Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting 9789812303035, 9812303030, 9789812305442, 9812305440

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Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are INTRODUCTION: available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg > RESEARCHING THE MARGINS I

II

CHARLES A. COPPEL

The Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (ISEAS) was established as an autonomous organization in 1968. It is a regional research centre for scholars and other specialists concerned with modern Southeast Asia, particularly the manyfaceted problems of stability and security, economic development, and political and social change. The Institute’s research programmes are the Regional Economic Studies (RES, including ASEAN and APEC), Regional Strategic and Political Studies (RSPS), and Regional Social and Cultural Studies (RSCS). ISEAS Publications, an established academic press, has issued more than 1,000 books and journals. It is the largest scholarly publisher of research about Southeast Asia from within the region. ISEAS Publications works with many other academic and trade publishers and distributors to disseminate important research and analyses from and about Southeast Asia to the rest of the world.

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS III

edited by

Tim Lindsey Helen Pausacker

INSTITUTE OF OF SOUTHEAST SOUTHEAST ASIAN ASIAN STUDIES, STUDIES, Singapore Singapore INSTITUTE

IV CHARLES A. COPPEL

PHOTO CREDITS

Front cover: photo reproduced courtesy of Dwijaya Syaifil Munir Back cover: drawing reproduced courtesy of Tim Lindsey First published in Singapore in 2005 by: ISEAS Publications Institute of Southeast Asian Studies 30 Heng Mui Keng Terrace Pasir Panjang, Singapore 119614 E-mail: [email protected] Website: http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg First published in Australia in 2005 by: Monash University Press Monash University Victoria 3800, Australia Website: www.monash.edu.au/mai All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. © 2005 Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore The responsibility for facts and opinions in this publication rests exclusively with the editors and contributors and their interpretations do not necessarily reflect the views or the policy of the Institute or its supporters. ISEAS Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Chinese Indonesians : remembering, distorting, forgetting / edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker. 1. Chinese—Indonesia. 2. Peranakan (Chinese)—Indonesia—Social life and customs. 3. Chinese—Indonesia—Social life and customs. 4. Chinese—Indonesia—Religion. 5. Chinese—Indonesia—Legal status, laws, etc. I. Coppel, Charles A., 1937II. Lindsey, Timothy, 1962III. Pausacker, Helen, 1954DS632 C5C53 2005 ISBN 981-230-303-0 (hard cover) ISBN 981-230-286-7 (soft cover) Typeset by International Typesetters Pte Ltd Printed in Singapore by Seng Lee Press Pte Ltd

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS V

Contents Preface Charles Coppel: A Brief Biography

vii x

Contributors

xiii

Glossary

xvi

Introduction: Researching the Margins Charles A. Coppel

1

Bibliography of Charles Coppel’s Work

10

1. Anti-Chinese Violence and Transitions in Indonesia: June 1998–October 1999 Jemma Purdey

14

2. Reconstituting the Ethnic Chinese in Post-Soeharto Indonesia: Law, Racial Discrimination, and Reform Tim Lindsey

41

3. Buddhism and Confucianism in Contemporary Indonesia: Recent Developments Leo Suryadinata

77

4. Portrait of the Chinese in Post-Soeharto Indonesia Arief Budiman

95

5. The Makam Juang Mandor Monument: Remembering and Distorting the History of the Chinese of West Kalimantan Mary Somers Heidhues

105

6. Confucianists and Revolutionaries in Surabaya (c1880–c1906) Claudine Salmon

130

VI CONTENTS vi CHARLES A. COPPEL

7. The Chinese and the Early Centuries of Conversion to Islam in Indonesia Jean Gelman Taylor

148

8. The Agony of Love: A Study of Peranakan Chinese Courtship and Marriage Christine Pitt 165 9. Peranakan Chinese and Wayang in Java Helen Pausacker

185

Index

209

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS VII

Preface The pressure on peranakan Chinese themselves to forget and the tendency of others to distort or neglect their role are giving way to a constructive remembering [of] the part which they have played in the development of Indonesian literature as a whole. (Charles Coppel 1995)1

This volume honours, and reflects on, the life and work of Charles Coppel, who retired from the University of Melbourne in 2002. Throughout his academic career, Charles researched aspects of Indonesian Chinese, but his interests — as reflected in this volume — were broad, ranging from history, politics, legal issues, and violence against the Chinese to culture and religion.2 As students, colleagues, and friends of Charles, the authors of the chapters in this volume have all been influenced by his work and his interest in our research. The chapters in this volume have been chosen both because of the authors’ personal links with Charles and because they reflect his own areas of interest within the field. The chapters also all reflect the theme “remembering, distorting, forgetting”, as used in Charles’ article “Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting: Sino-Malay Literature in Independent Indonesia”. In his work, Charles emphasized this theme to draw attention to misrepresentations of the Chinese, seeking to locate the realities behind the myths which form the basis for the racism and xenophobia they have often experienced in Indonesia. The chapters selected for this Festschrift reflect the same themes. Jemma Purdey analyses incidents of violence against the Chinese in Indonesia during the reformasi period and in particular the rape of Chinese women in Jakarta in 1998. She queries whether there has been any “improvement” in attitudes towards the Chinese. Can traditions of violence towards the Chinese be forgotten? Tim Lindsey focuses on changes to the Indonesian legal system postSoeharto and the effects of these changes on the Indonesian Chinese. Successive governments since the New Order have pointed to reforms they claim have removed formal discrimination. This chapter asks whether this is a distortion of reality and whether New Order discrimination is still legislatively “remembered”. Leo Suryadinata details the changing role of Confucianism and Chinese Buddhism in the past and reviews changes which have occurred

VIII PREFACE viii CHARLES A. COPPEL

since reformasi. The use of religion to define the Chinese has politicized their belief system, thereby distorting it. As politics change, so do Chinese beliefs. Arief Budiman details the debate about assimilation or integration of the Chinese from a historical perspective and questions the direction this will take in the current reformasi or post-Soeharto period. Will Chinese identity be remembered or forgotten? Mary Somers Heidhues discusses the Makam Juang Mandor monument in West Kalimantan, which commemorates the victims of Japanese atrocities in World War II, and subsequent reinterpretations of the event, in particular the role of the Chinese. Her chapter looks at how memory has reinvented the Chinese in the revolutionary period, at their expense, and ties it to post-Soeharto Indonesia. Claudine Salmon examines the involvement of political radicals in Confucianist religion in the late colonial period. She considers how the Chinese managed their relationship between their political and religious identity as Chinese and the inevitable distortions created by their roles as members of colonial East Indian society. Jean Taylor analyses the role of the Chinese in the spread of Islam in Indonesian societies, suggesting that the Chinese played an important part in connecting those societies to an Islamic network, thereby exposing the people to Islamic people, ideas, and knowledge. Her chapter suggests that this link has been deliberately “forgotten”, edited out of accounts of Indonesian Islam. Christine Pitt examines the distorting impact of modernity on the courting patterns of the Indonesian Chinese in the early decades of the twentieth century. Her chapter follows choices made by Chinese men and women between European and local modes of expression when writing to newspaper “agony” columns. Helen Pausacker contests the stereotype of the Indonesian Chinese as solely concerned with business by exploring their involvement in Javanese wayang (shadow puppetry), usually viewed as the pinnacle of an entirely “indigenous” Javanese culture. The dominant paradigm in accounts of wayang has forgotten the Chinese, her chapter argues. The editors of this volume are both former undergraduate and postgraduate students of Charles Coppel. We have also taught his courses and worked for him as research assistants. We wish to acknowledge the ongoing influence of Charles on our academic and professional work, and, in particular, his rigorous historiography and his attention to detail in research. Most important, however, is Charles’ loyalty as a friend and

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS PREFACE IX ix

mentor. As with many of his former students and colleagues, Charles has maintained an ongoing interest in our professional lives and writing, supporting and encouraging us for decades after the formal teaching relationship has ended. For this we (and countless others) are grateful. It has been a privilege to edit this volume. We would like to thank Kathryn Taylor, Administrator of the Asian Law Centre at the University of Melbourne, and Claudine Salmon for their assistance with the Chinese words in this volume. Our gratitude is also due to ISEAS for their strong support for this project. Ultimately, however, this volume is not just a tribute to Charles Coppel. We believe it stands in its own right as a reflection of current writing on the Chinese in Indonesia.

Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker Melbourne February 2004 Notes 1

2

Charles Coppel, “Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting: Sino-Malay Literature in Independent Indonesia”, first published in Asian Culture (Singapore), 19 June 1995, pp. 14–28 and reproduced in Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia (Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002), pp. 191–212. See this volume for his biography (p. x) and bibliography of his work (p. 9).

X

CHARLES A. COPPEL

Charles Coppel A Brief Biography Charles Antony Coppel was born in Melbourne on 6 July 1937, the son of Elias Godfrey “Bill” Coppel (1896–1978) and Marjorie Jean Service (1900–70), both of whom had strong links with the University of Melbourne, recognized by their inclusion in the university’s 150 Years: 150 People sesquicentenary publication. Charles was educated at Caulfield Grammar and Geelong Grammar. In 1955 he became the first (and, perhaps, the only!) male student to study at Merton Hall (Melbourne Girls Grammar), attending French classes with other students, as well as additional classes with a private tutor in the Botanical Gardens. After matriculating in 1954 in classical European languages, pure and applied mathematics, and English expression and literature, he matriculated again at the end of the following year, this time in modern European languages (French and Italian) and British History. During this second year Charles travelled to Europe, where he studied at the University of Grenoble and the University for Foreigners in Perugia, and travelled more widely in France, Italy, England, and Wales. On his way to and from Europe in 1955, he stopped over very briefly in Jakarta, his first contact with Indonesia. In 1956 Charles commenced studies at the University of Melbourne for his undergraduate degree in Law. As one of his first year non-law subjects, he chose Economic Geography where he made his first Indonesian friend, Zainu’ddin, later an academic colleague. In 1960 Charles graduated with his Honours LLB degree, in the company of future Supreme Court judges, Stephen Charles and John Batt. Soon after, he commenced articles with Phillips Fox and Masel, a prominent Melbourne firm of solicitors. In 1961 Charles was called to the Victorian Bar and became one of the first tenants of the new building for barristers, Owen Dixon Chambers. As counsel, Charles appeared in a range of courts, from Petty Sessions (now the Magistrates Court) to the High Court, twice led by his father. During his student years, Charles was called up for compulsory National Service training. While he was still a member of the Citizens Military Force, an appeal was made for volunteers to study the Indonesian language. Charles volunteered, thinking that this would be more

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING CHARLES THE MARGINS COPPEL XI xi

useful than shouldering a rifle, but abandoned this idea when compulsory National Service was abolished. In 1963, however, Charles joined the University of Melbourne’s Summer School Indonesian language programme, taught by Pieter Sarumpaet. The following year, he commenced Indonesian studies in earnest in the Department of Indonesian and Malayan Studies and in 1965, under Jamie Mackie’s guidance, began to research the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia for the first time. He was commencing more than three decades of research in this field. By the end of 1965, Charles found that Indonesian studies had become more interesting than the practice of the law and so he left the Bar. He supported himself and his family by tutoring in the Monash Law School (Teaching Fellow, 1966; Senior Teaching Fellow, 1967), while undertaking an M.A. (Prelim) in Political Science at Monash (1966–67). At the same time he studied Indonesian language and literature with Idrus, Harry Aveling, Rabin Hardjadibrata, and others. His closest academic relationship then was, however, with his supervisor Herb Feith who in 1968 persuaded him to convert what was by then a full M.A. candidature into a Ph.D. candidature. Charles was inspired by Mary Somers’ seminal work on peranakan Chinese politics to do more in this area. Over 1968–69 he spent a full year doing fieldwork in Indonesia. This was still a tumultuous and difficult time in Indonesia. Soeharto had just been confirmed as President and the New Order was being created in the wake of violence and killings. The ethnic Chinese felt themselves to be in a precarious position and Charles’ work focused on their ethnic and political identities. After his return to Monash in 1969, he worked on his contribution to The Chinese in Indonesia: Five Essays, edited by Jamie Mackie, followed by another four months’ fieldwork in Indonesia in 1970. In 1971 he tutored in Politics and then, in 1972, lectured in Indonesian Politics, during Herb Feith’s absence on study leave. In 1973 Charles was appointed to a continuing position at the University of Melbourne as Lecturer in Indonesian Studies in the Department of East and Southeast Asian Studies (a merger of the former departments of Indonesian and Malayan Studies and Oriental Studies), where his Indonesian colleagues included Sarumpaet, Slamet, Zainu’ddin, Hendrata, and others. In 1975 Charles’ Ph.D. was completed and it was later published as Indonesian Chinese in Crisis, still a leading text in the field. In 1978 Charles was promoted to Senior Lecturer and appointed Deputy Chairman of the Department of Indonesian and Malayan Studies (which had regained its independence in 1976). In 1979 Charles became Chair-

XII TIM xii CHARLES LINDSEY A. COPPEL

man of the department, a position he held for almost a decade through its further 1983 mutasi (permutations) to become the Department of Indian and Indonesian Studies (a strictly alphabetical order, he advises), until that department too ceased to exist at the end of 1987. He then moved to the somewhat more resilient Department of History. The university’s error in closing down a department for Indonesian studies was realized a decade later, when it was revived as part of the Melbourne Institute of Asian Languages and Societies, of which Charles became an adjunct member. Charles also held positions as Associate Dean in the Faculty of Arts from 1979 to 1981 and was Deputy Chair of the School of Asian Studies in 1987. In fact, for much of the 1980s and 1990s, Charles played a leading role in the development of Asian studies across the university. In 1992 he was appointed Associate Professor, in connection with his joint appointments as Co-ordinator of Asian Studies in the Faculty of Arts and Associate Director, Asian Business Centre (1989–92). With Professor Malcolm Smith, Charles thus became responsible then for co-ordination and policy development of Asian studies across the university. The current strong standing of Asian studies at the University of Melbourne owes much to Charles’ persistent advocacy and energy. In 1994 Charles was formally promoted to Associate Professor and, in the same year, became one of the early convenors of the Indonesia Interest Group (now the Indonesia Forum). For almost a decade the Forum has been the largest and most active country interest network on the campus. This is in large part a result of Charles’ work both as Convenor and later as Deputy Convenor and, in particular, as the manager of his widely received e-mail Indonesia news service, a major contribution to the development of Australia as an internationally recognized centre for Indonesian studies. Charles can now reflect on an illustrious career as a leading scholar of Indonesian studies, the ethnic Chinese in Southeast Asia, and broader issues of race and identity. He has also made a lasting contribution to the development and administration of Indonesian studies at the University of Melbourne. He has been a generous colleague and supporter of countless younger scholars, both in Australia and internationally.

Tim Lindsey October 2002

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS XIII

Contributors Arief Budiman was born in Jakarta in 1941. Arief initially trained as a psychologist and then became a sociologist. He is currently Foundation Professor of Indonesian and Head of the Indonesian Programme in the Melbourne Institute of Asian Languages and Societies at the University of Melbourne, researching the political-economic problems of the transition to democracy in Indonesia since 1998. He has known Charles Coppel since the 1960s, when Charles was in Indonesia, collecting data for his Ph.D. thesis on the Chinese Indonesians. Tim Lindsey is Director of the Asian Law Centre and an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law at the University of Melbourne. Tim’s doctoral thesis was on Indonesian history and he now specializes in Indonesian law and Islamic legal systems. His publications include The Romance of K’tut Tantri and Indonesia; Indonesia: Law and Society; and, with Howard Dick, Corruption in Asia: Rethinking the Governance Paradigm. Tim was a student of Charles Coppel, first as an undergraduate and then during his doctoral studies. He later became a colleague, teaching with him in the History Department at the University of Melbourne. They have since published articles in books edited by each other. Helen Pausacker studied wayang, both as performance art and a research topic, in Solo, Central Java, for about four years, over the period 1976–98. Her publications include Behind the Shadows: Understanding a Wayang Performance. She currently works as a research assistant in the Asian Law Centre at the University of Melbourne. Helen was a student of Charles Coppel in the 1970s and has worked with him in an administrative capacity, as a research assistant, and lecturing in one of his courses. Christine Pitt was a student in the Department of Indonesian and Malayan Studies at the University of Melbourne when Charles Coppel began lecturing there in 1973. She recently organized a thirty-year student reunion to mark his retirement. Christine wrote the article in this collection when she returned to study an M.A. Prelim. with Charles in 1984. She is currently an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher, having maintained a wide interest in Indonesian and other languages and cultures.

