Max Havelaar

by Multatuli

  94 One of the suspended officials, Resident A. L. Weddik, became the governor of Borneo. The Assistant Resident of Padang, Schaap, later became the governor of Makassar. My predecessor in Natal, Mr. Van Meerten—a very capable man, and the son of the well-known woman writer of that name—also remained in the civil service and was honorably promoted many times. I may mention here in passing that Mr. Weddik’s promotion to the office of governor of Borneo, for all that it showed he was considered fit for such high office, was really no more than a fiction aimed specifically at the English—and the many private English fortune hunters!—as proof of our continued sovereignty over that enormous island of the Indies. The pointlessness of this pitiful artifice became obvious when Brooke took over Labuan, without any regard for our government’s authority. Soon the same thing will happen in New Guinea—which is also part of Insulindia. Dutchmen, be warned: our rivals are lying in wait. What is more, the governors- general are, in this respect, less guilty of wholesale neglect than future historians may suppose. Instead of putting their energy into keeping Insulindia intact, they have to focus on maintaining their authority in the face of ministers, parliamentary gossip, and incompetent Dutch newspaper scribblers. The cacophonous free-for-all resulting from the changes since ’48 has had a disordering effect, at home and in the Indies. And yet . . .“Long live the great Thorbecke!” Isn’t that right? It’s pathetic!

  95 I will return elsewhere to the abolition of caning—a relatively humane form of punishment!—and to the unhappy effects of that tendentious philanthropy.

  96 In this paragraph, Resident Brest van Kempen is judged more generously than he deserves. Long after writing Havelaar, I was informed by an unimpeachable witness that Brest van Kempen had a very particular reason for sparing the Adipati. If only the competent authorities would ask me about that reason.

  97 Since Havelaar, these remarks about the government have become fully applicable to the entire nation, which pretends to ignore my efforts for reform, and thinks it quite proper that I must scriven to earn a livin’. Meanwhile, those who go on deceiving the government with untruths are honored, rewarded, invested in positions of power, and placed in charge of affairs. The people want to be deceived.

  98 The ludicrous fear of native chiefs is kept alive by the residents in their own interest, and is actually based on . . . wordplay. The truth is, we cannot do without the native chiefs in the organism of our administration—that is, the system in which those chiefs hold such a prominent role. But in no way does it follow that a native chief cannot be reminded of his duties. Where would we be if it were impossible to discipline or dismiss a lieutenant, simply because the army cannot do without its officers?

  99 The poor man’s name is Dongso, and he later became my faithful servant. In Java, criminals sentenced to forced labor fall into two categories. Some remain in Java, which is considered a great mitigation of their sentence. Labor outside Java is, for most of them, a terrible punishment that not infrequently drives them to suicide.

  100 When I inserted this note number into the text, I intended to venture a characterological analysis of the reception of my efforts by my compatriots, but the tone in which some critics are attacking me these days, and the field on which they try to wage this battle, hold me back.

  101 Tikar: Small mat. Finely plaited mats are used on top of mattresses almost everywhere you go in the Indies, and because they remain cool, are considered to be healthful. The production of these mats and other plaited products is an industry of some significance, in which the Makassars are particularly adept.

  102 Pukul empat: Four o’clock. This is the name of a small flower that opens at that time in the afternoon and closes again just before dawn.

  103 The average reader will take this for a fiction. But, again, I am telling the truth. One morning while bathing, Commander Duclari saw a corpse floating down the river, and he recognized the man who had come to the Assistant Resident’s house the evening before to make a complaint. Mr. Carolus had instructed him to come back the next day and present himself at the office. But . . . measures had been taken to make sure he would not come back! Even without Duclari’s testimony, Havelaar knew this was the usual course of events, and everyone in the Lebak region knew it, Resident Brest van Kempen as well as anybody else.

