Footsteps

  “Where were you when the shootings took place?”

  “What shootings, Tuan?”

  “Where were you on the day that they sealed up Medan?”

  “I met Tuan at the station. Then I helped the workers move to the house of Tuan Frischboten, until evening.”

  “And Marko?”

  “He was with me all the time. It was to me that Tuan Frischboten handed the keys after he went. I didn’t know then where to. Apparently to Buitenzorg. So I don’t really understand Tuan’s questions. I did hear about some shooting incident. But I have no idea what it was all about.”

  A stupid answer from a journalist!

  “This is the first time I’ve met a journalist who didn’t want to know about such things,” I grumbled at him.

  The taxi took us back to Bandung and then it returned again to Lembang. I still had not found out anything more. Very well. I had failed for the moment.

  Later I tried with Marko. The same result.

  Why should I give myself such a headache thinking about this? If they consider this affair a personal matter, and nothing to do with me, then fine, I don’t need to know. I know anyway that they did it all out of love for me, to save my life.

  And so it was that ever since then I carried the revolver with me. I no longer left it lying in the dresser. Because I knew that from that moment on it might be me that had to shoot.…

  17

  Robert Suurhof did not die. The bullet pierced the sternum and nestled underneath the collarbone. The doctors were able to get the bullet out. His two friends died. One died on the spot, shot in the heart. The other died two days later from the knife that was buried in his waist. The knife was made of brass gilded with copper. Apparently it was designed to wound without causing bleeding. It was probably Sandiman who threw the knife and Princess who did the shooting. I guessed that Marko was assigned to keep watch, no doubt along with numerous others of his men.

  It was certain all this would mean the police would be paying more attention to me. Many eyes would be on me now.

  Sandiman came to warn me that he had found out that Pangemanann was a police commissioner from Police Headquarters in Batavia. Well, at least he knew where I was when the shooting took place—with him. And if what Sandiman said was true, then it meant that there was a relationship between the Knijpers, TAI, and the Zweep on the one hand and the police on the other. So the government not only had a force that—so it claimed—acted to carry out the law but also a force that acted outside the law.

  For the time being anyway, I had to accept this as the truth. I had to be on my guard. I was now in a situation of constant danger. Relations with the official authorities had to be conducted through talk and smiles. Confrontations with the other authorities outside the law had to be met with action and violence.

  And in that way the play could go on, whether that’s what we wanted or not. The schools never taught anyone that such were the ways of the world. It seems that so it has been since I was born, and so it will be until this earth of mankind explodes. Perhaps these indeed are the rules of life, and this is the way things have to be handled.

  The closure of Medan for ten days effectively lost us 25 percent of our circulation. My serial, Nyai Permana, did not succeed in attracting back our readers.

  But the Sarekat continued to expand. Its total membership was now well over fifty thousand, and reports began to appear in the international press again about the giant organization that had emerged in Southeast Asia.

  While all this was going on, the Sarekat branch in Solo kept asking that the Central Leadership visit them. Central Leadership! Who sat in the Central Leadership now? Everyone had become afraid following the recent events. One by one they had resigned. In the end the Central Leadership comprised only me and a new unelected secretary—Princess.

  There was nothing we could do about this situation yet. The problem would be solved as things developed.

  So when I did go to Solo I had to take Princess with me, but under very tight escort.

  We entered the front grounds of Haji Samadi’s house in the suburban hamlet of Lawean. It was surrounded by a cement wall. There was a group of people sitting around not doing anything.

  Haji Samadi himself was busy inside. We were invited to sit.

  A clerk sat at a nearby table noting down the names of all the people waiting. They were all applying to become members of the Sarekat.

  Haji Samadi was quite startled to find out that a big entourage had arrived from Buitenzorg and that the unexpected guest who stood before him was myself. He began to speak, but his Malay was difficult to follow, so I replied in Javanese to make things easier for him, and he too switched to using Javanese.

  “Raden Mas, why didn’t you send news that you were coming? What a pity. We have made no proper preparations. Ah, no matter. Praise be to God that you and your wife have arrived safely.”

  Princess was shown the way out the back, as is common Native custom. She went, smiling so sweetly, head bowed, eyes to the floor, just like a woman of the Javanese nobility—but not at all happy at doing it. In any case, we all continued to play our parts in this drama.

  After I reprimanded him for addressing me with my title, he switched to using the Malay tuan.

  “Tuan,” he began, “you can see yourself, Tuan, all these people are flocking in to become members. God has shown them the way that they can unite together with their brothers in Islam.”

  We went across to the clerk who was noting down the membership details. He listed name, address, age, occupation, sex, and took a membership fee of one benggol from every person. Dues of one benggol! That was only one hundredth of the Boedi Oetomo membership dues. The membership dues according to the Sarekat Constitution were one talen, equal to ten benggol. Haji Samadi had unilaterally reduced the dues.

  When we sat down again, he explained: “Forgive me for not seeking permission before I reduced the dues,” he said patiently. “Sudara (now he used sudara) will no doubt reprimand me.”