XIV CONTRIBUTORS xiv CHARLES A. COPPEL

Jemma Purdey completed her Ph.D. on “Anti-Chinese Violence in Indonesia, 1996–99” at the University of Melbourne. Her interests include representations of violence in Indonesia, human rights, and the legal position of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia today. She has contributed articles to a number of publications, including Asian Survey and Asian Ethnicity. She is a former student, supervisee, and colleague of Charles Coppel. Claudine Salmon is Director of Research Emeritus at the CNRS, Paris. She graduated from the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales, then studied history at Beijing University (1964–66). Claudine conducted fieldwork in Indonesia (1966–69) and took her Doctorat-ès Lettres in 1970. She has written extensively on the history of the relations between China and Southeast Asia and of the Chinese in Insulinde. She has been a colleague and friend of Charles Coppel for almost thirty years. Mary Somers Heidhues has taught in Germany and the United States, most recently as Visiting Professor of Southeast Asian Studies at the University of Passau. Among her publications are Southeast Asia: A Concise History (2000) and Golddiggers, Farmers, and Traders: The Chinese in West Kalimantan, Indonesia (2003). With Charles Coppel she shares a decades-long fascination with Indonesia’s peranakan Chinese. Leo Suryadinata is Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (Singapore). He was formerly Professor, Department of Political Science, National University of Singapore. He was a postgraduate student at Monash when Charles Coppel was doing his Ph.D. there. They jointly published a paper on the Indonesian Chinese in Indonesia in September 1970. His most recent books include Elections and Politics in Indonesia (2002) and Indonesia’s Population: Ethnicity and Religion in a Changing Political Landscape (with Evi Arifin and Aris Ananta, 2003). Jean Gelman Taylor is Associate Professor of History at the University of New South Wales. She teaches general Southeast Asian History and the seminars Understanding Indonesia, Chinese in Southeast Asia, Southeast Asian Historiography, and Islamic Worlds. Her research focuses on the social history of colonialism, particularly the interactions of Asians and Europeans in Indonesian history; and the uses of costume, painting,

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHINGCONTRIBUTORS THE MARGINS XV xv

and photography in writing the history of Indonesia. Her most recent book is Indonesia: Peoples and Histories (2003), and she is a contributing author to The Emergence of Modern Southeast Asia, edited by Norman G. Owen (2005). Her relationship with Charles Coppel goes back to the first day of Indonesian language class at the University of Melbourne when both were students of Jamie Mackie and the late Pieter Sarumpaet.

xvi GLOSSARY

Glossary Chinese words list Hokkien first, with the Chinese characters and the Hanyu Pinyun transliteration following, in italics. Titles of publications are also listed in italics in the left-hand column. Adi Buddha

Great Buddha

Agama Khonghucu

see Khonghucu

ang pao (
= hongbao)

red envelopes containing money, often given to children at the Chinese New Year

asli

“original”, indigenous

Ba Xian (
)

the Eight Immortals

babad, hikayat

metrical chronicles composed in Javanese and Malay, which narrate the history of societies in the Indonesian archipelago

Badan Kordinasi Masalah-Cina

Chinese Problem Co-ordinating Body

bahasa Indonesia

Indonesian language

bahasa Melajoe

so-called Sino-Malay or low Malay, used in the marketplace, frequently by Chinese Indonesians

bangsa

nation, race, ethnic group

Banteng Muda Indonesia

Young Wild Bulls of Indonesia (paramilitary organization associated with PDI-P)

Baperki (Badan Permusyaratan Kewarganegaraan Indonesia)

Consultative Body for Indonesian Citizenship

Barongsai (
[
] shizi [wu])

lion [dance]

Begawan

title given to a spiritual master (often a hermit, priest, or ascetic)

Boen Bio

see Bun bio

GLOSSARY

xvii

Bulog (Badan Urusan Logistik)

National Logistics Agency

Bun bio (
=Wen miao or Kong miao
)

Temple of Literature; also called Temple to Confucius; see also Lithang

Bun Su

see Haksu

Burgerlijke Stand

Civil Registration Offices, now known as Kantor Catatan Sipil

Burgerlijke Wetboek

Code of Civil Procedure, now known as Kitab Undang-undang Hukum Dagang

buta

demons in wayang

camat

regional administrative sub-district

Cap Go Me (


= Shiwu ye)

the fifteenth day of the first lunar month (Lantern Festival); alternative spelling: Cap Go Meh

cempala

wooden mallet used to tap on the puppet chest to call for particular musical pieces in a wayang performance

Cina

official state term for Chinese and China in the New Order — considered insulting by many Chinese; see also Tionghoa

commies

clerk in the Dutch colonial administration

cukong

financiers (usually ethnic Chinese) who engage in illegal practices and co-operation with the authorities

Dalmas (pengendali massa)

crowd control troops

dhalang

puppeteer (Javanese spelling. Indonesian spelling is dalang)

DPR (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat)

People’s Representative Council, the Indonesian legislature

xviii

GLOSSARY

ekonomi rakyat

people’s economy

FKS (Forum Kepedulian Sosial) Social Welfare Forum gamelan

traditional Indonesian percussion music, performed in a number of regions, including Java and Bali

gereja aneh

strange church

gereja karismatik

charismatic church

Giok Hong Siang Tee Sioe Tan (
 !"# Yuhuang shangdi shoudan)

birthday of the Emperor of Jade celebrated on the ninth day of the Chinese New Year

Goan Tan (
 Yuandan)

the first day of the Chinese New Year (New Year’s Day)

Guangfu hui


Society for the Return of Light, a short-lived revolutionary movement, founded in Japan in 1904

gunungan

see kayon

Guru Agung

Great Teacher

Haksu (
 xueshi), Bun Su (
 wenshi), and Kauw Seng (
 jiaosheng)

Sino–Indonesian organization of Confucian priesthood, with three different ranks (Top Priest, Confucian teachers, and missionaries)

Hansip

community security guard

Hezhong xuetang
 !

School of Harmony and Equilibrium, established by supporters of the movement Zhonghe tang (see entry in this glossary)

hikayat

see babad

Hokkien Kong Tik Soe (

 Fujian gongde ci)

Fujian Temple of Merits, founded in 1862, to promote Chinese culture and revive Chinese customs in weddings and funerals

Hongmen hui


a secret society

GLOSSARY xix

Ibu Suci

Holy Mother

Ik Joe Hak Koan (
 ! Yiyou xueguan)

School of the Friends of Progress, which merged with the school Hezong xuetang to become Tiong Hoa Hak Tong

IMB (Izin Mendirikan Bangunan)

Building Licence

Imlek (
 yinli)

Chinese lunar calendar

Indische Staats Regeling

Indies State Regulation; see also Wet op de Staats Inrichting van Nederlands Indie

inlanders

natives

InPres

Presidential Instructions

integraliststaatsidee

integralist state idea

INTI (Perhimpunan Indonesia Keturunan Tionghoa)

Chinese Indonesian Association, formed in the reformasi period

Izin Pendirian Gereja

licence to found a church

Jenggi (
 zhuangyi)

Chinese theatrical procession

Jumat Kliwon

day in the Javanese thirty-five-day monthly cycle, considered to have spiritual significance

kampung

village or small urban area

Kantor Catatan Sipil

Civil Registration Offices, formerly known as Burgerlijke Stand

KASI (Konferensi Agung Sangha)

Conference of Supreme Buddhist Clergy

Kauw Seng

see Haksu

kayon or gunungan

tree- or mountain-shaped wayang puppet prop, which marks the end of a scene, or which represents a forest, mountain, door, etc.

kekerasan

violence

xx

GLOSSARY

kekosongan hukum

legal vacuum

Keppres (Keputusan Presiden)

Presidential Decision

keprak

three or more hanging bronze plates, which are struck with the foot or a small mallet to accentuate the movements of wayang puppets in performance, or to conduct the gamelan

keramaian (also spelled kerameian)

liveliness, often involving many people and much noise

keraton

Javanese court

Ketetapan

Decision

Khit Khau Ciat or Cit Sik (
 qiqiao jie)

seventh day of the seventh month of the lunar year (Chinese Valentine’s Day)

Khong Kauw Hwee (
 Kongjiao hui)

Confucian Association (in Indonesia)

Khonghucu (


Confucius

Kongfuzi)

Kilin (
= qi lin)

Chinese mythological animal comparable with the Western unicorn; associated with only positive traits and personifies all that is good, pure, and peaceful

King Thie Kong

prayers celebrated on the seventh day of the lunar New Year in honour of Thie Kong

Kitab Undang-undang Hukum Dagang

Code of Civil Procedure, formerly known as Burgerlijke Wetboek

Klenteng (
 ting)

temple dedicated to Guanyin and by extension any kind of Chinese temple (in Indonesia)

Guanyin

Komedi Stamboel

theatre in the colonial times, particularly known for its racial mix

Komnas HAM (Komisi Nasional Hak Asasi Manusia)

National Commission on Human Rights

GLOSSARY xxi

Kong Koan (
= gongguan)

Chinese Council of Jakarta

Kong miao (
)

see Bun bio

konglomerat

common term for an ethnic Chinese business tycoon

Kontras (Komisi Nasional untuk Orang Hilang dan Korban Kekerasan)

Commission for Disappeared and Victims of Violence

KTP (Kartu Tanda Penduduk)

Resident Identity Card

lakon

the plot of a wayang story

lingga

Hindu statue in the shape of a phallus

Liong (
x
z= long[wu])

dragon [dance]

Lithang (Litang) (
= litang)

Sino–Indonesian Confucian church (literally Ceremonial Hall); see also Bun bio

LPKB (Lembaga Pembinaan Kesatuan Bangsa)

Institute for Development of National Unity

madrasah

Islamic schools

Maha Sangha Indonesia

Indonesia’s Great Buddhist Clergy

Mahkamah Agung

Supreme Court (the highest court in Indonesia)

maklumat

Presidential Decrees

massa

the masses, crowd

Matakin (Majelis Tertinggi Agama Khonghucu Indonesia)

High Council of the Confucian Religion of Indonesia

milik pribumi

property of a native/indigenous person

Mingming Shangdi (



)

Ming Ming God

MPR (Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat)

People’s Consultative Assembly, the highest elected body in Indonesia

MPRS (Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat Sementara)

Provisional People’s Consultative Assembly

xxii

GLOSSARY

Nabi

apostle, prophet, messenger

Nanyang xunmeng guan



South Seas Training School, a “modern” Chinese school, opened by Tjioe Ping Wie in the late 1870s in Surabaya

non-pribumi

non-native/non-indigenous

NU (Nahdlatul Ulama)

Awakening of the Islamic Scholars, Indonesia’s largest traditionalist Islamic organization

orang pasar

market vendors

pahlawan

hero

Pancasila

“five principles”, the Indonesian national ideology: (1) belief in one God; (2) humanitarianism; (3) Indonesian unity; (4) representative democracy; and (5) social justice

pasar murah

cheap market

passenstelsel

an internal passport system, which applied only to Foreign Orientals during the colonial era

PBI (Partai Bhinneka Ika)

Indonesian Unity in Diversity Party, a party formed by Indonesian Chinese in the reformasi period, previously known as Partai Bhineka Tunggal Ika Indonesia

PDI-P (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia — Perjuangan)

Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle

pedalangan

the study of wayang (Indonesian spelling)

pembauran

integration, assimilation

pengadilan keraton

royal court (colonial times)

Penjelasan

Explanatory Memorandum

GLOSSARY xxiii

peranakan Chinese

Chinese born in Indonesia and speaking Indonesian or a regional language as their first language. Peranakan originally defined a person of mixed ancestry, where one ancestor was indigenous to the archipelago, including mixed blood with Europeans and Arabs, but this is rarely the case nowadays.

perang gagal

the “losing” or indecisive battle in the first part of a wayang performance

Persatuan Arab Indonesia

The Arab Union of Indonesia

Persatuan Tionghoa Indonesia

The Chinese Union of Indonesia

piara

kept woman

pihak tertentu

certain parties, shady characters

potehi

see wayang potehi

premanisme

gangsterism

pribumi

indigenous (Indonesian)

provokator

provocateur

punakawan

the four clowns who accompany the Pandhawa and other heroes of the right

Qing shilu


“Veritable Records of the Qing Dynasty”

reformasi

reformation, term used for the period after the New Order

ruko (rumah toko)

home and shop in the same building

Sam Kauw (
 Sanjiao)

three religions (a combination of Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism)

Sam Kauw Hwee (
 San jiao hui)

The Association of Three Religions (later known as Tri Dharma)

xxiv GLOSSARY

Sangha

Buddhist clergy

santri

Muslims considered to be devout or pious

SBKRI (Surat Bukti Kewarganegaraan Republik Indonesia)

Indonesian Citizenship Certificate

Selasa Kliwon

day in the Javanese thirty-five-day monthly cycle, considered to have spiritual significance

sembako (sembilan bahan pokok)

the nine basic household needs, which have been defined as: rice, sugar, cooking oil (or margarine), beef/ chicken, eggs, milk, kerosene, and salt

Shengyu


Imperial Edicts

Shenshang


gentry and merchants

Shun Feng Hsiang Sung (

 Shun Feng Xiang Song)

“Fair Winds for Escort”, a fifteenth or early sixteenth century Chinese shipping manual

silat

martial arts

sinshe (
 xiansheng)

traditional Chinese medical practitioner

Sishu (Su Si) (
= si shu)

“Four Books”, or Confucian “bible”

Sishui (
)

Chinese name for Surabaya

siten-siten or palemahan

strip at the bottom of a wayang puppet, on which the feet of the wayang puppet stand

Siwen hui


Association of the Confucianists

SNB (Solidaritas Nusa Bangsa)

Solidarity for the Motherland and Nation

Soe Po Sia (
 she)

Reading Club

Staats Regeling

shu bao

state regulation

GLOSSARY xxv

Staatsblad

government gazette

STSI (Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia)

Indonesian College of the Arts

Surat Edaran

Circular Letter

syukuran

thanksgiving

TGPF (Tim Gabungan Pencari Fakta)

Joint Fact Finding Team

THHK (Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan
 !)

China Association

Thoe Lam Jit Po (
 ! Tu nan ribao)

“Far Reaching Schemes Daily”, newspaper produced in Singapore from 1904

Tian (
tian)

Heaven

Tiong Ciu Ciat (
 Zhongqiu jie)

the moon festival, the fifteenth day of the eighth month (also known as Mid-Autumn Festival)

Tiong Hoa Hak Tong (

= Zhonghua xuetang)

school which resulted from the merging of two schools, Hezong xuetang and Ik Joe Hak Koan. The name Tiong Hoa Hak Tong was adopted in 1908.

Tionghoa (
 Zhonghua)

term for Chinese or China; see also Cina

TNI (Tentara Negara Indonesia) Indonesian national army Tongmeng hui (


totok Chinese

)

The United League, founded in Tokyo in 1905 under the leadership of Sun Yat Sen. This organization aimed for the overthrow of the Qing dynasty and the restoration of Chinese rule. Chinese born outside Indonesia, who do not speak Indonesian or an Indonesian regional language as their first language

xxvi GLOSSARY

Tri Dharma

see Sam Kauw Hwee

TRuk (Tim Relawan untuk Kemanusiaan)

Volunteers Team for Humanity

Tuhan Yang Maha Esa

The One Supreme God

tukang becak

pedicab drivers

Tung Hsi Yang K’ao (

= Dong xi yang kao)

“Study of Eastern and Western Oceans”, a seventeenth century Chinese shipping manual

ulama

Islamic religious teachers

Undang-undang

law, statute

vihara

Buddhist temple

wahyu

a divine gift/inspiration or spiritual power sent by the gods; often visible as a source of light

wali

Muslim religious teacher. The wali sanga (nine wali) are credited with bringing Islam to Java.

Walubi (1. Perwalian Umat Buddha Indonesia and 2. Perwakilan Umat Buddha Indonesia)

1. Indonesian Buddhist General Organization and 2. Representatives of the Indonesian Buddhist Community

wayang golek

three dimensional puppets, operated by three rods from below

wayang kancil

wayang which relates the story of the mouse deer

wayang klitik

wayang puppets made of wood

wayang kulit

wayang puppets made of buffalo hide, commonly known in English as “shadow puppets”

wayang potehi (
 budai xi)

Chinese three-dimensional glove puppets (performance)

wayang purwa

wayang kulit, based on the Indian Mahabharata and Ramayana epics

GLOSSARY

xxvii

wayang thithi

wayang in Javanese language, accompanied by gamelan, which related traditional Chinese tales

wayang wong

wayang stories, performed as a dance drama by people

Wedana

indigenous district chief

Wen miao


see Bun bio

Wen mio (Boen Bio in Hokkien)

see Bun bio

Wenchang


the God of Literature

Wenchang ci


Temple to the God of Literature

Wet op de Staats Inrichting van Nederlands Indie

the de facto Constitution of the Netherlands East Indies

wong cilik

the little people (Javanese language)

Wujing (
 Wujing)

“Five Classics”

Xiucai


licentiate

Yak Keng (
= Yijing)

“The Book of Changes”

Zhonghe tang


Club of Equilibrium and Harmony, a short-lived revolutionary movement, founded in Yokohama, Japan, in 1898 by a Cantonese revolutionary, You Lie

Zhonghe xuetang
 !

