Finally Mama spoke, slowly: May, perhaps it was I who was wrong. I entered the real world when I was sold by my parents to a man who was foreign to me in every aspect—his person, his language, his people, his ways, and his customs. What I did for you two I thought was a much better thing than that. And so I thought I was doing right. It’s only now, today, that I realize that it was not right at all, not the right thing to do for either of you. Please forgive this old woman who did not realize what she was doing, May.
Om, to hear Mama speak with such remorse made me almost cry. I could hardly breathe because of the lump in my throat. This very, very wise woman was asking forgiveness of me. And who was I? What was I? The words became stuck in my throat and: Who am I, Mama, that you should ask forgiveness of me? Mama sat up and caressed my hair as if I were a baby and said: If I had given birth to you myself, I would still ask your forgiveness. Have you spoken with your Papa? I nodded. Whatever you decide is best, said Mama again, best for you, will surely also be best for your Papa and for your om back there in Bandung.
I never replied to her letter. And I never wrote to her again.
I know you will not be broken by this, wrote Mama, only old branches can be broken. The young ones bend with the storm. Only the stupid ones try to resist.
Ah, Mama, I have encountered no storms. None. Or is it not yet? Maybe the storms will come one day, but not now. I am in the midst of my triumph…even though I know that every triumph has its end. But not yet, Ma.
And in Klungkung the army began to enter the four-mile area around the city that was defended by the Balinese heroes, all dressed in white and prepared to die. There was no one among the people who did not fight. The battle to overthrow the kingdom of Klungkung lasted over forty days and was followed enthusiastically by every newspaper reader in the Indies.
Klungkung fell, but Lombok rose in rebellion.
10
Raden Tomo’s emissary came to Bandung to demand delivery of the promise I had made. He and his friends had established the kind of organization suggested by the retired Java Doctor. And by myself as well. The name of the organization was Boedi Oetomo. An approximate translation of Jamiatul Khair, meaning “of noble character,” one of the most progressive of the Arab self-improvement associations. He also brought a Constitution and a Statement of Aims and Objectives, all written in reasonable Dutch. He asked for space in Medan to publicize the new organization.
“We’ll be glad to. Just send us the materials. But why have you given your organization a Javanese name? Is it only for Javanese?”
“That’s right. Only for Javanese, because we are Javanese. We know each other’s language and customs. We have the same origins, the same ancestors, one civilization, and one culture.”
“Then why is the Constitution written in Dutch?”
“We can put it into Javanese later; that’s no problem.”
“If this is an organization for Javanese, why hasn’t it been written in Javanese first and then translated later into Dutch for others?”
“Ah, that’s just a technical matter.”
“And why are you speaking in Dutch to me, then?” He didn’t answer. “You are a medical student, aren’t you? What grade?”
“Third.”
“So a non-Javanese cannot become a member?”
“No, sir.”
“What about a Javanese who cannot speak Javanese?”
“That’s probably all right, sir.”
“Why ‘probably’? Why isn’t it written down in the Constitution? And what about non-Javanese who can speak Javanese? And what about those who are not Javanese but their families have lived here so long, they live and behave like Javanese? And what about a Javanese, only one of whose parents was actually from Java? And how do you actually prove someone is Javanese or not?”
He appeared confused. My questions were just another version of the questions Sandiman had once asked about the Sarekat.
“What does the Boedi Oetomo actually mean by ‘Javanese’?” He didn’t answer this either.
“In the eye of the BO or you yourself, am I a Javanese?”
“Of course you are Javanese. And we also hope you will become a member.”
“But I prefer to use Malay and Dutch to express myself. Or just Dutch. I hardly ever use Javanese. What about that?”
“You are definitely at the very least a Javanese. Not only will you be accepted as a member, but we would like to have you as an active member.”
“Forgive me. I was just asking, that’s all. In any case, we will definitely publish your material.”
After he left, I discovered that Sandiman and Wardi had been listening to the conversation.
“And you, Sandiman, you’ve been putting your mind to work to find a way to help the Balinese and the people of Lombok,” I said.
“Yes, Tuan, while he and his friends are all busy getting ready to become Javanese, whatever that is. Meanwhile Javanese are sent to Aceh, to Bali, all over the Indies, to fight the other peoples of the Indies. Then the Ambonese, the Menadonese, the Timorese, and others from the eastern islands are brought here to fight the Javanese. And in Betawi there are Javanese concerned only with putting their own little house in order,” he grumbled.
Wardi didn’t give his opinion.
“They are educated people,” I said.
Sandiman cut me off straightaway: “So we should expect more of them. What are they really after?”
“Mas,” Wardi complained, “I think Mas Sandiman is right. I have just received a letter from Den Haag. Some students from the Indies have formed a new organization—the Association of University Students of the Indies.”
