House of Glass

by Pramoedya Ananta Toer

  “You’re not some snotty-nosed youngster who doesn’t know about the world. So listen—Sukabumi will be your first target. And don’t pretend you haven’t got enough reliable men. Don’t do anything too smart either. Sukabumi first of all, and then on to other towns, more and more, wherever you choose. You have heard what my plans are now. The only thing that will wipe out what you have heard or make you forget it is a bullet. Go now. And remember whom you are dealing with.”

  This bandit and thug, enemy and rival of Robert Suurhof, left the Harmoni Club. His gait was hesitant. He did not look back. From where I sat he seemed small, bent, and insignificant. Just like me during the meeting in Room A with the six others.

  So it was that some months later at the beginning of 1913 I set off in a sedan to visit a town that I had so far avoided—Sukabumi. I had no desire whatsoever to meet Princess Kasiruta. No. To meet her would only make me feel ashamed. After she was arrested in front of my home that time, it turned out that she was bearing no weapon of any kind, gun or knife. She was released three days later with the qualification that she was no longer allowed to leave Sukabumi. Her parents suffered the same ban as well. And truly I was ashamed too that I had chosen Sukabumi as the first target only because I hoped that Princess Kasiruta would end up involved in some way or another, would be found to have broken the law and so therefore it could be determined that the proper place for her for a certain period would be in jail.

  “We can’t go any farther, Tuan,” said the Native driver.

  Yes, it was impossible to go farther. The road was packed with people carrying all sorts of things, so many that I could never list them all one by one.

  I alighted from the car and set out on foot. I was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and white drill trousers. I followed those who were marching in procession shouting and yelling. A few minutes later the procession suddenly broke up and people dashed in all directions attacking the Chinese shops right along the street. I was like someone out on a leisurely stroll with no interest in what was going on. Screams and shrieks of fear, shouts and yells of attack. Then just screams and shrieks.

  The shouting and yelling died away as people struggled to grab whatever booty they could. And so shops that had been built up with hard work every day, for years, maybe decades, were destroyed in just a few minutes. For a moment I found it hard to believe that Natives who were usually so lethargic could all of a sudden turn into a pack of wolves who could growl, snarl, attack, and tear things to pieces like this. Their eyes were popping out, inflamed with revenge. And wasn’t that what the Company soldiers and Dutchmen were like back in 1740? Full of revenge because they were shown to be not as tough as the Chinese and could not compete? Full of revenge because they had lost out in the struggle for the bones from the colonial dinner plate?

  It made me sick.

  I climbed back into the car. At that moment the whole of the local police flooded out of their barracks, and in no less a fury attacked the rioters. They beat and bashed, clubbed and kicked. Their truncheons waved up and down in the air, landing with a thud on human bodies. As a retired policeman I knew how they felt. They felt they had been done a personal injury because rioting had befallen their territory.

  All that was left for me to do was await the police reports. The car headed off to Cirebon via Bandung. As I sat back in the front seat, enjoying the wind blowing over me, it also pleased me to guess at how many people would be arrested and end up before the courts. And I speculated too about how great a role in the rioting Princess Kasiruta had played. Then any members of Sarekat Islam who had a hand in the riot could be hauled in too.

  And, Meneer Raden Mas Minke, you will witness how this youngest child of yours will be torn apart and will lose all credibility in the eyes of the foreign press. How there is no such thing as the rising up of the Native bourgeoisie. And you, Sun Yat-sen, you will soon be setting up a consulate in the Indies, whose first task will be to protest this act of barbarity. And you, Kuomintang, you will think twice, ten times in fact, before you decide to implant yourself here in the Indies!

  In just a little while the leaders of the Sarekat would be put on trial as criminals. And you, my teacher in exile, you will be able to do nothing except weep and fill yourself with remorse because of your youngest child, who has now lost its way. There is nothing you can do. You gave away too easily the chance to castle on our chessboard. You now face your own defeat, Minke. See, the Chinese you looked upon as your teachers are being set upon by your own Sarekat. Cry your heart out. This will go on and on until the Sarekat is destroyed, and you will not be able to do a thing about it. Pray as much as you like. The government will still be victorious. You and yours will be destroyed!

