Footsteps (58 page)

One of the features of these new developments was the clear role the newspaper played in leading the community that was its readership. The organization itself wasn’t really visible to the public. Rather it was the paper that they saw, and if that ever disappeared from the face of the earth, then so would the leadership capacity of the organization.

Medan
must live and stay alive. There was no other paper capable of leading the Natives.

The editorial staff suggested that we use a smaller typeface so that we could put more in the paper. I continued to reject the idea. The Chinese readership of
Sin Po
could afford to buy glasses; the Native readership could not. We had to find some other way. There was nothing we could do to improve the paper technically because we were using the best technology available. There were plenty of signs that
Sin Po
—which published articles in both Chinese and Malay—would continue to press us. Our Chinese subscribers one by one withdrew their subscriptions. Sometimes a whole town would go.
Medan
was in trouble.

Frischboten didn’t feel he had the right to interfere in editorial affairs, but he was able to point out how
Sin Po
had taken over some of
Medan’s
techniques. We used a legal adviser from Europe. They employed a pensioned European police commissioner, who really knew how the law operated and how the Indies laws worked too. A similar thing happened in relation to distribution and reporting. And there was one thing that we could not fight. They were able to get news reports from outside. They could afford to pay for them. If
Sin Po
could keep going for another five years, perhaps all of the Indies Chinese would be nationalists, except the older generation who were incapable of change.

All this time, the colonial press never tired of publishing their reports of the activities of the Jepara Committees or of praising the glories of the Ethical Policy.
Medan
and
Sin Po
did not join in. It was my own view by then that this whole campaign was indeed an attempt by the supporters of the Ethical Policy to have van Aberon made governor-general in 1914, or at least to build support for the Liberal party. Those opposed to the campaign argued that the governor-generalship was not a social position but a political one. The Ethical Policy supporters had the illusion that
with a governor-general who genuinely believed in the Ethical Policy, the welfare of the people would be improved.

Princess and I, accompanied by some of Sandiman’s men, went to Blora to visit family.

The Bupati of Blora, my grandfather, was so proud that I had a princess for a wife.

Princess and I met with the two old people, husband and wife, in their back parlor. The conversation was opened without any unnecessary formalities.

“Gus, tuan assistant resident sent us a message a little while ago, just a few hours after you arrived. Perhaps you can guess what it was, so don’t be surprised—the Sarekat is banned from any activity in this district.”

“I’m not surprised, and I understand completely,
Nenenda.
”

“Very good. If you wanted to start something you would have to stay in a losmen, and their are no good losmens here. If you stay with any other official, he will receive the same warning.”

“I understand, Nenenda.”

“In other words, while you stay here you must not contact the local Sarekat branch.”

The old woman,
Raden Ayu
, listened silently, hardly blinking an eyelid. Princess was straining to hear what was going on.

There was no one else allowed to attend this discussion.

“Even so, I myself want to know as much as possible about the Sarekat.”

“But that would be Sarekat propaganda.” I turned him down. “It’s better that I don’t speak about it.”

“No. It would be just a grandson talking to his grandfather.”

“But it would be a Sarekat activity, because I would, of course, be highly recommending and praising it.”

“Yes, yes, it would be Sarekat activity,” the bupati repeated. “In that case, tell me about something else, whereby the Sarekat is mentioned in passing, is not praised, and also is not the main topic of discussion.”

He burst out laughing, really enjoying his suggested ploy. I was carried away with laughter as well. And that was the first time I had laughed before a bupati. It was a complete surprise to me to see him giggling uncontrollably. Then the old woman joined in as well. It was only Princess who sat there openmouthed, not
knowing what was going on. So, as I had done before for Mei, I now did for Princess—I became an interpreter.

Now Raden Ayu couldn’t restrain her giggling as she watched me interpret, unable to restrain her amusement at my having a wife who understood no Javanese. Not knowing Javanese was the same as being totally uncivilized.