“Maybe that’s right. Indies! Yes, ‘Indies.’ That’s right. What’s the point of isolating yourself as a Javanese? Except it’s a pity that no one is pushing forward Malay as the language of the Indies.”
“They say it’s Sosro Kartono, Kartini’s elder brother, who founded it. Yes, they have chosen Dutch as their language.”
“I think he has the right idea about the peoples of the Indies. I think he may have what it takes to become a leader in the future. A leader of the peoples of the Indies.”
I read out the covering letter from the BO leadership, signed by Raden Tomo himself.
We are beginning with members of the same culture. We think that is better than a multi-peoples organization. Since the Sarekat, I’ve noticed that you’ve given up the idea of “one people” and have become more concerned with the idea of a “multi-people” grouping. I’ve been worried that you won’t be able to keep your promise.
Sandiman and I had a good laugh that he should have such a worry. The three of us joined the Boedi Oetomo.
Medan also became a forum for the BO. In a short time we had made Boedi Oetomo famous throughout Java and in the trading cities of the islands as well.
We had our different views about the Boedi Oetomo, but then again it also developed differently from the way any of us had imagined.
During the holidays several of the medical students at STOVIA who were members of BO traveled around propagandizing for their organization. And they were tremendously successful in Solo and Jogjakarta, and in the Mangkunegaran and Paku Alaman areas. In Mangkunegaran they sowed their seeds in ground already prepared by Sandiman. With the aid of the Mangkunegaran Legion, these seeds became like a spark blown by the wind to set aflame the palaces of Solo. And once a prince announced that he had joined BO, then his family, subordinates, servants, and friends also joined. In the other towns, in the villages, once people heard that Prince Mangkunegaran and Prince Paku Alam had joined, then they too, without hesitating for a moment, followed in the footsteps of those they exalted so much.
For me it all seemed like a miracle that didn’t make sense. Village heads, their assistants, teachers, were all prepared to pay the membership fee of one ringgit, the equivalent of a fortnight’s pay! Even the office assistants, who had no guarantee of ever being promoted to clerk, sold their valuable belon
gings in order to get the money to join.
The Sarekat never had so many propagandists. It never woke up from its sleep. Meanwhile, the BO propagandists traveled around Java calling out to the people: Join the BO because only Boedi Oetomo can give your children a European education. Without a European education they will never be able to become a priyayi! In these modern times, those who do not receive a European education will never be more than tillers of the soil. So we call upon you to donate some of your money so that we can build Dutch language schools! The Boedi Oetomo will arrange everything!
Such stupid propaganda! It wasn’t true and it could lead many people astray. I and Wardi, and others who had received a Western education, an education much wider than the BO could ever give, had refused to become priyayis, to become government employees, wage addicts, slaves.
In other towns the propaganda was different: With the BO, we, the Javanese, will be able to work together to make a better future. We will raise the level of our civilization and culture. We will raise the dignity and honor of the Javanese people. Not all of your children can get a place in the Malay primary schools, let alone the Dutch ELS. We will build our own schools, using our own resources.
It was this propaganda that met with success. Boedi Oetomo branches sprang up like mushrooms all through Central Java and in some parts of East Java as well. And while the propagandists were at work in the towns and villages of Java, other students organized what they called the first Boedi Oetomo Congress. It was held in Betawi.
Mighty speeches thundered forth. Boedi Oetomo will soon found Dutch language schools teaching the government curriculum!
When the congress finally adjourned, Tomo and his friends received a warning from the STOVIA director. Which would they choose—organization or study?
But the warning had no effect. It had no strength. The BO’s idea of the “educated priyayi” had people in its grip. It seemed as if the competition for official jobs might be much more intense in the future. The bupatis and the princes became worried about the future of their children and so they all hurried to become members. Their goal—to seize the leadership of the BO to make sure the current leaders would present no threat to their children. In Betawi, the STOVIA students soon moved their organizational activities outside the school complex. Reports started to come in confirming the bitter rivalry between the bupatis and the princes. And the Dutch administrators watched from the tops of the trees.
The formation of both the BO and the Sarekat had been inspired by the retired doctor’s speech at the STOVIA. The Sarekat was born and died in the midst of the priyayi. The BO was born among the students of the STOVIA to give birth to the new priyayi, and, though only newly emerged from the womb, it had already achieved a high profile in a society caught up in the grip of the dream of the new educated priyayi of the future.
When the Sarekat died, its legacy was Medan, which grew to become a tower of strength like a banyan tree. That was my assessment. It was a major publication that in just a few years had overtaken all the colonial press. BO was already planning the founding of its first schools in Betawi. The cavalcade of students who lined up to enroll was bigger than that for the army. The Sarekat was never able to start even one school!
