Footsteps (37 page)

“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.

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 belongings 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.