School of Equilibrium and Harmony

Zhongyong


“Doctrine of the Mean”

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS 1

Introduction Researching the Margins

1

Charles A. Coppel To study the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia might be thought a marginal enterprise. The Chinese overseas have long been an exotic interest in Chinese studies, outside the Sinological mainstream, with its thousands of years of historical sources and commentaries. This is perhaps especially so in the case of Indonesia’s Chinese minority, with its large numbers of acculturated, peranakan Chinese, who from the perspective of China scarcely seem to merit the description “Chinese”. In Indonesian studies, too, they have been seen as marginal. This is not only because they are but one ethnic group among hundreds, comprising a mere 2 or 3 per cent of the total population, but also because they have been constructed as “foreign”, no matter how many centuries they have been settled in the archipelago. Many Chinese Indonesians themselves have been marginalized and felt alienated from the surrounding society in their own life experience. This has not only applied when they were classified in Dutch law as “Foreign Orientals” (even if they were “Netherlands subjects”) and in Indonesian law as “of foreign descent” and not “indigenous” (even if they were Indonesian citizens) (Coppel 1999c and 2001). It has also applied to many of those Chinese Indonesians who “returned” to what they believed to be their motherland, only to discover that in China, too, they were “foreign” and treated differently from the rest of the population (Coppel 1990a). Greg Dening (1980, p. 3) writes of islands and beaches as “a metaphor for the different ways in which human beings construct their worlds and for the boundaries that they construct between them”. My islands are Sinology and Indonesian studies, and the study of the Chinese in Indonesia is the study of the beaches, liminal spaces between the two. As

2 CHARLES A. COPPEL

Dening found with his Pacific beaches, I find the study of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia valuable as a site for my research, precisely because of their marginal or liminal situation. The study of Indonesia itself is seen by some as marginal to the “seminal civilizations” of India and China. From this perspective, Chinese Indonesians are even more marginalized. That having been said, my own research on the ethnic Chinese of Indonesia lies overwhelmingly in the field of Indonesian studies, not in Sinology. I have tried to understand them in their Indonesian context rather than as an extension of China. I have also tried to listen to their voices, particularly as expressed in Malay or Indonesian, against the dominant discourses of Dutch colonialism and Indonesian nationalism. Over the past century, these voices have not spoken in unison. One of the reasons that I find Chinese Indonesians endlessly fascinating is the way in which they, and I mean especially the peranakan Chinese, have argued with one another over so many political and cultural issues. Many things have changed over the last thirty years, in the world of ideas as well as of events. My own thinking has changed and developed over the period, and this is reflected in the terminology I use to refer to the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. Whereas in my earlier work I wrote of “Indonesian Chinese”, I now prefer to use the more inclusive term “Chinese Indonesians”. In 1970 Leo Suryadinata and I discussed the way in which the word Tjina came to be regarded as derogatory and was replaced by the words Tionghoa and Tiongkok, but then was restored by army and government decision in the anti-Chinese atmosphere of the early years of the New Order (Coppel and Suryadinata 1970). In the post-Soeharto era, the use of Tionghoa has made a partial recovery but the usage is still contested. Similarly, the word asli is used in the Indonesian Constitution of 1945 to denote indigenous Indonesians. For many years, this terminology was used in the discourse of economic nationalism to justify discrimination against ethnic Chinese and in favour of indigenous Indonesians. During the New Order period, it was replaced by the term pribumi but used in the same way. At the same time, proponents of policies of assimilation of the ethnic Chinese began to use the term pembauran instead of asimilasi. Since the fall of Soeharto in May 1998, the voices of ethnic Chinese opposed to these assimilation policies have re-emerged, but they now tend to use the word sinergi rather than integrasi for the integration policy which was favoured by Baperki under Soekarno. The passage of time has also affected the subject matter of my re-

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS 3

search. I commenced my study of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia in the late 1960s and early 1970s while I was a graduate student in political science at Monash University. Most of my early work focused on what was then recent political history (Coppel 1968, 1970, 1972, 1976a, 1982, 1983; Mackie and Coppel 1976). One exception was a demographic study which was based on a statistical analysis of the linguistic data in the 1920 Netherlands Indies census (Coppel 1973). By the time I completed my doctoral thesis in 1975, I was tired of the politics of the Chinese in Indonesia and was teaching in the Indonesian Studies programme at the University of Melbourne. I was ready to take a new tack, and no longer felt tied to the discipline of political science. During my doctoral fieldwork in Indonesia I had acquired for the Monash University library the manuscript of an unpublished history of the famous company Kian Gwan (Oei Tiong Ham Concern) which had been written by the Semarang journalist Liem Thian Joe. I introduced this manuscript to a wider audience and the work remains my only venture into economic history (Coppel 1989c). I then shifted away from recent and contemporary politics towards a deeper historical study of Chinese Indonesians, focusing particularly on the period from the late nineteenth century to the end of colonial rule. As well as gaining greater historical depth, the subject matter of my research has also broadened and diversified over time. One strand has been the study of Confucian religion (Coppel 1979b, 1984, 1986, 1996a, 1996b). Another strand has been my interest in the Malay language and literature of the peranakan Chinese of Java (Coppel 1973, 1977b, 1994, 1995b, 1997b; Pausacker and Coppel 2001). In the more recent work of this kind, I have abandoned the use of the term “Sino-Malay” in favour of “colloquial” or “low” Malay for reasons discussed in these articles. A third strand has been reflection on the historiography of the study of Chinese Indonesians (Coppel 1976c, 1977a, 1977b). Much of my work has been curiosity-driven, empirical research but I have taken up a somewhat eclectic group of theoretical questions when I have found this productive. These questions have included the case of double middleman minorities (Coppel 1979a). I am temperamentally a “splitter” rather than a “lumper”, preferring to argue dialectically against the theoretical formulations of others, rather than to generate them myself. I have interrogated an aspect of Benedict Anderson’s theorizing on the “imagined community” of the nation (Coppel 1994); challenged John Furnivall’s characterization of Java as a “plural society” (Coppel 1997a); and criticized Anderson’s characterization of the Chinese as “a commer-

4 CHARLES A. COPPEL

cial bourgeoisie” (Coppel 1976c) and Lea Williams’ dismissal of Confucian religion as a cloak for Chinese nationalism (Coppel 1981). In the mid-1980s I was steeping myself in the study of Confucian religion in Indonesia, with related interests in the Christian missions, the Sam Kauw Hwee and other Buddhist organizations, and their connections with the Theosophical Society and Javanese kebatinan sects. Out of a clear blue sky, George and Julia Hicks inspired Michael Godley and me to investigate the community of Chinese Indonesians living in Hong Kong. The project as originally conceived was a study of one graduating class from a Chinese-language secondary school in Jakarta, most of whom had taken one-way tickets to China, but had ultimately made their way to Hong Kong, where they established a network with annual class reunions. For various reasons — not least the impossibility of maintaining the anonymity of so clearly defined a group of informants even with the use of pseudonyms — we had to abandon it. Instead, we turned to a more conventional history of the reverse migration of ethnic Chinese from Indonesia to China and the experiences of these “returned overseas Chinese” there; and a sketch of the Chinese Indonesian community in Hong Kong (Godley and Coppel 1990a, 1990b; Godley 1989). The experience of conducting interviews in Hong Kong in February 1986 led me to review my understanding of Chinese Indonesian identity and the meaning of the terms peranakan and totok. My earliest research, undertaken in the late 1960s, was inevitably biased towards the peranakan Chinese of Java. Partly as a consequence of my lack of competence in any Chinese language, and partly due to the political situation at that time, most of my sources were in Indonesian and most of my informants were peranakan Chinese whose first language was Indonesian or Dutch. Many of the Chinese-educated had left the country. The graduates of the Chinese-language schools — who I assumed to be totok — that we interviewed in Hong Kong twenty years later turned out, in many instances, to remain fluent enough in Indonesian to be interviewed in that language. Decades of life in Chinese-speaking China and Hong Kong had not eliminated the effects of their childhood socialization in Indonesia, such as a taste for Indonesian food and an ability to sing Indonesian songs. Few of them had “married out” of their Chinese Indonesian group to “real” Chinese in China. The Chinese Indonesians in Hong Kong were quintessentially diasporic, comparing themselves to the Jews or the Gypsies. After this Hong Kong digression, I returned to the history of the Chinese Indonesians in the late colonial period. The Confucianists’ debates about

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS 5

changes in Chinese customs (Coppel 1986, 1989b, 1996) — which might be characterized as a case of the invention of tradition — now appeared to me as part of a wider process of cultural change. I began to take a wider interest in the transformation of everyday life under colonial rule, and to browse widely in the pre-Balai Pustaka Malay-language publications of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. I found myself increasingly interested in what appeared to me to be a mestizo society in Java at that time, of which the peranakan Chinese were just a part; a far cry from what Furnivall called a “plural society” in which the different races met only in the marketplace (Coppel 1994, 1997a). As I argue in the latter article, Furnivall was unaware of the extent of publishing in colloquial Malay in Java more than thirty years before he did his first research on the Netherlands Indies. During a two-month visit to the Netherlands in the middle of 1992, I came across a small book in Malay published in 1890 on the Chinese legal position in the Indies (Albrecht 1890). I was surprised to find that the familiar division into three population groups simply was not there. Instead I found a primary distinction between the Europeans (orang Eropa) on the one hand and the natives (anak negri) on the other; this was accompanied by a secondary pair of categories, namely those equated (di samaken) with the Europeans and those equated with the natives. The Chinese were included in the latter group, and the category “Foreign Orientals” was absent. This surprise goaded me to reassess the history of the legal position of the Chinese (Coppel 1999c, 2002b). Claudine Salmon’s marvellous bibliography of the literature in Malay by the Chinese in Indonesia (Salmon 1981) led me to a prolific and fascinating genre of writings which had attracted surprisingly little attention from researchers. The genre is what I call “colloquial Malay histories”, because their sub-titles include a phrase such as “which really happened (jang betoel soeda kedjadian) in Batavia”, or wherever it was the story was set. The authors of such “histories”, who flourished from the last decade of the nineteenth century, included Dutch, Indo-Europeans, and Indonesians as well as ethnic Chinese. The “colloquial Malay histories” in particular — regardless of whether they were strictly fact or fiction, whether in prose or in verse — seemed important as a source for Indonesian social and cultural history (Coppel 1994, 1997b; Pausacker and Coppel 2001). Despite my strong desire to pursue my interests in Confucian religion and the Malay-language literature of the late colonial period, over the last decade I have found myself repeatedly dragged back to the political and

6 CHARLES A. COPPEL

legal history with which I began my study of the Chinese Indonesians in the 1960s. I presented a paper on human rights and the Chinese in Indonesia at the international conference on overseas Chinese held in San Francisco in November 1992 (Coppel 2002a, ch. 23). I followed current events in Indonesia through e-mail lists on the Internet in 1995–96. The debates around the issue of the celebration of Chinese New Year in early 1996 were much less inhibited than one could normally find in the controlled Indonesian press of Soeharto’s New Order. I presented the findings of my “electronic fieldwork” to an ISSCO (International Society for the Study of the Chinese Overseas) international conference held in November 1996 at Xiamen (Coppel 1998b). This visit was my first experience of mainland China. As the Soeharto regime drew to its close, there was a marked rise in anti-Chinese violence in Indonesia, which reached its climax in the May 1998 riots in Medan, Jakarta, and Solo and led to Soeharto’s resignation. In another unwelcome return to my earliest research, I have been necessarily concerned once again with the issue of violence against the ethnic Chinese, comparing the situation of the Chinese Indonesians in the 1960s and the 1990s (Coppel 2001). I also convened a panel on “Violence in Asia” at the Asian Studies Association of Australia conference and a following workshop on “Violent Conflict in Indonesia”, both of which were held in Melbourne in July 2000. At least four of the thirty papers focused on the anti-Chinese violence, and most of the rest were about other violence in Indonesia. Once again, I have tried to understand the ethnic Chinese in their Indonesian context (Coppel, forthcoming). Whether with regard to the denial of their human rights (Coppel 2002a, ch. 23) or to their experience of political violence, I believe that no good purpose — academic or political — will be served by treating the ethnic Chinese separately, as if their experience of these evils is unique in the Indonesian context. Studying the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia is not as isolated or marginal an enterprise as it was when I began to do it, more than thirty years ago. In an era of globalization and rapid economic growth in East and Southeast Asia in which the ethnic Chinese of the region have played a prominent part, there has been a burgeoning of studies of diasporas and the phenomenon of transnationalism. Bodies like the ISSCO, the Centre for the Study of the Southern Chinese Diaspora at the Australian National University, and the Chinese Overseas Databank () provide scholarly support for the study of the history of Chinese in the diaspora. Since the end of the Cold War, scholars of the Chinese diaspora from China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Southeast Asia, and beyond have been

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS 7

meeting at international conferences with increasing frequency. Increasingly, too, Chinese communities in Southeast Asia, Australia, and New Zealand have been researching their own histories and establishing heritage centres and museums. The recent violence against Chinese in Indonesia stimulated the growth of electronic networks like the Huaren website (), which proclaims its goal to be “a passion to promote kinship and understanding among all Overseas Chinese” and which actively mobilized outrage about the violence among ethnic Chinese worldwide. In the midst of all this activity, a tension remains between those, on the one hand, whose studies emphasize the transnational links amongst the Chinese in the diaspora and their ancestral ties to China and those, on the other hand, who emphasize the connections between the Chinese in the diaspora and the countries in which they have settled. My own work, which stresses the historical embeddedness of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, belongs with the latter group. I make no claim that this is a superior approach other than to say that I believe that it mirrors the experience of many peranakan Chinese in Indonesia. All historical research is to some extent a reflection of one’s own background and experience. Like most peranakan Chinese in Indonesia, I am of mixed ancestry. Elias Coppel, the paternal great-grandfather whose surname I have inherited, was a Jew who was born in Poland and migrated to Melbourne in the middle of the nineteenth century. Two of my maternal great-great-grandparents were born in Yorkshire, migrated to Melbourne at much the same time as Elias and built a Methodist chapel near where they lived. Two of my maternal great-grandparents, who were born in Scotland, were Presbyterians, and migrated with their children to Australia in the late nineteenth century. One of these children, my grandfather, was a rationalist freethinker. Such a mixed family background no doubt helped to make me aware that ethnic and religious identity are not predestined by one’s remote immigrant ancestors. Changes in circumstances, coupled with individual personal choices, can lead to very different outcomes for the descendants of the original immigrant. I suspect that it is my personal history that has made me sensitive to the influence of the local environment on the ethnic Chinese of Indonesia and, I hope, tolerant and respectful of the different choices they have made. In the course of my intellectual journeying over the past four decades I have accumulated debts to many people. Jamie Mackie and Margaret Clark taught me at the University of Melbourne in 1965 in a subject in which we compared the ethnic Chinese of Indonesia and Malaysia. The

8 CHARLES A. COPPEL

monograph by Mary Somers (Heidhues) which I read then made me want to know more about the peranakan Chinese of Indonesia. My fascination was so great that I left the legal profession to study them fulltime. I have never regretted that decision and still want to know more about the Chinese Indonesians. I am forever grateful to Jamie, Margaret, and Mary for that lasting influence on my life. My next debt is to Herb Feith and, again, Jamie Mackie, who shared my interest in the Chinese in Indonesia and supervised my postgraduate research at Monash University; and to the supportive research environment of its Centre of Southeast Asian Studies with its other Indonesianist academics and fellow graduate students. It was there that I acquired my first Chinese Indonesian friends, who helped induct me into the world from which they had come and which I wanted to study. Over the years librarians and academic colleagues2 in various parts of the world who shared my interests have assisted me in different ways. They have guided me (or provoked me into argument) through their writings; pointed me towards interesting sources; supplied photocopies of publications; commented on drafts; introduced me to valuable informants; and much more. Informants — particularly those in Indonesia, Hong Kong, and the Netherlands — have provided information verbally and in writing. I have learned much from my students and research assistants, some of whom have gone on to become academic colleagues. Sadly, some of the many who helped me are no longer alive. I am grateful to a number of institutions for their financial support: Monash University for a postgraduate scholarship, travel funds, and teaching opportunities; the University of Melbourne, which has employed me and given me travel funds for almost thirty years, half of it in the collegial atmosphere of the History Department; the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Study in the Humanities and Social Sciences, which provided a stipend, travel funds, and a congenial research environment for ten months; the Myer Foundation and the Australian Institute of International Affairs, which, in association with the Ford Foundation, gave travel funds; and the Australian Research Council and its predecessors, which funded several research projects. The Institute for Regional Research of the University of Indonesia and the Indonesian Department of Home Affairs made facilities available to me on my first research visit to Indonesia, and the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI) sponsored later research there. Finally, I express my thanks to my family for their love and forbearance.

