very strange, as if he were some fresh-faced college graduate. As time went on he was less and less able to hide his great enthusiasm for America. It seemed that he was trying to change himself, to turn himself into a new person, someone who was open and easy to get along with. I didn’t really understand what was going on inside him. Perhaps that was what Americans were like, as he so often explained it to me. In more recent days it was very easy to see that he was trying very hard to change, to make sure he didn’t act anymore in a colonial manner. Now he was like a businessman trying to win the heart of a new client.

  I think I have the right to suggest that my opinion in this matter is not far wrong. He was continuously trying to change, and this transformation sustained itself because of an even more astounding person, the great American inventor, renowned throughout the world. This was Edison. And in the Indies his invention—the lightbulb, invented several years before—finally started shedding its light in the towns of the Indies.

  But I don’t want to tell you all this kind of detail. That day he said to me very politely and amicably in English: “Mr. Pangemanann, could you tell me a little of the history of the Boedi Oetomo?” And before I could open my mouth, he continued: “Excuse me, sir, perhaps I am asking too much. But I think you, sir, understand more than just a little of its history. Indeed, you probably know more about it than the Boedi Oetomo members themselves. Moreover, I consider that you have mastered the history of all the other organizations as well.”

  I studied his words and his face very closely, not only because the changes in him were happening so thick and fast, but also because I was not so used to conversing in English.

  “No, I only know a little, Meneer,” I answered in Dutch, “because we do not study history in this office but investigate particular cases.”

  “Would you mind speaking in English?”

  I ignored his request, and began to explain: “Meneer, you should have known that Sneevliet would start attacking the Boedi Oetomo. You must have had some idea about this.”

  I realized then that he had come to see me not only to practice discussing more complicated issues in English but also because he was incapable by himself of carrying out his own duties. Sneevliet’s and the ISDV’s activities did not fall under my jurisdiction, because they were not Natives.

  In his regular lectures in the Marine Club in Surabaya, Sneevliet had begun to attack both the Boedi Oetomo and the government at one and the same time. It was his view that this big and stable organization did not understand what its real tasks were. It seemed, he said, that the Boedi Oetomo was more concerned to serve the colonial authorities than the people of the Indies, whom it claimed it wanted to lead.

  The Boedi Oetomo set up primary schools under its name, but despite the fact that it claimed to be an organization for the Javanese, these schools did not teach Javanese in their curriculum. On the contrary, the students were taught Dutch right through from Grade 1 to Grade 7 just as in the State schools. The government had established special high schools for Chinese children. But what had they done for the Natives? Not a thing! But it was in fact the duty and the responsibility of the government to provide such schools. And why was it the Boedi Oetomo who alone provided European schooling for the Natives for so many years since 1909 and not the government? Why had the Boedi Oetomo taken over the responsibilities of the government?

  Of course, the government was very appreciative of the services that the BO had provided. And now the BO had developed a very swelled head because it was receiving so much attention from the government. Was it for this that it was founded? Wasn’t it set up to lead its people forward? Was the Boedi Oetomo prepared to become a kind of subdepartment of the Netherlands Indies government? Didn’t it understand that all its graduates would be soaked up by the Indies civil service? Go ahead and ask all the students studying in the BO schools—what will you become after you graduate? They will one and all answer—government priyayi! In one or two years’ time when they all start graduating, we will see them march off in search of government positions. br />
  Pity on all those members who handed over money to join and have been paying their monthly dues all these years. The children have not been taught to love their country and their people but to love the government offices instead! Pity on them all! It’s so very sad!

  The Boedi Oetomo’s head was swelling more and more because the government was embarrassed at how little it itself had achieved. It was a full five years after the BO had set up its first school that in 1914 the government set up an HIS for Natives. And in another seven years’ time, when the HIS schools started vomiting all their graduates into society, the BO students will be very hard pressed to find work in the civil service, where Dutch was essential.

  The Boedi Oetomo had to study the ABCs of the modern world. To be a modern man means more than just to know Dutch! Don’t all you gentlemen from BO really understand that all your graduates will not work for the people at all? What is the use of striving so hard just to deliver more tribute to the government in the form of Dutch-speaking manpower? And in that way help strengthen Dutch imperialism’s hold over your people? Isn’t now the time for Natives to be more concerned about their situation? Especially now with war raging in Europe?

  All Native organizations should decide not to imitate the senile idiocy of the Boedi Oetomo. And where is there a Native organization that is really working for its fellow countrymen . . .? That was what Sneevliet had to say about the Boedi Oetomo.

  If he had been a Native instead of a European it would have been easier for the government to take action. And he was not just any European. He was also very well equipped with the means to do battle in any court of law. It wouldn’t be possible to get rid of him just like that as could be done with Natives. And to drag him before a court just because he was undermining the authority of the government with his speeches could end up boomeranging into the face of His Excellency, reflecting on his ability as an administrator of the Indies.

  His speeches in the Marine Club in Surabaya were a two-edged sword.

  “The Boedi Oetomo will be very upset with these attacks,” I said, ending my history of the organization. “They have always claimed to be working for the people, and indeed have worked very hard to try to do that. They have never been subjected to this kind of criticism before. Their pretensions have been torn to pieces in full public view. They have been accused of working with all their might only to achieve the opposite of their own ideals.”

  My boss listened to this very attentively as if he were a humble university student, as if he weren’t my boss, as if he weren’t one of the gods that helped decide the fate of the Indies.

  “The great disaster, sir,” I continued, but no longer in Dutch, “is that these criticisms emerge from a different way of thinking, one that is unknown to both the BO and the government, one that is based on quite new values. Sneevliet looks at everything from the point of view of the government’s responsibilities to its subjects.”