  104 How Havelaar should go about it: Above all, he was bound by his oath and instructions, two factors that pointed him in exactly the same direction as his character and humanity. But . . . he’d come up against the ever-unwritten “spirit of the government,” of which his immediate superior was the humble servant. That “spirit” demanded not that justice be done, but merely that peace and quiet reigned. Each individual attended solely to his own needs, his own career, his own pension. What did it matter how many Javanese had to be bled dry and murdered with impunity to achieve those goals? That was the way of the Slymerings and Van Twists! And the nation approved. Far from expressing gratitude to Havelaar for sacrificing himself to put an end to that immoral state of affairs, some are so shameless as to count his altruism against him, as if it were a crime. Perhaps he—like the others? —should first have served out his time and received his pension! In other words, he should have participated in the villainy and ended his worthless life as a colleague of Van Twist! As shameless as this argument may be, it has the merit of being forthright—or brazenly outspoken, at least. Its author must be a bad man, but . . . he doesn’t mind if people know. Bravo, Dr. Van Vloten, you learned theologian!

  I am less impressed by the many hypocrites who praise Havelaar to high heaven—oh, yes—but don’t lift a finger to defend his cause. They should stand up for their moral bankruptcy.

  105 Principles of administration that will ultimately prevail: I acknowledge that thus far it hardly seems that way. The fairy tale that so much has improved in the Indies since 1860 is dealt with above, on pp. 292–294. What stands in the way of all progress is—along with many other things—our Elections Act. The decay in our state, which is now universally acknowledged, cannot be repaired until we rid ourselves of that immoral and impractical Thorbeckian rag. Quite apart from colonial affairs, this truth also applies in full to the Netherlands itself.

  106 If you wish to interpret that “even” as sarcastic, I don’t mind! The simple truth is that few kings have the greatness to put up with great minds in their midst. Most of them feel the need for exceptionally little minds. Aversion to excellence often takes priority over self-interest, and many a high-ranking dignitary would rather see his own good—and the common good!—thoroughly undermined than tolerate the presence of a man whose merits would overshadow his. This is an old truth by now and, however sad it may be, not incomprehensible. But for an entire people to assent to this stupid jealousy, which results in their interests being neglected—that seems stranger to me. Here, again, our Constitution stands in the way of any improvement. The King is not allowed to be . . . anything. So be it! But why are the articles on the distribution of authority designed to ensure that he will seldom encounter anything around him but mediocrity? The poor King should at least be given the chance to have someone beside, above, or beneath him of a little more substance than we can expect from the ministers crawling out of Parliament. I have heard people claim that our King is not respected by the nation. Whether this is true, I can’t say. Nor can I say whether he deserves respect. But tell me, pray, do you believe that the reverse is possible? That the King can respect the nation, considering the exemplars he sees every day, which are, nota bene, pressed upon him as the country’s elite? Experience has shown, I might add, how this affects the appointment of governors for Insulindia. For that office—the weightiest in the state!—Tom, Dick, or Harry is apparently good enough, as long as he fits in with the clique that happens to occupy the seat of power. There is a chapter on this in the new edition of Specialiteiten (“Experts”).

  107 In the very earliest days of the Van Twist government, one Controleur Bauer was dismissed from the civil service for accepting gi
fts “with no intention of enriching himself.” I have taken this quotation from the decree itself, qv for a fine example of hypocritical moral prudery! Van Twist, who had sworn “to deem the protection of the native his first duty,” may neglect his duties and yet enjoy his stipend, but a controleur who failed to refuse a bunch of bananas, “not to enrich himself” and without the least prospect of a landowner’s seat in the Senate, is sent packing in disgrace! I’d walk a long mile to see someone in the Colonial Administration who had never committed the dastardly crime of which Mr. Bauer has been accused. As I remarked in the body of this work, the presentation of this kind of gift should be regarded as a greeting, a ceremony, an expression of politeness according to the customs of the country. The fact that I disapprove of accepting gifts anyway—as the reference to the oriental tale on pp. 182–182 adequately shows—has no bearing on this matter. My intention is to shed light on the hypocrisy of the Governor-General, who squandered his virtue on such trifles and turned a blind eye as the natives entrusted to his care were robbed and killed. It was this same Van Twist who reintroduced the very recruitment method for the Indies army that he himself had abolished! That fine fellow had expressed the opinion that this method “could not stand up to the test of moral scrutiny.” Quite so! Feckless Javanese youths were, at the government’s behest, entrapped by junior officers with the aid of dice games and . . . whores. No, indeed, no, indeed, that certainly cannot stand up to “the test of moral scrutiny”! But the reintroduction of this recruitment method could bear the pious Van Twist’s “test of moral scrutiny,”‖ and the man is “highly esteemed” in the Netherlands. Will it not, by this standard, soon become an honor to be a thug in a house of correction?