  The same thing was happening in Cirebon. Nothing much interesting. The car took me back to Buitenzorg.

  I drew up a list of what follow-up actions we had to take. The Sarekat leadership had to be discredited as instigators of riots and disturbers of the peace. The Sarekat must be made to shrink up. Reports had to be circulated worldwide and throughout the Indies that emphasized the criminal activities of Sarekat members. It must lose any international esteem it had won. The outside world must forget about the idea that it would be of any importance in the future.

  How everything moved when I jerked my fingers! As time passed I became engrossed in this kind of large-scale work. And you, my teacher, Raden Mas Minke, it is I who now decide things, I who have the initiative; all you can do is hold out as best you can. Huh, in fact you can’t even do that. Perhaps you are already half crazy, or perhaps you’ve even lost your mind altogether. And the newspapers will keep visiting you in your study, reporting how the Sarekat ringleaders entered the trap like rats.

  One riot followed another—Gresik, Kuningan, Madiun, and so many small towns that I lost count, like Caruban, Weleri, Grobogan. But all remained calm at the Sarekat center in Solo. That was the way it was bound to be. The whole of the economy was in Native hands. There was no competition with the Chinese. But that too was in accord with my plan. There would be nothing left of the Sarekat except its leaders in Solo, nothing else.

  Through its own channels the government had already warned Haji Samadi. All that was needed was evidence that the rioting was being organized by Sarekat people. In the trials that followed it would be possible to implicate several Sarekat members.

  The Sarekat hastily organized a national conference in Solo. The conference proceeded in a gloomy atmosphere, under pressure from government warnings. The rioting was eventually subdued, as a result of both the government’s and the Sarekat leadership’s actions. But it was too late—the rice had already become porridge.

  Then something happened that completely astounded the organization’s European observers and sympathizers. On Haji Samadi’s recommendation, a newcomer who had not yet any record of service in the Sarekat was appointed Sarekat president. This person was Mas Tjokro.

  And with this incident the organization’s European sympathizers lost their interest. The Natives, it seemed, still did not understand democracy. Such a decision could only occur in a Stone Age culture. Foreign interest in the Sarekat dissipated.

  But it was only people like me who understood the real reason Haji Samadi was in such a hurry to free himself of the leadership of these hundreds of thousands of people. He did not have the nerve to handle the pressure that was coming from the government. He did not have the steel nerves of someone like Raden Mas Minke, who also had no personal vested interest in the organization.

  This all reminded me of what Meneer L— had told me once, just after I had visited him to tell him about a 5 percent increase in the 1913 budget for the State archives. He said there were many European experts on Java who tended to think highly of the level of democracy achieved in Java’s villages. If ancient Greece in its time could boast of its democracy and its city-states, then Java could boast of village republics that were wholly democratic, which could be seen today in the fact the villages still held elect
ions for their chiefs. He didn’t agree with all these experts; he had his own views. This village democracy was a system that suited weak people and killed off people’s character and integrity. As soon as anyone living in this democracy was able to develop his character and grow strong, he would rise out of this democratic environment and, in fact, begin to manipulate it. Javanese democracy was not the same as democracy in Europe today. A mistaken assessment of this will result in coming to conclusions that are no less mistaken.

  The Europeans, particularly those I was in frequent contact with, loved to laugh in contempt at the rise of Mas Tjokro. One of them even went so far as to say that it was a general phenomenon in Java that the Natives preferred to surrender everything to leaders, so that they could be free of the need either to think or to take responsibility, because, in fact, neither of these things had yet become traditions in Java. Indeed, the Javanese weren’t even acquainted with these things.

  When the Sarekat leadership elevated Mas Tjokro as president and announced that the national leadership would be based in Surabaya, people were even more amazed. Wasn’t the Sarekat’s base of support located in Solo? Why were they deserting their own base of support?