  “Mr. Pangemanann, in your opinion, are Sneevliet’s opinions correct?” he asked, very politely.

  “It depends from whose point of view you look at the problem and what kind of thinking you analyze it with.”

  “Your own opinion, as a private individual, not an official,” he said, again in English. “I know, already the views you argue in your official capacity.”

  “If I were in Europe, I would be of the opinion that Sneevliet had the right to express such opinions, sir. As to the correctness or otherwise of what he has to say, well, people can put forward their own views, and they can be debated.”

  “It seems you are very cautious when it comes to expressing a personal view,” he said, with a biting smile. “Yes,” he went on to say, “the easiest opinion to have is the official position. I understand that. Behind the official opinion stands power and so on one has to worry about being right or wrong.” Then he laughed. “This is in fact what has made me unhappy working here. So tell me then—what do you think, you yourself.”

  His words worried me more and more as they became more and more friendly and amicable.

  I had to find the right path here: “In my opinion, sir, it is all very simple. Even now the Indies Council has not finished its deliberations over the governor-general’s request for its views on the costs and benefits of giving Natives a Western education. It seems that they are deliberately delaying giving an answer. That doesn’t mean that they won’t give an answer in the end. But I think it is only right that the government be ashamed that its responsibilities have been carried out by Boedi Oetomo.”

  “But isn’t it true that the government has given subsidies, even if not very much, to many of Boedi Oetomo’s schools, wherever it seemed appropriate?”

  “That’s true as far as it goes. But what is fifty guilders per school for the Netherlands Indies government? It doesn’t mean anything. Fifty guilders collected from among the membership, however, is worth a million times as much.”

  “You haven’t told me what you really think of Sneevliet’s ideas,” he said, watching me even more closely now—as if I were some Menadonese Edison.

  When he spoke, his head as well as every other part of his body was made to move about as if he were putting American democracy into practice within his own body just as he used to explain it.

  It was amazing just how much Edison had changed him. And how ironic it was. Edison’s work was to bring to life dead objects, and our work was to kill that which was alive. He was asking about the Boedi Oetomo because it was his job. I answered for the sake of my own security. He was anxious because BO had been attacked by a European, and I was anxious because as a Native I had to face these criticisms as criticisms directed at all Natives.

  Our discussion went on for over two hours, something that had not happened for many, many years.

  Realizing that I wasn’t really answering his questions and that we were just arguing in circles, he very politely, and still in English, requested me to put my views down on paper as to what action the government should take following from Sneevliet’s attacks on the Boedi Oetomo.

  For two days I studied all the available documents and the telegrams that came in from the regions. There were no signs that the Boedi Oetomo was making any attempt to reply to Sneevliet’s attacks. All the material that had come in to me made it more than clear that the BO leaders were in a panic. They were faced with a way of thinking that their priyayi brains could just not comprehend. For the first time BO now faced a way of thinking that was able to launch a completely unrelenting attack. Its silence was proof enough for me of the correctness of Sneevliet’s views. This made my work easier. I was able to work on like a machine.

  The only thing was that Sneevliet’s attacks also hit the government right in the heart as well. And anyone sharing the same interests as the government would also be stung by these criticisms. That went for me too. But I decided I would say that Sneevliet was right. My own position was not important. It wasn’t very difficult to prepare the report, even though so many things clashed against each other. The Boedi Oetomo was a tame organization, one on good terms with the government. The one attacking the BO was a European. And it was the government that also provided me with my livelihood. But the criticisms were correct as long as they were looked at from the point of view of the truth and not that of power, or of my own position.

  From the very first sentence I made it clear:

  It has become a European tradition to be always discarding old outdated thinking. It was this tradition that has kept Europe young and fresh. Sneevliet is somebody carrying on in this historical tradition. What he has been saying about the ethical duties of the government is no different from what Baron van Hoevell said half a century ago, or even what His Excellency Governor-General van Heutsz actually started to implement.

  Sneevliet was pointing out the kind of deficiencies in the institutions of the colonial government that the Liberals in the lower house in Holland have long been criticizing. The activities of Mr. Van Aberon, the former director of ed
ucation and culture, the formation of the Jepara Committees and their campaign to set up schools in memory of the girl from Jepara, and even the offer of help by Mr. De Veenter to help establish a girls’ high school for Natives in Semarang, all serve to reflect the dissatisfaction of the radical wing of the Liberals with the Indies government’s implementation of its Ethical Policy responsibilities. So to give any recognition to Sneevliet will be tantamount to the government slapping itself in the face.

  The old view that Sneevliet and his friends are just a gang of radical extremists may need to be reviewed and more serious and careful attention paid to what he has been saying. From his more recent speeches it is also becoming clearer that he has brought a new kind of logic with him from Europe, a kind of logic that is as yet unknown here in the Indies. While it has always been this new logic that has given them the reputation for being extremists, more effort now needs to be put into studying this new logic.

  The only pity is that these attacks have been made in public. They should have been quickly brought before the members of the Indies Council in closed session. The methods used by Sneevliet and his friends will only serve to shock society and greatly discourage the Boedi Oetomo.

  For those already long annoyed that I had reached such a senior position as this—and I knew very well how the colonial mind operated—this report of mine would provide them with an ideal opportunity to accuse me of defending Sneevliet. But that was their problem. It now seemed that my responsibilities as an intellectual were at last going to lead to a clash with colonial interests. I would defend my opinions.

  After I had finished writing the report and handed it in, my boss was still not satisfied. He returned the report to me with a note: “It seems you have forgotten that we need to work out what action to take. This is not supposed to be just an academic study. The Algemeene Secretariat is not a scholarly institution.”

  He was right. On the other hand, he did not reject what I had written. Before I had a chance to comply with his wishes, he was back in my office.