Seeing everyone else laugh, Princess joined in, though feeling that she was the only one not knowing what was going on.

The old bupati suddenly stopped laughing when he saw a granddaughter-in-law dare to laugh in front of him, without covering her mouth, without bowing her head, and without lowering her voice. A stern frown was soon on his forehead as he looked at Princess.

It was like some comic farce that was not funny enough to make anyone laugh.

Princess stopped laughing while I explained everything to her. After hearing my translation and knowing how things stood, she burst into even more raucous laughter, not caring who else was there. So did I. Finally so did the bupati.

The laughter died down when some refreshments were brought in. The bupati took the opportunity to take charge of the proceedings: “You may begin,” he said.

So I told him about all that had happened since the founding of the Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan, about the competition between peoples of the Indies, and how all but the Europeans had been left behind by the Chinese.

“And what will the Sarekat do about all this?”

“Oh, a thousand pardons, but in this district, your humble servant here will not speak about such things,” I said firmly to show respect to his position and to the instructions he had been put under.

He then asked what were the reasons for all the fuss over the Jepara Committees, even here in Blora. And I explained to him about the campaign to try to put van Aberon in the governor-generalship.

“But who is this girl from Jepara? Wasn’t she the late wife of the bupati in the neighboring district, Rembang?”

“You are not mistaken, Nenenda.”

“Why isn’t it her own husband that is setting up the school for his late wife, who indeed died in his arms?”

“Most Natives, even her own husband, do not understand
what it was that she dreamed after, Nenenda. It is mostly the Europeans and other foreigners who understand. The Natives are still groping about.”

“And how is it that a woman can be more respected by the Europeans than a man?”

And now he listened to my words, concentrating like an obedient child before his teacher, forgetting his curiosity concerning the Sarekat. As a bupati he had about fifty thousand people under him. The Sarekat now had about seventy thousand people, including the families, under it. And among the fifty thousand residents of Blora, not all of them would listen or obey him. The Samin people obviously would ignore everything that came from the government.

I explained to him about the dreams of the girl from Jepara. The old woman also listened attentively. And my story ended with her instructions to her sisters that they educate their sons to respect womankind, and not be like most of the wealthy and powerful men of Java, who considered their wives to be no more than an ornamentation. While he needed such ornamentation his wife would be looked after and loved. If he no longer needed her, he could kick her out, not caring where she would end up.

“She must have been a goddess, Child,” said the bupati, intervening, “and she sent these thoughts all the way to Holland?”

“Not just to Holland, Nenenda, but after she died her writings were translated into French and English as well.”

“And where is England and France, Child?”

“England is to the west of Holland, and it has the biggest empire in the world, controlling one eighth of the world. France is to the southwest of Holland, and is itself much bigger than Holland.”

“Yes, I have heard about that school to honor the late wife of the Bupati of Rembang. Why didn’t he do something like that himself earlier?”

“If other people had not moved to honor her, perhaps the bupati himself would have forgotten that he had even taken her as a wife. That is why today he is the object of many insults. From the Europeans, and from the educated Natives also.”

“A bupati insulted! Such things never happened except in a time of war,” the bupati commented.

“How would you feel if you were the object of such insults?” I asked.

“What is the point of a being a bupati if you just become the object of insults? It would be better to resign and go into meditation in the mountains.”

“Nenenda.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you, as way of showing honor to women, also establish a school for girls? Without any help from the Europeans, but by yourself? That would be something, Nenenda.”

“You’ve got all sorts of strange ideas,” he answered.

“Not all sorts, just one, and not so strange. If Nenenda carries out this idea, you will surely be more honored and respected than the Bupati of Rembang.”

“I have never treated your grandmother in the way the Bupati of Rembang treated his late wife.”

“Then, if not to honor womankind, Nenenda, do it at my request.”

“You can found one yourself. The Sarekat has enough money.”