  108 The name Saijah is borrowed, with a slight transposition of letters, from “Staat van gestolen buffels” (“Statement of Stolen Buffalo”) in Love Letters, which also includes the true names of the villages of Badur and Cipurut.

  109 My calculation of what is lost in the Indies under the administration of one governor-general “who does not do his duty” has—as usual, nothing new there!—been called exaggerated. Few people realize the power of multiplication. Drystubble, too, was astonished when he found a piece on this subject in Shawlman’s package. I would ask those who are so quick to dismiss this claim how much, in their opinion, one governor-general of the Van Twist variety—and he wasn’t the worst!—costs the nation.

  110 Orang gunung: mountain dweller, but in Java, more specifically one who lives in the mountains of the western end.

  111 For lack of space, and because the matter at issue here is closely connected to general beliefs—most of which are grossly incorrect—about authority in general, I will not go into this subject any further. I refer the reader to the latest edition of Experts (Delft: Waltman).

  112 Kendang: Enclosure surrounded by crude stakes.

  113 Frits had asked all sorts of questions, Drystubble says. A few of those questions were included in the chapter, but Mr. Van Lennep preferred to omit them. Why? Surely not because the Wafflers of this world are at a loss to answer them? The most comical thing is that V. L. himself, who catered to the most narrow-minded superstition in this case, was often known to make fun of Bible stories. He felt greater enthusiasm than I do for Voltaire, and was delighted to be told he resembled that shallow thinker—which, in his later years, he truly did. Yet despite this turn of mind, he didn’t feel at liberty to allow Frits to ask, among other things, “So where did Noah get his polar bears for the Ark?”—a fact that shows, I believe, the soundness of my remark in the note to p. 310. He couldn’t bring himself to offend the dime-novel religion of his orthodox Calvinist cronies in Amsterdam. Fortunately, the number of absurdities in the Bible is so great that no one need be at a loss to supplement Frits’s “impertinent remarks,” censored here, with however many others they please.

  114 Here I have brought together the explanations of a few Malay words, regionalisms, and peculiarities that occur in the episode of Saijah.

  Kris: The weapon of the Javanese people and, as such, part of their traditional dress, just as the dagger once was for us. It is a flat, serpentine dagger with a very small hilt. A kris is normally made of strips of soft iron forged together—a kind of damascening, perhaps—and then steeled with buffalo hooves. To protect them from rusting, they are rubbed with jeruk (a kind of citrus fruit) and arsenic, which gives the iron a strange, dull cast. According to superstition, if one wishes to see a kris, one must remove it from the sheath entirely. By removing it only partly, one exposes oneself to great misfortune. Countless tales circulate about enchanted krisses, etc.

  “Heirloom” (pusaka) is used here—as usual—with religious overtones.

  Sawah: Rice field prepared for planting by irrigation, in contrast with a gaga or tipar, a rice field that depends directly on rain for its water supply.

  Kelambu hooks: A kelambu is a curtain. The flat, very wide hooks used for hanging curtains tend to be luxury items. Even in the least prosperous households, they are usually made of brass.

  The hoe (pacul) used by the Javanese has the blade at right angles to the wooden handle, like the head of a pickax. In other words, it is used for hacking at the soil, not for pitching it, an oddity possibly stemming from the fact that the natives go barefoot.