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS 9

Notes 1

2

An earlier version of this article appeared in Coppel (2002a). Thank you to the editor, Leo Suryadinata, and to the publisher, Singapore Society of Asian Studies, for permission to include it in this volume. See Coppel (2002a, pp. 8–9) for a detailed list of these people.

References

Albrecht, J.E. Soerat Ketrangan dari pada hal Kaadaan Bangsa Tjina di Negri Hindia Olanda. Batavia: Albrecht & Rusche, 1890. Dening, Greg. Islands and Beaches: Discourse on a Silent Land: Marquesas 1774–1880. Chicago: The Dorsey Press, 1980. Godley, Michael R. “The Sojourners: Returned Overseas Chinese in the People’s Republic of China”. Pacific Affairs 62 (1989): 330–52. Salmon, Claudine. Literature in Malay by the Chinese of Indonesia: A Provisional Annotated Bibliography. Paris: Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, Association Archipel, 1981. Bibliography: Charles A. Coppel

Coppel, C.A. “Indonesia: Freezing Relations with China”, pp. 5–8, 54– 55. Australia’s Neighbours, 4th series, 1968. ———. “The National Status of the Chinese in Indonesia”. Papers on Far Eastern History 1 (1970): 115–39. ———. “The Position of the Chinese in the Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia”. In The Chinese in Indonesia, the Philippines and Malaysia, pp. 16–31. London: Minority Rights Group Report no. 10, 1972. [Republished in Philippine-Chinese Profile: Essays and Studies, edited by C.J. McCarthy, pp. 69–88. Manila: Pagkakaisa, 1974.] *———. “Mapping the Peranakan Chinese in Indonesia”. Papers on Far Eastern History 8 (1973): 143–67. [Republished in Chinois d’OutreMer, pp. 3–28. Proceedings of the 29th International Congress of Orientalists, 16–17 July 1973. Paris: L’Asiathèque, 1976.] ———. “Patterns of Chinese Political Activity in Indonesia”. In The Chinese in Indonesia: Five Essays, edited by J.A.C. Mackie, pp. 19– 76, 215–26. Melbourne: Nelson, 1976a. ———. “Select Bibliography on the Indonesian Chinese”. In The Chinese in Indonesia: Five Essays, edited by J.A.C. Mackie, pp. 251–70. Melbourne: Nelson, 1976b.

10 CHARLES A. COPPEL

*———. “Values and the Study of the Indonesian Chinese”. Review of Indonesian and Malayan Studies 10 (1976c): 77–84. *———. “Studying the Chinese Minorities: A Review”. Indonesia 24 (1977a): 175–83. *———. “The Chinese Minority: Politics or Culture?”. In People and Society in Indonesia: A Biographical Approach, edited by L. Andaya, C.A. Coppel, and Y. Suzuki, pp. 12–30. Clayton: Monash University, 1977b. *———. “Arab and Chinese Minority Groups in Java”. Southeast Asia Ethnicity and Development Newsletter 3 (1979a): 8–15. *———. “Contemporary Confucianism in Indonesia”. In Proceedings of the Seventh IAHA Conference, pp. 739–57. Vol. 2. Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, 1979b. ———. “China and the Ethnic Chinese”. In Indonesia: Australian Perspectives, edited by J.J. Fox et al., pp. 729–34. Canberra: Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1980. *———. “The Origins of Confucianism as an Organized Religion in Java, 1900–1923”. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 12 (1981): 179– 96. ———. “The Position of the Chinese in Indonesia, the Philippines and Malaysia”. In The Chinese in Indonesia, the Philippines and Malaysia, pp. 2–9, 16. 2nd rev. ed. London: Minority Rights Group Report no. 10, 1982. ———. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press for Asian Studies Association of Australia, 1983. [Republished in Indonesian translation as Coppel, C.A. Tionghoa Indonesia Dalam Krisis. Jakarta: PT Pustaka Sinar Harapan, 1994.] *———. “Yoe Tjai Siang: Portrait of a Syncretist”. Paper presented at the Fifth National Conference of the Asian Studies Association of Australia, May 1984, in Adelaide. *———. “From Christian Mission to Confucian Religion: The Nederlandsche Zendingsvereeniging and the Chinese of West Java, 1870–1910”. In Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Indonesia: Essays in Honour of Professor J.D. Legge, edited by D.P. Chandler and M.C. Ricklefs, pp. 15–39. Clayton: Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Monash University, 1986. (Monash Papers on Southeast Asia no. 14.) [Republished as Coppel, C.A. “From Christian Mission to Confucian Religion: The Dutch Missionary Union and the Chinese of West Java, 1870–1910”. In Chinese Beliefs and Practices in Southeast Asia: Studies on the Chinese Religion in Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia,

INTRODUCTION: RESEARCHING THE MARGINS 11

edited by Cheu Hock Tong, pp. 225–50. Petaling Jaya: Pelanduk Publications, 1993.] ———. “Gestapu”, “Pancasila”, and “Priyayi”. In Encyclopedia of Asian History, edited by Ainslie T. Embree, vol. 1, 502–3; vol. 3, 203 and 283–84. (Prepared under the auspices of the Asia Society.) New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1988. ———. “Is Confucianism a Religion? A 1923 Debate in Java”. Archipel 38 (1989a): 125–35. ———. “Culture Change by Conference: Bandung 1924”. In Observing Change in Asia: Essays in Honour of J.A.C. Mackie, edited by R.J. May and W.J. O’Malley, pp. 49–57. Bathurst: Crawford House Press, 1989b. *———. “Liem Thian Joe’s Unpublished History of Kian Gwan”. Southeast Asian Studies 27 (1989c): 177–87. [Republished as “Liem Thian Joe’s Unpublished History of Kian Gwan (Oei Tiong Ham Concern)”. In Oei Tiong Ham Concern, edited by Yoshihara Kunio, pp. 123–34. Kyoto: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto University, 1989. Also republished in Indonesian translation as Coppel, C.A. “Tulisan Liem Thian Joe tentang Sejarah Kian Gwan jang Tidak Diterbitkan”. In Konglomerat Oei Tiong Ham: Karajaan Bisnis Pertama di Asia Tenggara, edited by Yoshihara Kunio, pp. 199–218. Jakarta: Pustaka Utama Grafiti, 1991.] *———. “Human Rights and the Overseas Chinese: The Case of Indonesia” (In Chinese, translated by Fan Chung-hsing and Chang Leeshere). Thought and Words: Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences (Taipei) 31 (1993): 153–64. *———. “Mestizo Society as an Imagined Community”. Paper presented at the international conference on Identities, Ethnicities, Nationalities in Asian and Pacific Contexts, July 1994, at La Trobe University. ———. “Should there be Chinese Schools in Indonesia?”. In Proceedings on Chinese Education in Southeast Asia, pp. 221–41. Pingtung, Taiwan: National Pingtung Teachers College, 1995a. *———. “Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting: Sino–Malay Literature in Independent Indonesia”. Asian Culture (Singapore) 19 (1995b): 14–28. *———. “Peranakan Construction of Chinese Customs in Late Colonial Java”. In South China: State, Culture and Social Change during the 20th Century, edited by L.M. Douw and P. Post, pp. 119–31. Amsterdam: KNAW (Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences), 1996a.

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*———. “Khong Kauw: Confucian Religion in Indonesia”. In Peranakan Culturele Vriendenkring 1986–1996, pp. 11–22. No publisher, 1996b. *———. “Revisiting Furnivall’s ‘Plural Society’: Colonial Java as a Mestizo Society?”. Ethnic and Racial Studies 20 (1997a): 562–79. *———. “Emancipation of the Indonesian Chinese Woman”. In Women Creating Indonesia: The First Fifty Years, edited by J.G. Taylor, pp. 22–51. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, 1997b. ———. “Asimilasi: Sebuah Perspektif Selatan”. In 70 Tahun Junus Jahja: Pribumi Kuat Kunci Pembauran, edited by Riyanto D. Wahono, pp. 172–78. Jakarta: Bina Rena Pariwara, 1997c. ———. “Ethnic Chinese and Their Skills Are Vital to Indonesia’s Recovery”. Sydney Morning Herald, 27 May 1998a. *———. “Celebrating Chinese New Year in Jakarta, Feb. 1996: The View from the Internet”. In Ethnic Chinese at the Turn of the Centuries, edited by Zhuang Guotu, pp. 195–219. Fuzhou: Fujian renmin chubanshe, 1998b. ———. “Alarmists look to the past in a struggling Indonesia”. The Age, 7 March 1998c. ———. “The Political Killings in Indonesia, 1965–66”. In Proceedings of Research Colloquium on Comparative Famines and Political Killings: Causation, Scale, and State Responsibility. University of Melbourne, August 1999a, on the website of the Genocide Studies Program, Yale Center for International and Area Studies, . ———. “Ethnic Chinese and Their Skills Are Vital to Indonesia’s Recovery”. In The Last Days of President Suharto, edited by Edward Aspinall, Herb Feith, and Gerry van Klinken, pp. 151–52. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute, 1999b. *———. “The Indonesian Chinese as Foreign Orientals in the Netherlands Indies”. In Indonesia: Law and Society, edited by Timothy Lindsey, pp. 33–41. Sydney: The Federation Press, 1999c. ———. “Chinese Indonesians in 1998 Crisis”. In Intercultural Relations, Cultural Transformation, and Identity: The Ethnic Chinese (Selected papers presented at the 1998 ISSCO conference), edited by Teresita Ang See, pp. 431–40. Manila: Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran Inc., 2000a. ———. “Sebuah Kenangan Pribadi Tentang Siauw Giok Tjhan”. In Sumbangsih Siauw Giok Tjhan dan Baperki dalam Sejarah Indonesia, edited by Siauw Tiong Djin and Oey Hay Djoen, pp. 173–75. Jakarta: Hasta Mitra, 2000b.

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*———. “Chinese Indonesians in Crisis: 1960s and 1990s” and “Appendix I: Anti-Chinese Actions of the New Order Government”. In Perspectives on the Chinese Indonesians, edited by Michael R. Godley and Grayson J. Lloyd, pp. 20–40, 301–29. Adelaide: Crawford House, 2001. ———. Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002a. (Includes reprints of articles marked with *.) ———. “The Indonesian Chinese: ‘Foreign Orientals’, Netherlands Subjects, and Indonesian Citizens”. In Law and the Chinese in Southeast Asia, edited by M.B. Hooker, pp. 131–49. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2002b. ———, ed. Violent Conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, Representation, Resolution. London: Routledge Curzon, forthcoming. Coppel, C.A. and M.R. Godley. “Indonesian Chinese Identity in Hong Kong”. In Changing Identities of the Southeast Asian Chinese since World War II, edited by J. Cushman and Wang Gungwu, p. 205. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1988. *Coppel, C.A. and L. Suryadinata. “Use of the Terms ‘Tjina’ and ‘Tionghoa’ in Indonesia: An Historical Survey”. Papers on Far Eastern History 2 (1970): 97–118. [Republished in The Chinese Minority in Indonesia: Seven Papers, edited by L. Suryadinata, pp. 113–28. Singapore: Chopmen Enterprises, 1978.] Armstrong, R, C. Coppel, Anthony Milner et al. “Perceiving ‘Business Ethics’”. Australian–Asian Perceptions Project Working Paper, no. 3. Sydney: Academy of the Social Sciences in Australia and The Asia– Australia Institute, University of New South Wales, 1994. *Godley, M.R. and C.A. Coppel. “The Pied Piper and the Prodigal Children: A Report on the Indonesian-Chinese Students Who Went to Mao’s China”. Archipel 39 (1990a): 179–98. *———. “The Indonesian Chinese in Hong Kong: A Preliminary Report on a Minority Community in Transition”. Issues and Studies 26 (1990b): 94–108. Mackie, J.A.C. and C.A. Coppel. “A Preliminary Survey”. In The Chinese in Indonesia: Five Essays, edited by J.A.C. Mackie, pp. 1–18, 211–15. Melbourne: Nelson, 1976. Pausacker, Helen and C.A. Coppel. “Lovesick: Illness, Romance and the Portrayal of Women in Low Malay Novels from the Dutch East Indies”. RIMA 35, no. 1 (Winter 2001): 43–77.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg > 14 JEMMA PURDEY

1 Anti-Chinese Violence and Transitions in Indonesia June 1998–October 1999 Jemma Purdey INTRODUCTION

In Indonesian Chinese in Crisis Charles Coppel describes the period of transition in late 1965 and into 1966 and 1967 as “this two year period of storm” (Coppel 1983, p. 60). He depicts a time when tensions between Indonesia and China, as well as the residues of the anti-communist purges and an economic crisis, saw escalating uncertainty for ethnic Chinese Indonesians. As Coppel describes it, this minority were considered a viable scapegoat at the time: “They could credibly be represented as communist menace, fifth column and economic saboteur” (Coppel 1983, p. 63). Incidents of violence against the Chinese took place frequently and signified a disturbing trend. Coppel and other historians estimate that the number of Chinese killed during the communist purges in 1965–66 could not have exceeded 2,000 from the total number of deaths of up to 500,000.1 However, as his study shows, anti-Chinese sentiment escalated in the two years following the killings for various reasons, some of which were related to the anticommunist purges, and others which were not. These incidents included attacks on Chinese consulates in Makassar and Medan in late 1965; and more ominously, beginning in April 1966, the expulsion of 10,000 Chinese from Aceh and a similar number from West Kalimantan in 1967. As Coppel puts it, “The anti-Chinese violence during the two years after the coup attempt was unprecedently widespread” (Coppel 1983, p. 60). This marked a transformation in how ethnic Chinese could live their lives in Indonesia, foreshadowing laws and regulations implemented by the New Order government that confirmed and enhanced these prejudices and discriminatory practices.

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Like Coppel’s study of the transition period following the 1965 coup attempt, which saw the New Order take power, this chapter is concerned with the period of transition beginning in 1998, triggered by the only subsequent regime change in Indonesia. The end of the New Order in May 1998 was marked by massive anti-Chinese violence, alongside violence against students, women, and the urban poor in Medan, Jakarta, Solo, Surabaya, and other cities. This was far less than the scale, and quite unlike the form, of violence and killings in 1965-66 and was without ideological basis. Rather, many argue, it was state-orchestrated violence resulting from conflict at the highest levels of politics and the military. Further, unlike the period following the 1965 coup attempt, after May 1998 many ethnic Chinese had expectations for an improvement in conditions regarding freedoms for expression of their culture and other conditions. International protests from ethnic Chinese in America and also the governments in Taiwan and China supported this expectation of change in the Indonesian Government’s approach. Undoubtedly the May 1998 violence affected individual ethnic Chinese in different ways. There were those who were direct victims of the violence, as well as those who were not; those who fled Indonesia or their homes to elsewhere in the country; and those who stayed. In the “wash up” of this turbulent period there were those who emerged with a sense of empowerment and a desire to express their ethnic identity and those who remained cautious and wary and traumatized. For Indonesia’s future, the stakes were high. Economists predicted that the return of ethnic Chinese business held the key to ending the economic crisis, which continued to devastate the country. In his essays about anti-Chinese riots during the New Order, John Sidel has emphasized the extent to which these events were defined by the state, which used this discourse to gloss over other possibly more damaging explanations for violent events. He was therefore not surprised that with its demise, the anti-Chinese riot was, as he saw it, “replaced by” other forms of violence and protest (Sidel 2001, pp. 47– 63). This chapter argues, however, that violence against the ethnic Chinese did not disappear following the fall of the Soeharto regime but continued in patterns similar to the violence before May 1998. Rather, economic hardship and social disenfranchisement, as a part of the national condition during this period, formed the basis for violence against the ethnic Chinese in — among other places — Cilacap, Kebumen, Bagansiapi-api, and Holis (a suburb of Bandung) from August 1998 until early 1999.2 The cases presented in this chapter demonstrate that

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anti-Chinese violence continued to exist in much the same form as it did before May 1998. REFORMASI INDONESIA