  In my report to my boss, I explained it like this. The move to Surabaya was nothing more than a reflection of Haji Samadi’s personality. He wanted to safeguard Solo, whose commercial life was well in hand, especially his own businesses. At the same time, moving to Surabaya was in accord with Mas Tjokro’s own ambitions, even though it ignored the real needs of the Sarekat.

  When I later received a report that Haji Samadi’s family had held a big thanksgiving ceremony in Laweyan, it was easy to understand why—he was giving thanks that he had freed himself from all his troubles.

  What was the situation in Solo now that the national leadership of the Sarekat, now officially known as the Sarekat Islam, had moved?

  I asked Cor Oosterhof what things were like there now. He wouldn’t answer. I told him that I was going to see for myself. He said that it was probably impossible to make any headway there. Was it really true that we couldn’t stir up Solo as well? I asked. There’s no point, he answered coldly.

  And so I went by train to see for myself if Solo was no longer the heart of the Sarekat.

  This was the first time I had visited Solo. It was so calm, as if there were no great changes taking place among all the restlessness of the modern world. The roads were full of women, all wearing batik selendangs, carrying children, or a basket or a bag. It looked as if the whole of the town’s business was carried out by women. In the stalls and shops, it was women too who served the customers. It was European opinion that Solo men were the most backward in civilization. They looked upon women as capital that would bring them food and clothing. The dream of all the men of Solo was to marry a Solo woman so they could live simply without ever having to work. If you married two women, then you were guaranteed food and clothing as well as money for gambling and cock-fighting. To marry three women . . . and so on and so on. And everybody was happy with this situation. I couldn’t really say whether these insults contained any truth or not. Perhaps after I’d stayed here a few days . . .

  Everything here was done by Natives, even the little riot that occurred that evening to mark my arrival. Several Chinese workshops, not so many really, were attacked by a small group of men. Things followed their normal course—arrests, interrogations, and later, perhaps, to court. And it all had no other aim than to cause the Sarekat to collapse from within.

  Cor Oosterhof was right. There were no opportunities here to get at the Sarekat. There was not enough basis, or no basis at all, to successfully pit Chinese against Native in any big way. I returned to Buitenzorg with empty hands.

  Another quite big wave of rioting hit Kertosono, Nganjuk, Pacitan, Lamongan, then climaxed in Mojokerto, turning back into Central Java—Kudus. Enough! I said to myself. Enough. My report on all that had happened was very well received. Once again I could hope for leave to Europe. Perhaps I might even be awarded a medal next August 31 on Her Majesty’s birthday. Who knows?

  And you, my teacher. You would know better than anyone that I was not happy about any of this. If in the end I am defeated, all that will happen to me is that I will retire from my office. There will be a pension waiting for me. While your Sarekat, bloated with too many members, if it falls, will be crushed under its own weight. That’s how the game is played. I will only lose my job if I am defeated. You will have lost everything. We are just chess players in a fixed match. And in all this, I have given up my principles. I can see you now jumping up and down celebrating your victory in defeat.

  Victory or defeat! Modern Pitung, what am I doing now? Planning what I will do during my leave in Europe. I will stay in the Netherlands just a few days, to see my children. Then I want to visit the Basque country, where I can enjoy to the full the dancing of those hot-blooded girls. Don’t be angry, Raden Mas, but my boss has already answered my question unhesitatingly: “You will get your leave after August 31.”

  My wife was already packing. You can guess for yourself why I’m getting my leave after August 31. A medal!

  And, yes, the man who has taken your place, Mas Tjokro, he doesn’t have an inkling about how you were influenced by the example of China. They have founded the Kuomintang. I am willing to take a bet that your replacement has never heard of it and is not interested anyway. Your Sarekat won’t turn into a party. No, if in fact it doesn’t just close up shop, it will never be anything more than just a social organization, and indeed, it must never be able to become anything more than that.

  6

  Several years ago a meneer landed at Tanjung Priok. It is not clear who was there to meet him. It’s quite possible no one met him. He went to live in Bandung, where he got to know Wardi, who was helping out at Medan at the time. There were some who said that this meneer also helped Medan, through Wardi, by supplying foreign news reports. He used to summarize them down as much as he could, but this did not keep him very busy because Medan’s readers had not yet developed an interest in foreign news. But he didn’t do this for long either.