  User-useran: The word is explained in the chapter. Supposed peculiarities in the shape of such whorls of hair give rise to all sorts of predictions, especially when they occur on a child’s head. See, e.g., p. 106.

  Galangan: Narrow dikes that keep the water in the sawah.

  Alang-alang: Reeds, giant grass, or prairie grass. It is often so tall that a man on horseback can hide in it. In Sumatra it is called rimbu, which also means wilderness in general there.

  Sarong, batik, kepala: The sarong is the garment peculiar to the Javanese, both men and women. It is a length of fabric woven out of kapok and sewn together at the ends. Silk is used in exceptional cases. One end is called the kepala, or head, and is dyed with a large border, usually made up of triangles pointing in alternating directions. The dyeing is called batik, and is done by hand. To that end, the fabric is stretched on a frame, and the dye is kept in an aluminum device in the shape of a teapot or antique lamp, but much smaller. A sarong without a kepala, and with ends that are not sewn together, is called a slendang. This garment is worn around the hips, and when worn by men, is partly or completely tucked in. Men often roll up the slendang all the way into a belt, in which case they wear trousers with it, a great departure from authentic Javanese tradition that is becoming more and more widespread among those who are in frequent contact with Europeans. One noteworthy practice I might mention is the wearing of trousers under the sarong by women, solely at the northern tip of Sumatra. At least, that is the only place I have ever encountered this practice. It is Acehnese in origin, which is why the garments in question are called serewah aceh (Acehnese trousers). Their manufacture is a leading industry in the sultanates with which we are now at war.

  Another point about the sarongs and slendangs is that for the past thirty years or so, European manufacturers have been imitating Javanese batik, and the trade in this article runs into the millions. Nevertheless, wearing a printed kain (“cloth,” the generic term for all such garments) is always regarded as a sign of poverty, or at least of lesser prosperity.

  Mata gelap, amok: The term mata gelap (“darkened eye”) refers to the enraged state of a person who strikes down everything in his path until he is subdued. I once called it a “suicide in company” and still can’t think of a better term. The unfortunate person afflicted with such rage recognizes neither friend nor foe. The usual cause is either jealousy or long-pent-up resentment about unfair treatment. The Javanese, like most natives, are gentle and accommodating by nature. But when injured too deeply, or treated unjustly for too long, their anger erupts into “amok.” It goes without saying that apiun (opium) is involved—whether as the cause of the disorder or as a stimulating aid to venting one’s anger.<
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  Jati, ketapang: Two varieties of large tree. The wood of the first is very durable.

  Jasmine (melati) plays a prominent role in ballads, sagas, and legends, much as the rose does for us.

  Rice block: A heavy wooden trough in which paddy is pounded to remove the husk. The pounding is called tumbuk—onomatopoeia again!

  Telling time by the shadow that your hat casts on your face, as Saijah does here, is a practice peculiar to the Indies.

  Kite (lalayang): In Java, this toy is not just for children. It has no tail and makes all sorts of curving motions, which the person holding the string controls by paying out, reeling in, and tugging. The object of the game is to intercept the strings of your opponents’ kites in the air and cut them loose. These efforts result in a battle that is very entertaining to watch and excites a lively interest among the spectators. Saijah’s suspicion that little Jamin must have cheated presupposes a degree of skill in throwing that is peculiar to the Indies.

  Making salt on the south coast: see note 60.

  “Big mouth” and “kill the fire” are calques of Malay expressions.

  Wailing women: In Java, a death is followed by a terrible clamor, not by paid mourners, as in the Netherlands in the old days, but by relatives, acquaintances, and neighbors.

  Spanish dollars: South American dollars. The ones with two columns are thought to be the best, and are equal in value to our old rijksdaalders from Zeeland, the weight and composition of which may have originally been based on the Spanish model. The “Spanish dollar”—now usually struck in Mexico—is called a ringgit in the Dutch East Indies and is still a much-coveted form of currency, because the Chinese, who export a great deal of coin and melt it down in China, highly appreciate its silver content.