  I didn’t respond. Anyone who has to deal with traders or businessmen knows that their minds are always set on the problem of getting as many customers as possible in whatever way they can. I thought that this was no doubt the case with the branch president as well. He had completely violated the Constitution. One talen was indeed burdensome. A ringgit was even more burdensome. But it was set that way to be a test of whether or not the new members were prepared to give up a day’s meals to pay their dues. The heart of the issue was that it was a test of people’s seriousness.

  My guess was this man here, the branch president sitting before me, wanted, openly and legally, to use the Sarekat to tie the community closer to his businesses.

  “If the Sarekat will not approve of this, then I will, of course, make the difference up out of my own money,” he added, seeing that I wasn’t answering. “It seems Sudara is not yet prepared to answer.”

  “Of course Sudara will be able to make up what is missing,” I said, “but it is still a violation.”

  “They cannot afford to pay one talen. Does that then mean they do not have the right to become members? It is not just that people be separated from their sudara only because they are poor,” he answered.

  “Look, Sudara Haji, if each branch started changing those sections of the rules which they didn’t like, then eventually there would be no rules, and as a result, no organization either.”

  “But the rules may not seem such a burden in other areas and for other branches,” he answered, “but they are very much a burden for us here in Solo. And in those areas that are even poorer, it will be felt as an even greater burden.”

  I knew, however, that one talen was not too expensive for Solo. It was a prosperous town and cash was in wide use. The businesses were all still in the hands of Natives. The handicrafts were alive, well, and prospering. Agriculture was in a good state as well.

  “We must learn to implement those decisions that we all voluntarily agreed to.”
br />   Merchants and entrepreneurs are all very good talkers. Haji Samadi was no exception. With lots of smiles, laughs, elegant hand movements, twinkling eyes, and without once touching his destar, he continued his defense: “In all of Java it is Solo that has been able to keep commerce in Native hands. To make sure that this situation remains the same and in fact develops and improves, we feel that all methods that are right and proper should be used to develop the relationships between producers, merchants, and the consumers. We are not prepared to let it happen that even one person puts more trust in a non-Native merchant than a Native merchant. Every individual person who loses trust in us will undermine others’ confidence in us.”

  And so on: “And it is our view too that our merchants should not do business with foreigners when buying their raw materials. We have set up a special body in the Solo branch to ensure that we no longer buy from the Chinese merchants here, but approach the big European trading houses in Surabaya. We are also working out a way to import these things ourselves—the dyes from Germany and wax from BPM, the cotton from England, and the copper for the canting from Japan. Then we may also be able to control the prices. The most important thing though is to create confidence in our efforts and to eliminate speculation.”

  And so as he went on I came to understand even better that this branch president was totally preoccupied with commercial matters. And, in fact, it wasn’t even commerce in general, but only the batik business.

  “Yes, we did deliberately lower the dues. But for the small traders it is still twenty-five cents, and for the medium size and big merchants it is from five to fifty guilders. I still believe that a cent weighs differently in different people’s hands. Not everyone obtains a cent equally quickly or with the same effort.”

  His eloquence was quite impressive.

  “Sudara, as a member of the Central Leadership, you are quite welcome to examine our accounts at any time. Every cent can be accounted for.”

  Without waiting for my agreement, he clapped his hands.

  A man wearing a traditional striped Javanese tunic and a kain that was so long that it polished the floor as he walked came up to Haji Samadi. Still speaking in Javanese, my host took the account books from the man.

  With even greater eloquence he explained all the figures, lined up as they were like rows of soldiers. The wealth of the branch as set out in the books was twenty-seven thousand guilders.

  And I was totally amazed that this man could read so quickly without glasses. I pointed to a section he was explaining and asked: “What is this entry, Sudara?”

  “This one?” He was silent for several moments. He didn’t read it. He pulled over the clerk and told him to explain.

  The clerk read out the section, and the branch president nodded in agreement.

  “This is our branch secretary sudara, Raden Ngabehi Sosrokoornio.”

  We shook hands.

  “And where is all this money now?”

  “It’s all been invested in commercial dealings.”

  “God Almighty!” I swore. “So what do the members get, if they are just looked upon as a source of capital? Is this true?”

  “To start with, all members can buy from shops that belong to the Sarekat at special lower prices.”

  “God forgive us!”

  “What’s the matter, Sudara?”

  It was now revealed that the Solo branch saw the Sarekat as a business with the members as voluntary shareholders, volunteering to own shares without having any proven ownership of the shares.

  “But that is a business arrangement, not the kind of organization that is set out in the Constitution and Aims and Objectives.”

  “Look, Sudara, this is what most people want. You yourself have seen the people flocking to join the branch. Every day. Are we in the Solo branch in error? We are convinced also that things will continue to improve. And if the Central Leadership does not approve of what we have done, where will we send all these people? The people of Solo know what they need.”