  This meneer’s name was Douwager. He liked to say that he was a relative of Multatuli. He bore on his shoulders the burden of past experience. He had fought with the Transvaal in the war against the British in South Africa.

  From the moment of his arrival, colonial society kept its distance from him. Everyone thought he had strange ideas. If the Dutch in South Africa could establish their own nation separate from the Netherlands or England, why couldn’t they do the same in the Indies? He dreamed of a South African-style Republic of the Indies.

  Meneer had forgotten, the Dutch did not establish a colony in the way they did on the southern tip of that black continent. The Eurasians of the Indies were also very, very few in number. The Dutch were not like the French in Algiers or Canada. But he kept on dreaming.

  The Dutch subdued all the Indies by using the Javanese, including conquering Java itself. And you, Meneer, have no authority among the Javanese.

  How determined he was, this meneer. He tried to talk to the men at the military barracks in Cimahi, Padalarang, and Bandung. But he received a very cold response. Indeed, they all thought he was a madman.

  He should have known (or was he just pretending he didn’t know?) that in these Indies, so green with jungle, paddy, and fields, he was really living inside a house of glass. From behind my desk I could even see every individual movement of his eyeballs. Didn’t you learn anything from what happened to your friend Raden Mas Minke?

  I think the colonial press’s warnings were correct. They said you were drunk with a lust to carry out your uncle’s, Multatuli’s, dream, that you wanted to be a white emperor in the Indies, like James Brook in North Borneo. Be careful what you do next, Douwager!

  What was true, however, was that it was not you who had become an emperor but Mas Tjokro! The foreign press had given him, the president of the Sarekat Islam, the title “emperor withou
t a crown,” even if only as a rather insulting joke. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mas Tjokro thought he was being honored. But any educated person who understood European history and the European spirit would know that such a nickname was not an honor but an insult. How could someone who had not taken part in the organization’s struggles, its joys and pains, suddenly find himself its supreme leader? If it was the Sarekat that was his empire, then in conditions like this the Sarekat members would be no better than his slaves. He ruled as an emperor over the Sarekat. This situation did not help the development of democracy as a characteristic of a modern organization. Tjokro’s position was no better than that of the head of some primitive tribe.

  And that nickname did not at all bother Meneer Tjokro’s conscience. With so many members, perhaps he was already dreaming of a real empire.

  Tjokro and Douwager brought with them different experiences and ideas. Douwager came from South Africa bringing wounds and defeats. Tjokro’s beautiful dreams came from inside a Borsumij warehouse, and now he had inherited a kingdom left behind by Raden Mas Minke—something that could never happen in a public organization in Europe. But that is what happened in these green Indies. And people speak of Tjokro as the Ratu Adil, the “just prince,” the messiah of the Javanese. And Douwager, on the other hand, was still unable to make any progress.

  Tjokro started publishing Peroetoesan as a replacement for the still frozen Medan, and the Sarekat still did not turn itself into a party. Following Minke’s example, Tjokro’s paper used Malay, not Javanese. Douwager also set up a newspaper, De Expres, using Dutch. Douwager used his paper to attack what, according to European criteria, he saw as the bad conditions in the Indies. He called out to the Eurasians who were paid less money for the same work as that done by Pure-Bloods. With Wardi’s help, he built a paper that spoke with a fiery voice and biting cynicism.

  You could never win equal wages without struggle. There could be no struggle without organization, an organization that was courageous, intelligent, and principled. So spoke Douwager. And so the Indische Partij or the Indies Party, the first political party in the Indies, was formed just on one year after the Kuomintang was formed in China. The party had three leaders—Douwager, Wardi, and Tjiptomangun. The latter was a doctor, a graduate from STOVIA, in the same class as Tomo, the founder of Boedi Oetomo. Tjipto was lucky. He had been posted to a large town. Tomo, who had fallen out of favor because of his involvement in Boedi Oetomo, was posted to a small, out-of-the-way town—Blora.