In 1997 Ariel Heryanto argued, “in the final analysis the violence serves the interests of the regime” (Heryanto 1998, p. 102). Now that the New Order regime had been replaced, for what purpose or for whom was this violence being carried out? Perhaps more than at any other time in Indonesia’s recent history we must consider the motives and therefore agency of local actors more closely. That is, “the moral and ethical processes and judgements of those who participated” (Das 2000, pp. 16– 17). What is revealed by such an analysis are the raw prejudices within local contexts, the powerful stereotyping of the ethnic Chinese which has endured even if Soeharto has not, and the local “riot systems” which have also been maintained. As Sidel indicates to us, the conspiracy theories of the Soeharto period can no longer satisfactorily explain this violence.3 It could no longer be described in terms of ada provokator (existence of provocateurs) (Drexler, forthcoming) or pihak tertentu (“certain parties”, an euphemistic term used for “shady characters”), but instead the agency of the individual needs to be considered. The questions about this period that need to be answered include, “if this is not political violence or ‘racialized state terrorism’ any more, then what is it?” And, “if society now has new opportunities to express its frustration, why continue to choose the ethnic Chinese as targets?” Although anti-Chinese sentiments and prejudice remained after the fall of Soeharto, changes did occur in the national condition that altered how these hostilities would be transformed into violence. No longer under the grip of the New Order military regime, Indonesia began on a course to what some predict may prove to be its eventual fragmentation or implosion (Tiwon 2000). Large scale and brutal violence occurred in Aceh, Papua, East Timor, Ambon, Banyuwangi, and Ketapang.4 Some went so far as to claim that there was a “culture of violence” in Indonesia.5 Within the reformasi context, which was synonymous with rebellion and revolution during this time, acts of retribution and revenge were carried out and interethnic, inter-religious, and local grievances exploded into violence. Graffiti scrawled on shop fronts and homes in towns and cities in sites of violence like Maluku, Java, and Riau, declaring their inhabitants and owners to be Muslim, pribumi, and pro-reformasi, revealed some of the categories or labels under which it was perceived to be acceptable by locals for violence

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to be carried out. Herriman’s study of the killings of practitioners of “black magic” in Malang, East Java, in 1999 (Herriman, forthcoming) reveals that these acts of “community justice” were viewed by those who carried them out as part of their version of reformasi, or what someone called the “false reform movement”.6 Munir, former head of the Commission for Disappeared and Victims of Violence (Kontras), explained the increase in violent conflict following Soeharto’s resignation as the result of the shift from a political process that had been in place for a long time to something different but not yet certain. The culture of violence which is now occurring is a process where there is an open situation but the level of political awareness among the people is also weak, so people are easily incited and played off against each other — as a choice of political communication. Consequently conflicts become widespread. (Buletin Jaring, 1998)

A study of anti-Chinese violence post-May 1998 allows us a critical examination of theories that predominantly attribute this form of violence to the operations of an autocratic regime and locate its sources within these institutions. The post-May violence forces us, more than ever, to confront the idea of individual agency and local hostilities — fed by a history of hostile rhetoric from the New Order regime — as sources of anti-Chinese violence in Indonesia. Further, our understandings of violence after May 1998, particularly in the immediate period, need to recognize the influence of both the events in May and memories of them. THE ETHNIC CHINESE AND HABIBIE’S “REFORMS” Our blood will never mix with Chinese blood… Actually we hate the Chinese, but we couldn’t do anything about them before, because they were protected by Suharto. But I don’t think they will be protected anymore. (Sutanjo, a 38-year-old resident of Gresik, East Java: Kristof 1998)

In the period following Soeharto’s resignation the Habibie government waxed and waned in its policies regarding the ethnic Chinese — conscious of the economic imperative to “bring them home”, but aware too that they could not be seen to kowtow to Chinese demands. Meanwhile the Indonesian public was largely preoccupied with the rising prices for food and other basic needs. The fact that the Soeharto regime was no longer in power did not remove the widespread belief of many Indone-

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sians that the Chinese controlled the economy, local and national, and that they were corrupt. Nor was this belief totally without foundation.7 In towns and cities across Indonesia many key traders and businessmen were ethnic Chinese. In many cases they used — or found it necessary to use — corrupt practices to further their success. The same preconditions that existed before Soeharto’s fall for anti-Chinese sentiment to become anti-Chinese violence were in place afterwards. The ethnic Chinese would learn that reformasi did not mean equal rights and a decline in their victimization in Indonesia. It was the masses who made the fall of Soeharto possible — believing that they, the wong cilik, the little people, were being neglected — and it can be argued that they never really sympathized with notions of democracy in any universal sense.8 Hatreds associated with the ethnic Chinese as corrupt and opportunistic were not dispelled in the reformasi fervour. Actions by politicians and other national leaders were imperative to restore the faith of the ethnic Chinese community in Indonesia as a place where they had a future and this in turn had an impact on economic conditions all over Indonesia, down to the local market. Further, general sentiment about Chinese expressed by the elite and in the media had an impact on sentiment on the street. It may be asked, why was there no great “sympathy” for the ethnic Chinese post-May 1998? Why were efforts by some ethnic Chinese to promote harmony locally to no avail? Secondly, it is essential to consider what reformasi meant to people across the archipelago — farmers, labourers, factory workers as well as professionals. Finally, what were the organizational structures and social conditions that allowed persistent hostilities towards the ethnic Chinese to transform into violence? Despite reforms introduced by Habibie’s government — including permitting more political parties, the general election in June 1999, and laws providing more personal and political freedoms — the reform process remained limited for the ethnic Chinese. Although they now had the social and political space to consider questions of identity and belonging, the situation was regarded by many ethnic Chinese as, in fact, more uncertain and potentially threatening than before (Sinergi, 1999a). From elite millionaire businessmen to victims of the recent violence in Jakarta and other cities, there was an awareness from experience of the need to take a wary approach to political and social change. With the disposition for antiChinese violence still present in every community where Chinese lived and worked across Indonesia, their security remained of great and perhaps more immediate importance. Across the country all Indonesians, not only ethnic Chinese, were grappling with the consequences of the events of

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 19

May 1998. Now the dictator and oppressor was gone, who and what would replace him? How would Indonesia shape its future? In this fragile and somewhat perilous state many and varied groups emerged to fill the leadership void, some democratic and others based on criminality and retribution (Lindsey, forthcoming). This was an increasingly confusing environment for the ethnic Chinese conditioned to seeking protection from figures in the military and government and with a highly cautious attitude towards politics as a consequence of, as Heryanto put it, “a general essentialising identification of this ethnicity with communism”.9 Under Soeharto their position had been one of persecution and exploitation; however certain behaviours and relationships were prescribed to ensure that they could continue to live and work in Indonesia. As Coppel discovered, the life of the ethnic Chinese under Soeharto was characterized for large amounts of time by “relative peace” (Coppel 1983, p. 176). Now many were less sure of their place in Indonesian society (Wanandi 1999). What would become of the cukong relationships the powerful conglomerates had with even more powerful figures in the military and government and arrangements between small shop-owners and local security officials under a new political leadership? Who would protect them now? (The Jakarta Post, 29 May 1998). The realization that they had been “let down” in May 1998 by the arrangements put in place to ensure their security was, for many ethnic Chinese, more shocking than the actual material loss they suffered. In response, some chose to persist with relations with the security forces and government (Kompas, 20 July 1998), whilst others erected higher fences around the complexes and streets where they lived.10 Many were no longer confident that any assistance would be forthcoming from the authorities and increasingly took their safety into their own hands. The new government and the markets were quick to acknowledge that security was key to decisions Chinese Indonesians would make about their future in Indonesia or even in a particular city or district.11 Subsequent efforts to “bring them home” highlighted this as a necessity, yet there was equally as much to indicate to the ethnic Chinese that their situation in Indonesia was as dangerous as ever. ECONOMIC STRESSES CONTINUE

The Indonesian economy continued to lag as the impact of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) loan demands and, somewhat ironically, the

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absence of ethnic Chinese business activity was being acutely felt. In July 1998 the IMF deemed the US$43 billion loan package it had put together in November 1997 no longer sufficient (Wall Street Journal, 17 July 1998). In early September 1998 it was believed that nearly 80 million people, out of a total population of 201.6 million, were living below the poverty line and it was estimated that by the end of the year this figure would be 96 million — almost half the population.12 Of most immediate concern, however, was the direct impact of the flailing economy, particularly on Indonesians living in agriculturedependent regions like Java, and who were reliant on imported materials for manufacturing.13 On top of this, the social safety net programmes designed by Habibie’s government to cushion the impact of the economic crisis for the poor (which included Rp18 trillion or US$2.1 billion in funds) were ill-managed and by January 1999 only 30 per cent had been allocated. Across the country, but particularly in Java, warehouses and distribution centres (many of them owned by ethnic Chinese) were looted and lands people claimed had been stolen from them during the New Order were reoccupied.14 A report on Indonesia’s economic recovery released by a Singapore firm as early as June 1998 found that the economy was at a virtual standstill due primarily to the stagnation of distribution networks, largely made up of ethnic Chinese-owned businesses. It stated: “The most significant damage from last month’s riots is not the US$217 million worth of property damage, but the shattered confidence of the ethnic Indonesian Chinese who fled Jakarta together with their capital.”15 The authors of this report argued that although IMF loans were seen to be necessary for rebuilding the economy, ethnic Chinese capital was crucial to bringing it “back on track”. In March 1999 this view was supported by the World Bank Vice-President for Asia Pacific, Jean-Michael Severino, who agreed, “The Chinese are the issue in Indonesia… How they fix it [the Chinese problem] is up to the Indonesians, but the economic impact if they do not fix it will be huge.” He warned, “If there is no agreement between the two communities then probably the Chinese won’t be part of the development process” (Colebatch 1999). GOVERNMENT EFFORTS TO BRING ETHNIC CHINESE BACK “HOME”

Given these assessments it was not surprising therefore that almost immediately after Habibie’s government was formed, it embarked on a

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programme designed to persuade ethnic Chinese who had fled Indonesia or who had ceased their economic activities to return home and reopen their businesses. Though no solid figures are known, it is estimated that around 100,000 ethnic Chinese left Indonesia in mid-May 1998, with many more seeking safety internally in areas like Bali and North Sulawesi.16 Habibie set out with his assembled team of “special envoys” on a confidence-building campaign across the region and within Indonesia (Reuters, 11 August 1998). This message, particularly from Habibie himself, was inconsistent and, for many, unconvincing, particularly given the President’s earlier support for an economic policy of affirmative action for indigenous business. Sofyan Wanandi described the Habibie government’s attitude towards the ethnic Chinese at this time as “defensive” and far too slow and unconvincing in its efforts to heal the wounds in that community (Wanandi 1999). As Marzuki Darusman also added, the apparent sympathies of elite politicians and government officials towards the ethnic Chinese victims of persecution seemed superficial when followed by a call to resume their business as usual, as though nothing had happened. He commented, “But there’s a mixed feeling, a mixed picture, where on the one side you have sympathy because of the raping, but this ambivalent view of the Chinese coming back and continuing again where they left off a few months ago” (Washington Post, 19 July 1998). Moreover, some Chinese believed that their decision to stay away or to keep their businesses closed was similarly interpreted by non-Chinese as antinationalist. Others saw calls by Habibie, Abdurrahman Wahid, and Amien Rais for the ethnic Chinese to return “home” to help rebuild the national economy, not as an affirmation of the identity of the ethnic Chinese as Indonesians but as an action which perpetuated the myth of ethnic Chinese economic domination (Massardi 1998). From its first weeks and months in office Habibie’s government had pledged to reform discriminatory laws and to support equality for all Indonesians, including the ethnic Chinese. In actuality, the variety of gestures and small legal amendments made during the Habibie government’s term had very little effect (Lindsey, this volume). TAKING A “DIFFERENT APPROACH”?

In the aftermath of May 1998 there was heavy rhetoric in Indonesian politics about abolishing inequalities and discriminatory measures against the ethnic Chinese, yet the actual changes entered into law by the Habibie

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government were limited and without power. At around the same time the Minister for State-Owned Enterprises, Tanri Abeng, floated the idea of a Bill of Rights, claiming that it had the support of the President and was in the process of being investigated by the Minister for Justice. He told delegates at a conference in Singapore that the proposed Bill was intended to “eliminate the perceived and actual differences” between groups in Indonesia (Reuters, 24 June 1998). The most significant development was Habibie’s decision in July 1998 to establish the Joint Fact Finding Team (TGPF) for the May violence in response to lobbying from women’s groups and victims’ groups as well as from the international community (Kompas, 3 June 1998). On 16 September 1998 Habibie issued a Presidential Instruction (No. 26 of 1998) that the terms pri and non-pri 17 should no longer be used in official government policy and business. The Presidential Instruction also stipulated that equal opportunity be granted to all Indonesians of whatever ethnic group, religion, or race. Much later on in his presidency, on 5 May 1999, Habibie issued a further Presidential Instruction (No. 4 1999) restating Presidential Instruction No. 56 of 1996, issued 9 July 1996, stipulating that the Indonesian Citizenship Certificate (SBKRI) would no longer be necessary and that the Kartu Tanda Penduduk (KTP), or identity card, was sufficient proof of citizenship. The ineffectuality of this decree was noted by Sinergi magazine some months later when they discovered that the SBKRI was still being demanded by the authorities and the ethnic Chinese were still being forced to pay extra for the processing of immigration documents, passports, and so on (Sinergi, 1999b). They concluded that the changes in the law were not being communicated to the members of the bureaucracy who implement them. There were further inconsistencies in Habibie’s “bring them home” project that maintained scepticism within the ethnic Chinese community. Most notable was the rise and rise in Habibie’s Cabinet of Adi Sasono as Minister for Co-operatives, dubbed in the international media as “Indonesia’s most dangerous man” (Washington Post, 2 March 1999). In January 1999 Habibie’s budget included US$2.67 billion to fund credit programmes for co-operatives (Cameron 1999, pp. 3–41). His critics maintained that Sasono, a proponent of the ekonomi rakyat, or people’s economy, wanted to see economic resources transferred by the government from mainly Chinese-owned companies to co-operatives owned by mainly pribumi businessmen (Kagda 1999). Sasono’s crusade to redistribute wealth concentrated in the hands of a few to smaller companies

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or “poorer” businesses was described by his supporters in terms of a modernday “Robin Hood”. Sasono himself explained it as anti-monopoly and anticronyism policy. However, in a society where wealth continued to be equated with ethnicity, and “Chineseness” in particular, this policy was easily interpreted as also anti-Chinese (Washington Post, 2 March 1999). Developments in national politics during this transitional period make clear the unchanged reality of the situation of the ethnic Chinese at this time. Despite the government’s pretences (arguably to placate international protests against institutionalized discrimination), doubts remained about the loyalty of the ethnic Chinese and myths continued about their economic role, such as their role in the collapse of the economy in 1997 and their level of control over the economy. Although it was clearly in the interests of the nation for the ethnic Chinese to regain confidence in its institutions, the government failed to deliver. Meanwhile the economy continued to slide (in September 1998 it was estimated that almost half the population would be living in poverty by the end of the year) and the frustrations of the people continued to grow. KEKERASAN AND REFORMASI 18

Early in August 1998 there were reports that in the lead up to 17 August, fears among the Chinese were rising once again. It was estimated that 164,000 people had settled in Bali in the previous two months, which caused an increase in the price of land and property in the province (Media Indonesia, 5 August 1998). The reason for Chinese alarm included incidents such as the robbery of Chinese graves in Pekalongan (north coast of Java) in early August and general economic tension. Conflicts with no initial relation to the ethnic Chinese or with trading, such as in Karawang on 28 August,19 again resulted in violence against the ethnic Chinese. In Semarang at this time, ethnic Chinese residents reported that strange graffiti had appeared on their homes and shops. The graffiti included a triangle, which it was later said, represented a command to loot; and elsewhere a circle appeared, allegedly denoting that women inside should be raped (Media Indonesia, 5 August 1998; Associated Press, 5 August 1998). Some ethnic Chinese residents of Semarang also received threatening telephone calls demanding up to Rp1 million (US$118) to protect their families. In response the local police and army initiated patrols in high-risk areas. The ethnic Chinese fled Surabaya, many to Bali, after receiving threatening telephone calls, attacks on warehouses and shops, and other warnings.