“I will not speak about the Sarekat here in this building, Nenenda. And if you did set up a girls’ school here, with the aims that were espoused by the girl from Jepara, your superiors would truly respect you, even though you set it up at my request.”

“Yes, all sorts of strange ideas. I want to see if you can establish such a school yourself.”

“I can do that anytime, easily; the thing now is you, my grandfather.”

“Are you challenging me?”

“Perhaps you could interpret it that way.”

“And where would your Nenenda obtain the money to establish such a school as that?” asked his wife.

“Money is no problem if the will is there.” And then in Malay to Princess, “Isn’t that so, Princess?”

“Isn’t what so? I haven’t understood a word.”

So I translated it all for her again.

“So what is your opinion then, Princess?” the bupati asked in Malay.

“The money can always be found, Nenenda, if the will is there.”

“Ah, you’re just saying that to back up your husband.”

“My heart will be full of joy and gratitude if Nenenda agrees to this idea.”

“Is that so? And what is the reason that you should be so grateful?”

“Whosoever obtains a modern education, like this your servant, soon understands that women are not at all respected by men. And when I see a woman suffer disrespect or humiliation, it is as if I myself suffer that humiliation too.”

“But your husband has never humiliated you?”

“Never, Nenenda. He has always honored me, and with great sincerity.”

I quickly followed this up with the story of how Princess had chased off the Knijpers that day and how she had fired off the revolver at them.

“You fired at them with a revolver?” he asked, amazed and full of admiration at the same time. “You?”

“They ran off and have never returned, Nenenda,” answered Princess.

“My granddaughter-in-law shot at some thugs with a revolver.” He shook his head. “You?”

“Just to chase them away, Nenenda.”

“You saved my grandson, Princess. Your grandmother would shake just at seeing the revolver,” and he looked at his wife, who did not understand Malay. “From whence comes your courage?”

And Princess didn’t answer. She just smiled and looked at me, hoping that I would help her answer.

“Ah, enough of this. It’s not important. The important thing now is what about this school for girls that Nenenda is going to set up. If you are not convinced that you should do it as a mark of respect for women, or because I asked you to, perhaps you will do it for the first Native woman to edit a magazine and who saved your grandson.”

His wife slapped me on the thigh, and that meant I had to translate for her.

Princess listened and was embarrassed. Then lifting up her face, she spoke in Malay: “Not because of or for me, Nenenda. If this your servant may tell a story…”

“Yes, go ahead, Princess.”

“I have read the book
De Zonnige Toekomst.
The most interesting part was when she told how the Bupati of Rembang proposed to her. He told her that when his wife was dying, she instructed him that he must wed that flower of Java, the girl from
Jepara. My husband has told me that when a bupati says ‘his wife,’ he means his official wife. They married, and the girl from Jepara was taken off to Rembang. There she was met by a six-month-old baby and several
selir
, his ‘unofficial wives.’ I cried when I read that, Nenenda. How evil it was to trick a woman who was as educated as she was. No, it wasn’t that she was tricked. There was something that made her powerless to refuse. I do not want to see other women trapped like that. So that is why I would be so grateful to see Nenenda establish such a school for girls.”

The bupati laughed slowly: “I hoped to hear something about the Sarekat. Now this is something else again that we are talking about. This husband of yours, Princess, he got up to all sorts of things when he was a child. Now, when he is grown up and much older, he is still the same.” He turned to his wife and translated into Javanese what he had just said.

“Yes, what is wrong with the idea if we indeed are capable of doing it?” she answered. “It would be good if many girls knew these things; then they will never be tricked like that.”

We sat there silently listening to this conversation between the two old people. I deliberately didn’t tell them that the girl from Jepara knew that her suitor was deceiving her, and she also knew that behind the bupati were his superiors and the government. She knew too that she had to accept this humiliation as the consequence of her own vacillation. She entered that hell because her love and devotion to her father were greater than her commitment to her own ideals.