More time was needed to understand this new development. Van Deventer, the Dutch champion of the Ethical Policy, came out with his decision—Boedi Oetomo represented the rising up of the Javanese youth. The Indies elite listened. BO was allowed to continue to live. And, amazingly, it was none other than the Eurasian writer Douwager who started writing in Holland in support of Beodi Oetomo. The Sarekat had died without even leaving behind a grave.
The BO would suffer the same fate. Its first year was exciting. People were impressed by its vitality. But while it remained imbued with the priyayi spirit, it would never be able to shake off the rigid mentality that would forever stalk it.
My attempts to understand what was happening were not motivated by envy. The Sarekat had died. That was that. Tomo was trying a different strategy, floating along with the current, in accordance with the laws of life. He had succeeded with this beginning. But it was doubtful if it could last for another five years. Except, yes, except if he was willing to accept as members people from other classes, who were not priyayi. The priyayi themselves were a caste with a way of thinking that always sought security in the authority of the government. The entry of other nobility besides the princes of Mangkunegaran and Paku Alaman and of the bupatis made me certain that the ideals of the young founders of the BO would not have a long life.
It was easy to understand why the BO had rejected the idea of a multi-peoples organization. Linguistic and cultural chauvinism had made them feel superior to the other peoples of the Indies. And the other colonized peoples also had their own chauvinism. Even the Betawi Malays, whose origins were very uncertain, considered themselves superior to the Javanese. So what would become of everything in the future?
And those who thought like me—who favored bringing together the different peoples of the Indies—what organization could we join? An organization that was an Indies organization! That was what we needed.
I came to a conclusion, that by separating itself off from the other colonized people of the Indies, BO had limited its possibilities. The Indies was not Java. The Indies comprised many peoples. The proper organization must have a place for them all. Even the island of Java was inhabited by different peoples. The Indies as a country of many peoples was a fact of colonial life. Van Heutsz was simply finalizing the process of consolidation.
I had just come to this conclusion about the BO when a letter from its leaders arrived, asking if I would be willing to help strengthen their organization by joining their Council of Leaders.
It was easy to guess what lay behind this offer. Tomo and his other student friends were not able to spend enough time on the organization because of their studies. They also needed my publications.
I went to Betawi to meet them. I thanked them very much for their invitation. I explained my ideas on what kind of organization the Indies needed. They laughed at my ideas, politely. In the end I had to retreat, my credibility damaged by my own failure with the Sarekat. And they still offered me the position on their council.
My answer was also a polite laugh, and in the same manner I excused myself without leaving an answer. You, sirs, I thought, will have to learn to understand reality. The Indies has many peoples, not just Javanese. No one could prize me away from this idea now. Perhaps it was not just personal ambition that was driving van Heutsz to implement his dream about unifying the territory of the Indies. Perhaps he was just the unconscious instrument of history.
And with these thoughts on my mind, I inspected the Medan kiosks in Kotta, Sawah Besar, Gambir, and Meester Cornelis.
I went to see Thamrin Mohammed Thabrie at his house but he was not home. The Patih of Meester Cornelis was also out. I was told he had gone to see the bupati about the Rawa Tembaga dispute.
I went back again to Thamrin’s house that night. He seemed to be happy to see me. He didn’t ask me into his office, but we sat outside under the pendopo. He wore a white Chinese shirt and a Buginese sarong. His kopiah was pushed back a bit from his forehead so I knew he had just been praying.
“Like Tuan, I too am grateful that the Sarekat left us a legacy,” he said after avoiding any discussion about organizations. “It’s still going. And now you’ve added a daily.”
The pendopo was well lit with electricity, but the light wasn’t as red as with an oil lamp. His face and smile were beaming as was usually the case with people who surrendered all their wordly troubles to God and gave thanks for every happiness, no matter how small.
Now was the time to discuss the failure of the Sarekat. “There was something wrong with our organization, Tuan. What is your opinion?”
“It was to be expected, given the nature of our membership.”
“Yes, it looks as if we went after the wrong membership.”
“It
was an expensive mistake we made.”
“Yes, very expensive. You no doubt have heard about BO?”
“From your paper.”
“It’s also active among the priyayi, present and future. And it’s only for one people—the Javanese.”
His opinion was the same as mine. The BO would suffer the same fate as the Sarekat.
“But this is different, Tuan. The princes of Mangkunegaran and Paku Alaman and some bupatis are helping.”
Thamrin laughed. And I didn’t disagree with him. I deliberately did not tell him of Sandiman’s news that the bupatis and others were plotting to achieve their own aims. Whether this was true or not, time would tell. Sandiman and his brother had been able to influence the Mangkunegaran Legion. There was organizing going on underground. And it had gone beyond just refusing to leave for Bali and Lombok. They were now dreaming that Mangkunegaran and Paku Alaman could become the center of Javanese culture, of the Javanese nation, a beacon for the whole of the island of Java, with the Legion as its defender and its greatest pride.
“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.