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Together with the national debate in the aftermath of the May violence these small incidents — threats and cases of actual violence — of which there were many similar examples from this time, explain the continued tension and level of anxiety within the ethnic Chinese community. The two cases described below are amongst the most significant cases of antiChinese violence in this period in terms of the scale of the damage and the influence these events had on subsequent violence and anti-Chinese sentiment (Purdey 2002, chapter IV). KEBUMEN, 7 SEPTEMBER 1998 [A]ctually it was really only a normal quarrel between an employee and his boss. However, as it passed from mouth to mouth, it developed into mistreatment and battering. (Vice-Regional Police Chief: Jawa Pos, 8 September 1998)

Just over one week after violence occurred in Cilacap, which claimed tens of fishing trawlers and shops owned by ethnic Chinese, an incident involving an ethnic Chinese employer and her employee led to violence in the nearby town of Kebumen. On 7 September 1998 Sukiman, a 22-year-old employee of Yohanes and Elizabeth, the Chinese owners of an automobile spare parts shop Toko Rego Agung, was heard sobbing by some of his friends who worked at the nearby minibus terminal. Sukiman was well known to the men who worked on the minibuses as they often shopped for fuel and spare parts at Toko Rego Agung. That morning Sukiman was extremely distressed. When his friends asked him what was wrong, he told them that he had been scolded severely and then beaten by his boss Elizabeth for spilling oil in the shop. The small group of minibus workers were familiar with the harsh way the owners of Toko Rego Agung treated their staff and were particularly aware of Elizabeth’s fiery temper and erratic behaviour. Further, in recent times the minibus workers themselves, as customers of their shop, had cause for grievances against Elizabeth and Yohanes. Increases in their prices had been unpredictable and requests for credits were always refused. After hearing Sukiman’s story, they grew angry at his obvious distress and humiliation and a small group, together with tukang becak (pedicab drivers), orang pasar (market vendors), and passers-by, gathered in front of the shop, situated only 50 metres from the terminal. A crowd of approximately fifty people assembled at the shop, some of them shouting abuse at Yohanes and Elizabeth, who quickly ran from

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 25

their home as the crowd approached. At some point a few members of the minibus crews ran to a nearby warung for a can of oil which they then used to set fire to tyres in front of the shop. It was not long before the fire had spread to the shop and engulfed its contents, which ironically included Sukiman’s own car for which he had saved for many years and used to visit his mother in his village once a month (Saharjo 1999, p. 55). By mid-morning the minibus terminal had become busy with passengers arriving from nearby villages and school children coming out of school. Many of them joined the crowd that was now moving on from Toko Rego Agung to other shops close by, most of which sold spare parts, tyres, and oil. Some witnesses reported that they heard people shouting, “Chinese are too much! Chinese dogs! Burn! Burn, burn everything, what are you waiting for!” Witnesses claimed the language and dialect used by those shouting these slogans was not local. One witness went so far as to claim, “The accent was like that of a Solonese. It definitely wasn’t the Kebumen dialect.”20 Over eighty shops, houses, and factories in central Kebumen as well as dozens of vehicles and public facilities such as potted plants and street signs were looted, burned, and destroyed, at an estimated total cost of Rp5 billion (Saharjo 1999, p. 41). Conditions for Violence: Economic Stresses and Urban Poor There is a phenomenon whereby things are easily ignited because the situation is very difficult. (Endro Suyitno, Head of DPRD, Jawa Tengah: Suara Pembaruan, 8 September 1998)

In central Java in the months prior to the violence on 7 September 1998, prices for sembako (essential household needs)21 such as rice had increased from Rp800 (US9.4¢) to Rp2,500 (US29.4¢) per kilogramme (Kedaulatan Rakyat, 23 August 1998). In addition to these pressures Kebumen’s local economy had become increasingly strained since the beginning of the krismon period. During this time workers retrenched from their jobs as maids and labourers in countries like Malaysia, Thailand, and Singapore, which had also been hit by the economic crisis, were returning to Kebumen and the surrounding villages. This was a double blow for not only were their foreign currency wages no longer coming in to buoy the local economy but they had become another burden, adding to the growing numbers of the town’s unemployed.

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At this time pro-reformasi supporters in Kebumen, including Chinese businessmen, members of the local government, police, and TNI (army), formed an alliance called the Social Welfare Forum (Forum Kepedulian Sosial, FKS) to campaign for decreases in the prices of sembako and distribute aid. Their main concern was the urban poor community, which they believed was hardest hit by the price rises. Unlike the villagers who had some level of subsistence to cushion the impact of these increases, the urban poor would be devastated. From July until September 1998, the FKS (of which Kebumen’s mayor was a leader) operated a pasar murah (cheap market) at which they sold subsidized sembako to the urban poor. On 4 September, days before the violence, Bulog (Badan Urusan Logistik, the National Logistics Agency) once again raised the price of rice by more than Rp1,000 per kilogram. Petitions by the mayor (Bupati) to the local Bulog, which controls the distribution and pricing of basic goods, asking that the FKS be permitted to sell cheaper rice were refused. Very soon rice and cooking oil began to disappear from the markets and shopkeepers in Kebumen were quickly suspected of hoarding. In this tense atmosphere Sukiman’s tears became a powerful symbol of the pain experienced by the urban poor. The Ethnic Chinese in Kebumen: Against the Odds According to history racial riots have occurred in Kebumen four times. First in 1928, then in 1942, 1965 and finally in 1998. You can ask older people who had the opportunity to experience it. (Arif Yanarto, member of FKS: Saharjo 1999, p. 53)

The buildings selected by the crowd — or as the evidence indicates, by certain “leaders” — for vandalism and violence were mostly shops and homes owned by ethnic Chinese as well as some banks and public facilities. Like other sites for anti-Chinese violence in the late 1990s, including Situbondo and Tasikmalaya, Kebumen is described as a santri town.22 Also like these towns, in the 1990s Kebumen became the focus for new investment, mostly by ethnic Chinese business, in textiles, an industry traditionally dominated by indigenous Indonesians. During this period the first supermarkets opened in Kebumen, with ethnic Chinese business again playing a major role. In a pattern repeated across the nation, these investments led to the displacement of many small shops and traditional markets owned and operated by indigenous residents.

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 27

At the same time many ethnic Chinese residents, well aware of the difficulties in relations between the Chinese and non-Chinese in Kebumen, were working hard prior to the violence to guarantee harmony in the city through groups like FKS. Many, like Tun Han Jan (Handoko), the owner of a plastics factory, had donated many hundreds of thousands of rupiah to assist the poor in Kebumen and no doubt had spent much more over the years to pay for security. It was a strategy which, under the New Order regime, had proved very successful. Since 1965 until this incident – as Arif recounted – no significant racial violence had occurred in the town. However, after the violence in early September 1998, many ethnic Chinese in Kebumen, including Tun Han Jan, began to question their methods of security-seeking. “Since I was small I have attended school, worked and lived with indigenous people. My concern about these problems is not any less. But still I become a target and victim every time there is a problem or crisis” (Saharjo 1999, p. 53). Relations between the Chinese and non-Chinese were severely damaged by the violence in early September 1998. Residents claimed that the processes of assimilation and harmony between groups that had been present for so long were all but destroyed following the violence, as they became newly suspicious of each other. Twenty ethnic Chinese business people formed the Communication Forum for the Victims of the 7 September Kebumen Riot (Forum Komunikasi Korban Kerusuhan Kebumen, 7 September), because, despite assurances from the mayor and the Chief of Police that they would be protected, as Arif Yanarto explained, the ethnic Chinese in Kebumen needed to work together for a solution, “We established the forum in a spontaneous way because we feel we share the same destiny. We want to ask, can we still be given the opportunity to work here or not” (Suara Merdeka, 20 September 1998). In forming this new group to assist the victims of the violence, Arif and other Kebumen Chinese had greatly changed their outlook regarding their participation and future in Kebumen. They had shifted from a position of making pronounced efforts to assimilate and to assist the indigenous urban poor, to questioning whether there was a place for them in that community after all. HOLIS, 7 MARCH 1999 The potential for a riot in West Java is sufficiently great. Don’t wait until a riot like that in Ambon occurs in West Java. To ensure

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this, we have to be proactive. (Nuriana, Governor of West Java: Pikiran Rakyat, 20 January 1999)

On the morning of Sunday 7 March 199923 dozens of people gathered at the entrance to the Taman Rahayu luxury housing estate in Holis, on the southern outskirts of Bandung. They included people from a nearby kampung (village or small urban area) who had come to protest about the use of a ruko (rumah toko or home and shop in same building) in the housing estate as a place of worship. How the crowd came to assemble at the entrance to the housing estate is told in a number of ways by locals, the police, and the wider Bandung community. It is known for certain that the crowd, once inside the housing estate, moved directly to the ruko used for prayer meetings and religious ceremonies by followers of the Christian group Ho Kim Tong and then ransacked its contents. They then moved towards Taman Holis, another housing estate only 3 kilometres away. At Taman Holis the group went directly to a three-storey building which housed a kindergarten and primary school run by a Christian organization. Windows and doors in the building were broken and the contents of some of the rooms, including desks, chairs, and computer equipment, destroyed.24 The crowd then progressed to a third housing estate, Taman Kopo Indah II, where they reportedly broke windows in ten ruko before being stopped by crowd control troops (Dalmas) in the mid-afternoon. How Did the “Crowd” Come to be There?

There are conflicting reports about the level of spontaneity of this protest. Some local residents report that just prior to the attack on the Ho Kim Tong building a becak driver was involved in a collision with a car driven by an ethnic Chinese.25 When the car did not stop after the accident, a group of becak drivers in the area moved to the Taman Rahayu estate. Their existing grievances and complaints regarding the extra traffic caused by people coming and going to services at the Ho Kim Tong building in the estate — almost all of whom were ethnic Chinese — became a focus for their frustration following this incident, and the ensuing violence was described as “spontaneous”. Others maintain that at least some of the rioters arrived at the estate in trucks from outside the area and that those who carried out the violence were not locals. Other reports claim that it was only when extra people arrived at the gates to the estate, allegedly in trucks, and began to incite the people gathered to force their way inside, that the crowd became violent (Pikiran Rakyat, 10 March 1999).

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 29

The level of tension with regard to the Ho Kim Tong “church” was well known in the area. This was not the first time the residents of the nearby kampung had protested about the noise levels generated by music and singing coming from the ruko and also about the increased traffic through the kampung on days when the congregation met, which was not restricted to Sundays. Previously nearby residents had made complaints to the estate manager as well as the church leaders themselves and had even approached leaders from other Christian churches to ask that they put their complaints to Ho Kim Tong. However the situation had never improved. Gereja Aneh, Permits, and Urban Sprawl

Locals report that prior to the violence on 7 March there had been no trouble between the kampung residents and ethnic Chinese living in the luxury housing estates. They claim that everyday relations between these groups were harmonious, although they admit that tension and resentment lay just below the surface. Bandung residents variously describe the Ho Kim Tong Christian church as gereja aneh (strange church) and gereja karismatik (charismatic church). Established by ethnic Chinese Christians in Bandung, the church is evangelical with its services involving loud music and prayer.26 For two years prior to the March 1999 attack the congregation had used the ruko at Taman Rahayu as a meeting place for prayer and ceremonies, yet during this time they had not obtained a permit from the Department of Religion to establish a church at that place.27 Following the attack, representatives from the Department of Religion maintained that the congregation had been sent letters to remind them of their obligation to get its permission before they could conduct religious services in the new premises, and that the permission would be dependent on the support of the local residents (Pikiran Rakyat, 9 March 1999). It appears that initially the locals, many of whom worked in houses on the estate (and therefore in whose interest it was to avoid conflict) were tolerant of the presence of the church at Taman Rahayu. However the unwillingness of the leaders of Ho Kim Tong to compromise on issues such as noise levels and traffic meant that this opportunity was missed. As a consequence the presence of the church began to be seen in more general terms as a violation of laws regarding the establishment of churches — that is, a religious and legal issue — rather than as a dispute to be settled through local mediation, “We have already protested because using it as a place of worship is not in keeping with the function of that building. What is more, the

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majority of residents in this area are Muslim” (Pikiran Rakyat, 9 March 1999). Refocusing this from a neighbourhood dispute to one over the legality of the church, was a crucial development. Controversy and disputes over the right to establish churches already constituted a nationwide discourse, widely perceived as anti-Christian. Events at Situbondo, Tasikmalaya, and Rengasdengklok in 1996–97 are examples of the manifestation of this debate turning into violence.28 Prior to the development of the three luxury housing estates, the land on the outskirts of the city of Bandung was covered with rice fields and dotted with kampung. In the early 1990s, with the expansion of the city, developers bought up land such as this on the southern periphery, conveniently situated just off the toll road ringing the city. As a consequence of this development, kampung dwellers, most of whom were very poor, found themselves living alongside rich people and in many cases became reliant on them for work. The continued economic pressures up to, and then after, Soeharto’s resignation created conditions described by one Holis resident as so tense they were almost at the breaking point.29 The majority of homes and ruko in the three estates damaged during the violence were owned or occupied by ethnic Chinese. Although it is difficult to say definitively who made up the crowd involved in the violence that day or even why they chose that morning to escalate the level of their protest about the ruko, it can be said that to an extent these targets were predetermined. This was not a spontaneous event but neither was it a planned action by outsiders as an attempt to destabilize the area. Local knowledge and previous grievances were the basis for this action; however the conditions or predisposition dictating how the crowd were able to assemble, to turn to violence, and why they were not stopped, are much wider than that. In January 1999 Alwi Shihab (then Dean of the Paramadinamulya University in Jakarta) highlighted the connection between a government that was failing the people and violence: What happens at the bottom levels [of society] usually reflects the situation at the top levels… If the people believe that the government has failed to find a solution to their problems, they will find their own way. This is very dangerous for our country in the future. (The Jakarta Post, 11 January 1999)

In Holis those involved in the violence revolted against fellow residents whom they believed were blatantly breaking laws. In this case it was over permits to establish a church. Here, those “breaking” the laws were ethnic Chinese who did so with the help of corrupt officials. Yet, it is too

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 31

simple to say that these movements are “anti-law breaking”. Why choose these particular targets when corruption was rife throughout the bureaucracy, for example? This case highlights another clue in the context of reformasi and uses of violence in this transitional period. Like the cases of community justice or ninja killings in East Java (Herriman, forthcoming), reformasi was interpreted by many Indonesians as a new freedom to resolve injustices, perceived or real, by means of mass mobilization. Like the students at the Parliament in mid-May 1998, local groups recognized their power to oppose the source of their hardship and those “breaking the law”. In Holis local residents involved in the attacks on ethnic Chinese property may also have made their attacks on these targets because they were not so close to the centre of power as to prove risky. Some of the ethnic Chinese targeted were law breakers, but, at the same time, the officials and bureaucrats who allowed the laws to be flouted were not attacked. In Kebumen the violence against ethnic Chinese property was not so much driven by a sense of injustice at infringement of particular laws as by personal grievances and general frustration attached to prejudices against ethnic Chinese. Not unlike many incidents of anti-Chinese violence in the past, the alleged beating of a pribumi by an ethnic Chinese precipitated widespread violence (Mackie 1976, pp. 100, 135–37). This community appeared to have achieved a high level of assimilation or tolerance between its Chinese and non-Chinese residents. Chinese businesses had actively encouraged this through sponsorship of community programmes. In this case, however, the violence exposed ethnic prejudices, or specifically, anti-Chinese sentiments, which many had believed were long buried. The public sentiments that allowed the anti-Chinese riot to gain the power it had under the New Order existed after Soeharto resigned. Whilst, as Sidel (2001, p. 59) claims, it may have lost its political power, local communities still deemed that there was something to be gained from antiChinese violence. Violence against the ethnic Chinese in the late New Order period can be analysed in terms of it being a political tool of both the leaders and challengers of the autocratic regime. Yet such violence after the fall of Soeharto lacked these same vertical links, and arguably did not have the same purpose. Instead post-Soeharto violence against the ethnic Chinese needs to be examined in the broader social context of forces for retribution and justice-seeking in Indonesia at this time, that is, in response to laws broken, unfair advantages, and corruption. As the reformasi protest demanded, such violations were no longer to be tolerated. The drive for the incidents of violence in post-New Order Indonesia detailed here originated

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from within their local systems, and from local memories of how to carry them out, not through channels of military or para-military command. They were also a form of people power. THEMES AND PATTERNS OF ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE

It is too simplistic to argue that violence against the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia is singularly the responsibility of the state. It is also erroneous to state the case for an explanation of all anti-Chinese violence as being linked to economic or class resentments or competition. These are both influential factors in cases of violence against the ethnic Chinese presented here, but not always central to why the violence takes place. Violence against the ethnic Chinese both prior to and following the fall of the New Order took place as part of disputes over sacred space (fears of Christianization); scapegoating during times of economic hardship; political power struggles; racialized state violence; and justice-seeking.30 Within this variety of contexts, however, certain preconditions and organizational structures were evident in all cases. These included the presence of skilled agents, or as Paul Brass (1996, pp. 12–16) called them, “riot specialists” and “fire tenders”, together with a crowd that possessed a level of memory, knowledge, or habitus of this kind of violence and were prepared to follow. The action was intentional. Context: Seeking Justice and the Indonesian State in Transition