  “So you have been hoping that we would come here and make this all official?”

  “Not so much that. We just wanted you to see the situation as it really is and then have the opportunity to study and consider it. We estimate that by the end of this year 1912, we will have twenty-five thousand members in our branch. That is not something that should be considered lightly. And it is something that is sure to happen.”

  The Solo branch wanted to confront me with a fait accompli, with what their leadership had carried out without ever telling the Central Leadership. And whatever else might be the case, it was true that these were major developments and should be studied seriously. Twenty-five thousand members—in Solo alone. All those people wanted leadership, not just cheaper prices and not just to be with other Moslems. Perhaps they wanted more than leadership, though.

  This was a serious matter and we couldn’t conclude a discussion on it in just one or two hours. I asked that the discussion be postponed so that we could discuss it with the whole branch leadership.

  Then I called over one of the people who was there to join up. It happened that he was a farmer. You could tell from his tattered pants and his farmer’s bamboo hat. His legs were filthy from working in mud every day and never having known soap. He approached bowing all the time and then crawled along on the floor.

  I looked at my host and he didn’t seem to be bothered by this scene. Rather he waved to the man that he approach closer.

  I wanted to tell him to sit in a chair. But these were not my chairs and this was not my house. I would have to find another time to discuss this matter, while making sure I did not offend anyone.

  “What is your name?”

  “Krio, Ndoro.”

  “Don’t crawl like that, Krio. Stand up.”

  His eyes showed nervousness. He wiggled his fingers nervously. But he still remained glued to the floor.

  “Forgive me, Ndoro, but it is better like this.”

  “You are applying to join the Sarekat?”

  “Yes, Ndoro.”

  “Stand up,” I ordered.

  Hearing me speak in such a sharp voice, he stood. He kept his hands clasped before him.

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “A farmer, Ndoro, sometimes a coolie,” he answered, while wiggling his thumb.

  “Don’t call me Ndoro; use Sudara.” He didn’t respond. “Why do you want to join the Sarekat?”

  “All my neighbors have joined, they often go to Sarekat meetings…”

  “What do they talk about?”

  “I am not allowed to attend, so I don’t know. That is why I am asking to join.”

  I waved my hand and he left.

  His answer was enough. The people needed somewhere they could gather together as a group and become a part of a bigger union. The question of cheaper prices was not important to them. And it was true that they did need the protection of being in a bigger grouping. They needed leadership.

  Haji Samadi requested very vigorously that we stay at his house, and we granted his request.

  That night the meeting with the Solo branch leadership took place. There were ten people gathered. I was introduced to them one by one. There was one young man with a haji’s cap on his head who sat a few yards away from the table. His body seemed bloated even though he was quite a tall man. Because he was so big, he seemed short. His two hands always rested on his lap. He didn’t wear a batik kain like the others but a plain sarong.

  As gently as I could I explained that it was not the Sarekat’s function to collect money from those who wanted to be organized, who wanted to learn about organizing, to form capital for the use of any other particular group. I told them that what the branch had done in using the money to buy the materials for batik-making was a useful thing, but it was not the real aim of the Sarekat. The real aims were still those set out in the Constitution—comradeship, to develop confidence in our own efforts, to build unity through joint endeavors, to face troubles and p
roblems with a united approach, and to build a joint fund for the members’ mutual benefit. So the appearance of a small group that decides what is in the common interest is not correct unless approved of by all members.

  They were not ready to hear about nationalism at that stage, so I proceeded to discuss other things first. They were still preoccupied with their businesses and hadn’t yet glimpsed the outside world. It would be necessary to spend time educating them on other things before we began discussing nationalism.

  There was one thing that they had studied well, however, and that was the ins and outs of the boycott. But that weapon was not yet needed in Solo. The social and economic life of the town was still in Native hands.

  It was only when the clock indicated nine o’clock that I started to introduce them to the foundation stones of Indies nationalism, but without using those terms. What I told them was based on the reality that our ancestors had left us, not just on the daydreams of one or two people, as was the case with Douwager. I explained how it would be the Native middle class that determined what happened in the Indies, how Islam was the foundation of a brotherhood among everyone, and how independent endeavor and commerce were the basis of our communal life. And I told them also that the unity that would give birth to Indies nationalism would stretch beyond Java to wherever there were people who spoke Malay, who were Moslems, and who engaged in independent endeavor.

  Sosrokoornio took down all that I said as soon as I said it.

  The young man in the haji’s cap and sarong picked up his chair and brought it closer so that he could hear better.

  “Yes, here, closer,” I said.

  Close up he looked even more swollen, huge, his body swollen with muscles. His fingers were huge like bananas.

  “What is your name, Sudara?” I asked.

  “Haji Misbach.”

  We greeted each other. I introduced him to the people in my entourage. With those huge, strong fingers of his, if we had shaken hands European style my hand would have been crushed. There are obvious advantages in the Islamic style of greeting, where your hands just briefly touch, and then you pull them back to touch your heart.