Of the themes identified in this wider study, one can be applied more uniformly: the claim for justice in some form, or justice-seeking. The particularities of the period under investigation here, one of transition and demands for reform in Indonesia, are imperative for understanding why this is the case. In this period of transition the people who chose to follow this violence most often justified their involvement on the basis of a search for justice. In Kebumen both Sukiman’s friends and those who did not know him claimed their actions to be in response to the injustices done to this worker by his Chinese employer. At Holis the community protest and petitioning to the authorities had not produced a result. Instead a violent attack on the object of their grievances proved to be more effective. During the latter part of the New Order rule (and also under a greatly weaker, postNew Order state) the absence of alternative methods for justice-seeking in Indonesia, in conjunction with the impunity accorded to acts of violence like these against ethnic Chinese by a crowd or large group, is key for

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 33

understanding the continuity and frequency of these acts. Dédé Oetomo’s attempt to understand an increase in homophobic violence in the reformasi period of widening democratic space in Indonesia led him to similarly conclude, “[t]he breakdown of law and order that accompanied the resignation of Soeharto seems to give them an excuse to run on the rampage…” (Oetomo 2001, p. 11). Together with homophobic violence, other incidents of violence that were retributive, criminal, or motivated by ethnic or religious antipathies escalated, as evidenced in areas such as Maluku, Poso, and West and Central Kalimantan (Colombijn and Lindblad 2002; Anderson 2001; Coppel, forthcoming). Discourse and the Normality of Violence in the Indonesian State

Under the New Order and beyond, anti-Chinese violence as a discourse, and, particularly, as an act, was considered normal or everyday rather than extraordinary in Indonesian society. The state was complicit in creating a context in which this explanation was beneficial not only to its institutions, but also to the masses (massa)31 who engage in violence. The New Order state utilized anti-Chinese hostility in society to deflect blame, to preserve a fear of violence, and to cultivate an “outsider” against whom they could define the “insider”. As a consequence, the massa and the specialists involved in carrying out acts of violence, which were represented as anti-Chinese, were assured of impunity. The language of the New Order constantly questioned the position of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesian society, their citizenship, and their “belonging” to the Indonesian nation. This created the context within which not only the government but also the massa could present discrimination, prejudice, and acts of violence against this minority group as justifiable, normal, and, in some cases, legal. The New Order government possessed the extraordinary power to define and represent a certain set of identifying factors — patterns and themes of violence — as anti-Chinese. Over time this discourse developed into a set of memories about these events, an understanding of these patterns to the violence — and critically, as Horowitz explained, knowledge of its impunity in Indonesian society. This provided an atmosphere within which anti-Chinese violence was not only seen as “normal” but inevitable in certain situations. These included an identifiable root cause that could be directly related to the ethnic Chinese. An argument between a Chinese employer and his employee, a fight between a Chinese and pribumi, a motor vehicle accident involving an ethnic Chinese — all were incidents that could be seen as fitting this pattern. This set of defining

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characteristics not only allowed the state and the massa to escape repercussions for violent action, but it also enabled the Chinese themselves to deny that violence against them is ethnically motivated. These representations of violence against the ethnic Chinese profoundly impact on the outcomes of prosecutions, rehabilitation, and reconciliation among communities in Indonesia. The reasons commonly accepted for anti-Chinese violence — that an ethnic Chinese person had committed a crime, offended Islam, or cheated an employee — allowed this explanation to be set apart from the notion that racism or anti-Chinese sentiment played a part in it. Aguilar proposed with regard to the May incidents, “Had the violence erupted spontaneously out of pure racial hatred, the recent past would also demand a reconceptualisation” (Aguilar 2001, p. 503). Furthermore, appreciation of the benefits of racialized violence did not disappear from society with the end of the New Order. Whether acts of violence against the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia during this time were described as anti-Chinese violence, as state terrorism, premanisme (gangsterism), or by some other name, they had in common the assurance of impunity for the perpetrators. The responses to such violence by the state, the massa, and the ethnic Chinese given to the author in conversation and in official and non-government reports were uniformly, “The state did it” or “They asked for it” (Human Rights Watch, 1998; Joint Fact Finding Team [TGPF] 1998; Volunteers Team For Humanity [TRuK] 1998). In neither case are the individual perpetrators seen as responsible. CONCLUSION

The expectations among Indonesians that accompanied the end of the New Order included greater equality for the ethnic Chinese. Evidence shows us that Habibie’s transitional government failed to deliver, as have subsequent governments. Furthermore, incidents of anti-Chinese violence which took place during this transitional period force us to rethink analysis of antiChinese violence and much other violence as being simply state-led. The incidents post-May 1998 reveal the extent to which the massa possess a set of memories of violence and also anti-Chinese sentiments and antipathies. Though set off by various different sets of conditions, the association of Chinese with economic stress, marginalization, and injustice has been deeply entrenched in Indonesians. As the situation in Indonesia in the immediate period following May 1998 was uncertain, so it remains today. Charles Coppel predicted in his Indonesian Chinese in Crisis, written from the late 1970s until the early 1980s, that the overthrow of the New Order govern-

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 35

ment, which at once persecuted and protected them, could “spell disaster” for the minority as a whole. The violence in May 1998 demonstrated the potential he spoke of, but fortunately full-scale disaster has not come to pass. However, as violence continues to escalate in Indonesia, with continued impunity for its perpetrators, the position of the Chinese still warrants their grave and constant wariness. Notes 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

For a comprehensive discussion of the numbers killed see Cribb (2001, pp. 219–39). For further details on these and other incidents, see Purdey (2002, chapters II–IV). On conspiracy theories and other theories see Media Indonesia (9 January 1999). See Anderson (2001); Colombijn and Lindblad (2002); and Coppel (forthcoming). See comments made by Prabowo, Van Zorge Report (2001): “It is not really ‘politically correct’ for me to say this, especially as an Indonesian speaking before so many foreigners but, like it or not, politically correct or not, the whole culture of Indonesia is a culture of violence between tribes and ethnic groups. Indonesians can very quickly turn to violence. The word amok comes from the lingua franca of this archipelago.” The local military commander referring to conflict between two protest groups in Tegal in mid–June 1998 (Suara Merdeka, 16 June 1998, and Della-Giacoma [1998]). For a theory relating to violence against middleman minorities see Douglas (1995). See Witoelar (2001). Witoelar commented that in Indonesia after the fall of Soeharto, “the fact that the media is totally free does not mean that it is espousing the values of democracy. It is just free. It is just like children out of school after a day with a tough teacher, and now school is over and some of them forget to go home; they are running around in the streets.” See Heryanto (1998) and the comment by Sofyan Wanandi in Shiner (1998). So important to the ethnic Chinese was the pagar (fence) that Sinergi magazine, in its first edition in November 1998, featured articles on the use of the gate/fence in Indonesian history and responses to the May 1998 violence (Sinergi, 1998, p. 14).

36 JEMMA PURDEY 11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20 21

Many ethnic Chinese — Time magazine (31 May 1998) estimated 250,000 — moved to Bali at this time because they believed that it was relatively safer there. In Solo a local ethnic Chinese group, PMS, actively encouraged ethnic Chinese to return to the city. See also Hugo (2001). See Healey and Tesoro (1998). Badan Pusat Statistik (BPS, the Central Statistics Body) figures state that in 1998, 24.2 per cent were living below the poverty line and in 1999, 23 per cent (Hugo 2001). The increases in prices of essential household needs mean that higher levels of inflation affect the very poor more than others. For the year to June 1998 Java and Madura had price increases averaging 102 per cent, the rest of the country 71 per cent and overall it was an 89 per cent increase (Evans 1998, pp. 5–36). In addition, some areas of the economy actually benefited from the crisis and depreciation of the rupiah. In the first eleven months of 1998 exports from Tanjung Priok had reached a twenty-year high, with agricultural exports up 21 per cent (Cameron 1999). At the end of 1998 the National Police stated that crime had increased by 10 per cent in Indonesia (The Jakarta Post, 2 January1999). See AFP (8 June 1998). During the first quarter of 1998 capital outflows from Indonesia accelerated, reaching an estimated Rp70 trillion (US$8.2 million). However, there is no way of assessing the “ethnicity” of this capital (Evans 1999, p. 115). See Suryadinata (2001). The Indonesian Immigration Department stated that an estimated 152,000 people left Indonesia during this time. Of these 70,800 were Indonesian citizens and the majority presumably ethnic Chinese, rather than indigenous Indonesians. Pri is an abbreviation of pribumi or “indigenous”. See Lindsey (this volume). This section is based on some of the findings of my thesis “AntiChinese Violence in Indonesia, 1996–1999”. Fieldwork was undertaken during June–September 1999 and again during March–April 2001. I interviewed a range of human rights workers, victims of violence, residents, and business people in violence-affected areas in Jakarta, Bandung, and Surabaya. A dispute between the traffic police and an ojek driver led to looting and attacks on shops and churches in that town (Tempo, 1 September 1998). Agus Salim Chamidi, quoted in Saharjo (1999, p. 41). Sembako is the abbreviation of sembilan bahan pokok or nine basic household needs, which were defined in the Decision of the Minister of Industry and Trade (no. 115/mmp/kep/2/1998,

ANTI-CHINESE VIOLENCE AND TRANSITIONS IN INDONESIA 37

22

23

24

25 26 27

28 29 30 31

27 February 1998) as rice, sugar, cooking oil and margarine, beef and chicken, hen’s eggs, milk, corn, kerosene, and salt (, accessed on 17 November 2003). Santri is a term often used by Indonesians to describe Muslims considered more devout or pious. An incident of violence against ethnic Chinese also took place in Karawang, on 7 January 1999 after an argument between a becak driver and a policeman. Only rooms used for religious services were attacked. (Interview with Martinus from Bandung-based non-governmental organization [NGO], Forum for Human Rights [FRONT], April 2001) Interview, Holis, 11 April 2001. Interview, Bandung, 12 April 2001. They did not have a Building Permit (Izin Mendirikan Bangunan or IMB), which precedes the Permit to Found a Church (Izin Pendirian Gereja) (Pikiran Rakyat, 9 March 1999). See Purdey (2002, chapter II). Interview, Holis, 11 April 2001. For further details, see Purdey (2002, chapter V). See Siegel (2001, pp. 27–79) for a discussion of the use of the term “massa” in Indonesia. Siegel discusses the way in which the use of massa led to the absence of agency on the part of individuals involved in mass violence.

References

Agence France Presse (AFP), “Indonesian Chinese Capital Vital for Restoration of Indonesia”, 8 June 1998. Aguilar, Filomeno V. “Citizenship, Inheritance and the Indigenising of ‘Orang Chinese’ in Indonesia”. Positions 9, no. 3 (Winter 2001): 503. Anderson, BRO’G, ed. Violence and the State in Suharto’s Indonesia. Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program Publications, Cornell University, 2001. Associated Press, 5 August 1998. Brass, Paul R., ed. Riots and Pogroms. London: Macmillan, 1996. Buletin Jaring, “Munir SH: Pemerintah yang Sekarang Masih Gunakan Kekerasan” [Munir SH: Government still uses violence], December 1998. Cameron, L. “Survey of Recent Developments”. Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies 35, no. 1 (April 1999): 3–41. Colebatch, Tim. “Chinese Investors Key to Indonesia’s Economic Recovery”. The Age, 13 March 1999.

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Colombijn, Freek and J. Thomas Lindblad, eds. Roots of Violence in Indonesia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2002. Coppel, Charles A. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1983. ———, ed. Violent Conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, Representation and Resolution. London: Routledge Curzon, forthcoming. Cribb, Robert. “Genocide in Indonesia, 1965–1966”. Journal of Genocidal Research 3, no. 2 (2001): 219–39. Das, Veena et al., eds. Violence and Subjectivity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000. Della-Giacoma, Jim. “Indonesian Soldiers Fire in the Air to Quell Protest”. Reuters, 15 June 1998. Douglas, T. Scapegoats. London: Routledge, 1995. Drexler, Elizabeth. “Engineering Violence and Authenticating Separatism: Separating the Indonesian Armed Forces (TNI) from the Free Aceh Movement (GAM)”. In Violent Conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, Representation and Resolution, edited by Charles A. Coppel. London: Routledge Curzon, forthcoming. Evans, Kevin. “Survey of Recent Developments”. Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies 34, no. 3 (December 1998): 5–36. ———. “Economic Update”. In Post-Soeharto Indonesia: Renewal or Chaos?, edited by Geoff Forrester, pp. 105–27. Bathurst, NSW: Crawford House Publishing, 1999. Healey, Tim and Manuel Tesoro Jose. “Judging Habibie”. Asiaweek.com, 4 September 1998, . Herriman, Nicholas. “Violence and Ideology in the Murder of Sorcerers in East Java’s Malang Regency: The People, the State and the Press”. In Violent Conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, Representation and Resolution, edited by Charles A. Coppel. London: Routledge Curzon, forthcoming. Heryanto, Ariel. “Ethnic Identities and Erasure: Chinese Indonesians in Public Culture”. In Southeast Asian Identities: Culture and the Politics of Representation in Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand, edited by Joel S. Kahn, pp. 95–114. New York: St. Martin’s Press and Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1998. Hugo, G. “Chinese Emigrants and Refugees: Recent Population Movements in East and Southeast Asia, Australia and New Zealand”. Paper presented at the colloquium Chinese Emigrants and Refugees: Recent Population Movements in East and Southeast Asia, Australia and New

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Zealand, 1 June 2001, at the University of Melbourne. Human Rights Watch. “Indonesia Alert: Economic Crisis Leads to Scapegoating of Ethnic Chinese”. February 1998, . Accessed 4 April 2002. The Jakarta Post, “Traders Protest about Security during Riots”, 29 May 1998; “Editorial: What Safety Net?”, 2 January 1999; “Hardship ‘Driving People to Violence’”, 11 January 1999. Jawa Pos, “Amuk Massa Kebumen, 37 Toko Dibakar” [Masses run amok in Kebumen, 37 shops burned], 8 September 1998. Joint Fact Finding Team (TGPF). Final Report about the 13–15 May 1998 Riot. Jakarta, 23 October 1998. Kagda, Shoeb. “Sasono Pushes for a People’s Economy”. Business Times (Singapore), 6 January 1999. Kedaulatan Rakyat, 23 August 1998. Kompas, “Komnas Ham: The May 13–14 Riots Were Organised”, 3 June 1998; “Warga Tionghoa Minta Perlindungan” [Chinese citizens request protection], 20 July 1998. Kristof, Nicholas D. “In Indonesia, New Freedom Feeds Ethnic Friction”. The New York Times, 25 May 1998. Lindsey, T. “From Soepomo to Prabowo: Law, Violence and Corruption in the Preman State”. In Violent Conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, Representation and Resolution, edited by Charles A. Coppel. London: Routledge Curzon, forthcoming. Mackie, J.A.C. “Anti-Chinese Outbreaks in Indonesia, 1959–68”. In The Chinese in Indonesia: Five Essays, edited by J.A.C. Mackie, pp. 77– 138. Melbourne: Thomas Nelson (Australia) in association with the Australian Institute of International Affairs, 1976. Massardi, Adhie M. Kompas, 22 September 1998. Media Indonesia, “Isu Kerusuhan Goncang Pecinan Semarang” [Riot issue disrupts Semarang], 5 August 1998. ———, “Editorial: Kerusuhan Sebagai Mainan” [Editorial: Riots are a game], 9 January 1999. Oetomo, Dédé. “Gay Men in the Reformasi Era”. Inside Indonesia, April– June 2001. Pikiran Rakyat, 20 January 1999; 9 March 1999; 10 March 1999. Prabowo. Van Zorge Report 3, no. 12 (26 June 2001). Purdey, Jemma. “Anti-Chinese Violence in Indonesia, 1996–1999”. Ph.D. thesis, Politics Department, the University of Melbourne, 2002. Reuters, “Indonesia Plans Bill to Remove Racial Bias”, 24 June 1998; “Indonesia Urges Return of Ethnic Chinese”, 11 August 1998.

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Saharjo, Arus et al. Rusuh di Kebumen, 7 September 1998 [Riots in Kebumen, 7 September 1998]. Jakarta: ISAI, 1999. Shiner, Cindy. “For Indonesia’s Ethnic Chinese, a New Era Revives Old Hatreds”. Washington Post, 16 June 1998. Sidel, John T. “Riots, Church Burnings, Conspiracies: The Moral Economy of the Indonesian Crowd in the Late Twentieth Century”. In Violence in Indonesia, edited by I. Wessel and Georgia Wimhöfer, pp. 47–63. Hamburg: Abera, 2001. Siegel, James T. “Suharto, Witches”. Indonesia 71 (April 2001): 27–79. Sinergi, “Landasan Pembauran Bukan Lantaran Takut” [The assimilation platform not dispelling fear], no. 1 (1998), p. 14. ———, “Amankah Indonesia Menjelang Pemilu?” [A peaceful Indonesia as the election approaches?], no. 5 (1999a), p. 9. ———, “SBKRI Masih Jadi Sandungan” [SBKRI still an obstacle], no. 9 (1999b), pp. 15–18. Suara Merdeka, 16 June 1998; 20 September 1998. Suara Pembaruan, 8 September 1998. Suryadinata, Leo. “Ethnic Chinese Population Movement after the Fall of Soeharto (with Special Reference to the Neighbouring Countries): Some Preliminary Remarks”. Paper presented at the colloquium Chinese Emigrants and Refugees: Recent Population Movements in East and Southeast Asia, Australia and New Zealand, 1 June 2001, at the University of Melbourne. Tempo, 1 September 1998. Time, 31 May 1998. Tiwon, Sylvia. “From East Timor to Aceh: The Disintegration of Indonesia?”. Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 32, no. 2 (2000): 97–104. Volunteers Team For Humanity (Tim Relawan untuk Kemansusiaan) (TRuK). “Di Balik Aksi Kerusuhan Dan Pembantaian Massa” [Behind the riot action and mass slaughter]. Jakarta, 18 May 1998. Wall Street Journal, “Indonesia’s Business Suffers Amid Signs of Persecution”, 17 July 1998. Wanandi, Sofyan. “The Post-Soeharto Business Environment’’. In PostSoeharto Indonesia: Renewal or Chaos?, edited by Geoffrey Forrester, pp. 128–34. Canberra and Bathurst: RSPAS, ANU and Crawford House Publishing, 1999. Washington Post, “Habibie Pushes for Visit to US”, 19 July 1998; “Indonesia’s ‘Most Dangerous Man’”, 2 March 1999. Witoelar, Wimar. “Long Road Ahead for Indonesian Reform”. The Australian, 25 July 2001.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg > RECONSTITUTING THE ETHNIC CHINESE 41

2 Reconstituting the Ethnic Chinese in Post-Soeharto Indonesia Law, Racial Discrimination, and Reform Tim Lindsey1 INTRODUCTION

The fall of Soeharto in 1998 was accompanied by calls for radical reform of the oppressive New Order through which he had ruled and, in particular, its legal system. It was also accompanied by attacks on the ethnic Chinese and their property (Coppel 2002, pp. 15–18; Purdey, this volume). These reflected in mob violence a policy of discrimination against this ethnic group that had been institutionalized over the three decades of the New Order. Since 1998, Indonesia has experienced wide-ranging reform initiatives that have transformed policy, created new state institutions, and introduced a plethora of new regulations. Although the process has been slow, messy, and uneven — and is the subject of harsh criticism, both within Indonesia and internationally — some progress is nonetheless being made (Lindsey 2003). As far as the ethnic Chinese are concerned, however, the extent of this progress remains uncertain at best. Calls for legal measures to respond to state-sponsored discrimination against, and scapegoating of, the Chinese have contributed to the delivery of important symbolic constitutional amendments; the introduction of sweeping human rights protections against discrimination; the reform of some discriminatory regulations; and a more tolerant state attitude towards ethnic Chinese public cultural expression. Overall, however, change has been limited and superficial. In particular, the state has persistently failed to sanction or even identify the perpetrators of the 1998 violence

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(Purdey, this volume) and most basic legal mechanisms for anti-ethnic Chinese discrimination — for example, the notorious SBKRI 2 system — remain firmly in place. The limited reforms to date are therefore probably insufficient to deliver freedom from institutionalized discrimination for the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, absent clear political will for major systemic change on the part of the government. Unfortunately, Indonesian history shows that when crisis comes, Indonesian governments provide, at best, only cold comfort for the ethnic Chinese (Coppel 2002, pp. 14–46). During his long scholarly career, Charles Coppel found himself, as he says, “repeatedly dragged back” (2002, p. 6), perhaps by his own background as barrister, to the legal status of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, from the history of colonial racial classification to problems of citizenship and human rights. This chapter draws on the themes of that research to trace the uneven trajectory of reform of Indonesia’s racially discriminatory legal management of the ethnic Chinese since 1998. It begins with a brief account of the historical process through which systematic discrimination against the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia had, by 1998, become firmly fixed in a web of ambiguous regulation and less-ambiguous policy. It then assesses the success of the limited attempts to unravel that tangle under Soeharto’s successors, Habibie, Abdurrahman Wahid, and Megawati Soekarnoputri. It concludes with speculation on future steps that might reverse the long history of legal discrimination in Indonesia against the ethnic Chinese. THE PERSISTENCE OF COLONIAL LEGAL DISCRIMINATION

The creation of a separate, elaborate, and highly restrictive legal system for the ethnic Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies that included special regulations and courts has been well traversed, for example by Coppel (2002, pp. 136–50, 157–68), Hooker (1975; 2002), Fasseur (1994), and others. In particular, Section 131 jo.161 of the de facto Constitution of the Netherlands East Indies, the Wet op de Staats Inrichting van Nederlands Indie or Indische Staats Regeling (Staatsblad 1855-2 jo.1), established a basic division of Dutch East Indies inhabitants into various groups, including Europeans, inlanders or natives, and “Foreign Orientals” (Indians, Arabs, and Chinese), although “Foreign Orientals” (which included most Chinese) were originally equated with natives (Coppel 2002, p. 159).

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As Coppel has shown, clarifying Furnivall (1944) and Wertheim (1959), this system was never stable, and was relatively late in developing, with the “Foreign Orientals” only formally identified as a separate group by an amendment in 1920 to Article 109 of the Staats Regeling.3 He has also shown that the colonial racial system was always riddled with anomalies, such as that encountered by Formosan Chinese in the Indies who — doubtless to their astonishment — found themselves “European”, following the conquest of Formosa (Taiwan) by the Japanese, who, from the late 1890s, had been deemed honorary (that is, “equalized” with) Europeans (Coppel 2002, pp. 159–60). Among other regulations needed to operate the colonial racial system established in the Netherlands East Indies through the Staats Regeling, Staatsblad No. 1917–130 was of particular importance. This dealt with “Civil Registration Office Directives for the Chinese Ethnic Group” and played a key role in the discriminatory legal management of the Chinese as a separate social group by enabling the issue of specific and restrictive rules for monitoring and controlling their lives. The often-messy, somewhat fluid, and sometimes inconsistent colonial racial system created by these and related regulations need not be further rehearsed here, save to emphasize that it was one of the most important mechanisms by which the Dutch defined the ethnic Chinese through legally contrived alterity as a group apart in Indies society. In particular, it separated them from, and placed them in formalized economic and political competition with, inlanders. Of more interest for the purposes of this chapter is the fate of this discriminatory system once Indonesia achieved independence. It has been suggested that the colonial legal system ceased to be valid as of 17 August 1945, the date of Indonesian independence. It did not, although the reasons for this are not straightforward. The Transitional Provisions and the Spirit of the Constitution

To understand why the colonial racial classifications persisted, paragraph II of the Transitional Provisions to the 1945 Constitution is the starting point. It provides: “All State bodies and regulations that exist shall continue to function until new ones are formed under this Constitution.” Despite the plain words of these provisions, Indonesian jurists agree that the Transitional Provisions must be read in conjunction with the principles found in the Preamble to the Constitution, which include the following.

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Whereas freedom is the inalienable right of all nations, colonialism must be abolished in this world as it is not in conformity with humanity and justice … By the grace of God Almighty and impelled by the noble desire to live a free national life, the people of Indonesia hereby declare their independence … to form a government of the state of Indonesia which shall protect all the people of Indonesia … and to contribute to the establishment of a world order based on freedom, abiding peace and social justice … and the realization of social justice for all of the people of Indonesia.

The argument runs that provisions of colonial law that offend against the inherent anti-colonial and egalitarian “spirit” inherent in the Constitution, as expressed, in particular, in the Preamble, are not saved by the Transitional Provisions — except as guidelines, which the Court may follow or reject, at its discretion (Gautama 1995, p. 427). This interpretation was approved in the 1960s during Soekarno’s radical, anti-colonial Guided Democracy period by a Mahkamah Agung (Supreme Court) Circular Letter (roughly equivalent to a common law Practice Note), No. 3 of 1963 (Gautama 1995, pp. 18–25; Gautama and Hornick 1983, chapter 1). The principle is now doctrine and is reflected in Cabinet Presidium Instruction No. 31 of 1966, which expressly identified the colonial racial divisions based on “descent or class” as “a colonial legacy which was inconsistent with the achievement of a homogenous and united Indonesian nation” (Coppel 2002, pp. 24, 44), at least as regards civil registration. The application of this doctrine has, however, created great uncertainty: precisely which colonial laws are, in fact, inconsistent with the Constitution and to what extent? There are no clear guidelines for answering this question. Despite the radical, anti-colonial approach of the Mahkamah Agung under Soekarno, apparent also in Soeharto’s Cabinet Presidium Instruction, the Transitional Provisions were often read down under Soeharto to save obviously discriminatory Dutch laws. The reasons for this are, again, complex. In part it was because of the inertia and bad faith that characterized law reform in New Order Indonesia (Linnan 1999). It was also, however, a result of the legitimate concern of lawyers, judges, and governments that rigorous application of the Transitional Provisions would leave a vast kekosongan hukum (legal vacuum) that could be filled only slowly, if at all. The effect of this is that, regardless of revolution, doctrine, and principle, the colonial racial structure remains in place today at the heart of

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the Indonesian legal system, as do many discriminatory laws and systems that rely on those provisions. It remains the case that Indonesian lawyers today must be familiar with the Indische Staats Regeling system to conduct their day-to-day work, despite the introduction of hundreds of new laws since 1945 (Gautama 1995, p. 426). It is therefore only very recently that some longstanding legal anomalies created by the racial system that underpinned colonial law in the Indies have been addressed in independent Indonesia. So, for example, under Soeharto arbitration was still governed by Dutch laws that applied only to Europeans 4 and a legal fiction was employed by which non-European Indonesians were deemed to have consented to the application of these European provisions (Vrijwillige Onderwerping) (Gautama 1995, pp. 426–27). Forked Tongue Reforms

In the case of the ethnic Chinese, the slow pace of reform of the colonial legal system relevant to them has more often been the result of a deliberate policy, as surviving colonial provisions allowed the Indonesian governments to maintain colonial practices that discriminated against the Chinese. Staatsblad No. 1917-130 on Civil Registration Office Directives on the Chinese Ethnic Group is, for example, still relied on by Civil Registration Offices (Kantor Catatan Sipil, the colonial Burgerlijke Stand) in the processing of birth, marriage, divorce, and death certificates for ethnic Chinese persons. This is despite Cabinet Presidium Instruction No. 33 of 1966 and despite the fact that, since Presidential Decision Nos. 31 and 32 of 1966, these offices are now open to all Indonesians and are no longer officially restricted to Europeans, Chinese, and Christians (Coppel 2002, p. 24). This fundamental continuity between post-colonial Indonesia and colonial legal policy regarding the ethnic Chinese is made even more plain from Joint Circular Letter (Surat Edaran) of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Ministry of Justice No. Pemdes 51/1/3, JA 2/2/5 of 1966 concerning the Implementation of Presidential Decision No. 127 of 1966 and Presidential Instruction No. 31 of 1966. This Circular purports to abolish the colonial racial groupings but, in fact, does no such thing. It provides that: … the use of the words “European ethnic group” or “Chinese ethnic group” etc is to be changed into “according to S… no. …”; referring to the relevant Staatsblad, being S. 1949 No. 25 or

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S. 1917 No. 130 jo 1919 No. 81 or S. 1920 No. 751 jo 1927 No. 564 or S. 1933 No. 75 jo 1936 No. 607…

The effect of this is entirely superficial because the Staatsblad referred to are, of course, among those colonial provisions that established the racial hierarchy and the separate — and discriminatory — treatment of the ethnic Chinese. This is what Coppel (2002, p. 21) has memorably described as speaking “with contradictory voices if not with a forked tongue”. Two further examples will suffice to show the application of this policy and thus the continuing centrality of the Dutch classifications for contemporary regulation of the ethnic Chinese, particularly as regards their identity. First, Ministry of Internal Affairs Instruction No. 474.1-311 on the Dispensing of Birth Certificates makes a mockery of the 1966 Presidential Decisions by creating separate birth certification regimes separated by ethnicity, providing that: [d]ispensation of Birth Certificates does not apply to those who are governed by the Staatsblad 1917 about Civil Registration Office Directives for the Chinese Ethnic Group and Staatsblad 1849 about Civil Registration Office Directives for the European Ethnic Group.

Second, Ministry of Internal Affairs Decision No. 221A of 1975 on the Registration of Marriage and Divorce at the Civil Registration Office in relation to the Implementation of Marriage Act and Its Operating Regulations creates a separate regime for Europeans, Christians, Chinese, and Interracial Couples, providing that: 1. (a) … the registration of marriage and divorce is conducted at the Civil Registration Offices according to Law No. 1 of 1974 and Government Regulation No. 9/1975 for those whose marriage registration is done under: 1. Staatsblad No. 25 of 1849 about Civil Registration Office Directives on European Ethnic Group 2. Staatsblad No. 130 of 1917 about Civil Registration Office Directives on Chinese Ethnic Group 3. Staatsblad No. 279 of 1933 about Civil Registration Office Directives on Indonesian Christian Group 4. Staatsblad No. 279 of 1904 about Interracial Marriage…

There has been little change to this model of overt colonial continuity in the civil registration of ethnic Chinese since Soeharto’s resignation in

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1998. Ministry of Internal Affairs Decree No. 54 of 1999 on the Guide to Residence Registration, for example, still expressly relies on the classification of race groups stipulated in Staatsblad No. 130 of 1917 on Civil Registration Office Directives on the Chinese Ethnic Group, by establishing, for example, a simpler process for late birth registration for “native” Indonesians, who can seek bureaucratic approval, than for Europeans and Chinese, who are forced to obtain court approval.5 These examples clearly demonstrate a regulatory approach of most Indonesian governments6 to ethnic Chinese that has remained remarkably consistent regardless of changes of policy claimed by successive governments. These have maintained the discriminatory colonial system as regards the Chinese for a range of reasons, including, as mentioned, general reform inertia and fear of “legal vacuum” but in part also because, of course, it often suits their political purposes to be seen to discriminate against the ethnic Chinese. This is common knowledge in Indonesia and is a given of political discourse (Purdey, this volume). The reasons for it are, however, complex and, again, historically rooted. They are dealt with in this volume by several contributors (see Purdey, Budiman, and Somers Heidhues, this volume) and have, of course, been examined in detail by Charles Coppel throughout his scholarly career.7 My concern here is, however, less with the origins and reasons for discrimination and more with its legal manifestations in contemporary Indonesia — and this has not, of course, been restricted to the Transitional Provisions of the Constitution of 1945 or surviving Dutch laws. Differing legal treatment of so-called “indigenous” and “nonindigenous” Indonesians has, for example, also been enshrined in legislation made under Article 26 of the Constitution (see Appendix 2.1 for details), which deals with citizenship, and the cascade of crossreferencing subordinate regulations made under it that together create the notorious SBKRI system. These are now considered in more detail. CITIZENSHIP AND THE SBKRI SYSTEM

The legal regime that governs citizenship in Indonesia is complex and has undergone many changes since 1945, particularly as regards the status of the ethnic Chinese (Suryadinata 1992, 1997; Coppel 2002, pp. 14–47, 336–55). The underlying structure is, however, clear. In formal terms, the colonial racial groupings applicable to residents have been officially replaced with two categories — citizens and aliens

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— at least for the purposes of citizenship and registration.8 Coppel (2002, p. 24) has, however, described this dichotomy between citizen and alien as “a carrier of the colonial virus of racial separation”. Accordingly, as with civil registration, above, the practical operation of the citizenship regime is quite different from its formal appearance: the ethnic Chinese, whether aliens or citizens, continue to be singled out and treated as a separate group. In reality, both categories — “citizen” and “alien” — can, in effect, each be further subdivided into two sub-categories: “Chinese” and “others”. Aliens

Turning first to the category of “aliens”, much attention has been paid by scholars, including in particular Suryadinata (1992, 1997), to the issue of how the modern Indonesian state has dealt with “alien” ethnic Chinese. By “alien” what is meant here is non-citizens, that is, Chinese who are citizens of another state, usually the People’s Republic of China (PRC), or those deemed “stateless” by the complex workings of Indonesian citizenship law (Suryadinata 1992, chapter 5). This latter category covered ethnic Chinese who were not born in Indonesia, together with ethnic Chinese who were so born but chose to repudiate Indonesian citizenship following independence in 1945. Suryadinata (1992, pp. 114–15) reports that in the early 1950s there were some 600,000 stateless or alien ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. The Indonesian Department of Justice claims that a further 400,000 or so ethnic Chinese born in Indonesia did, in fact, reject citizenship. This means that 1.1 out of the 2.1 million ethnic Chinese believed to be in Indonesia at that time were aliens. The question that dominated policy debate was whether these “aliens” should be converted to citizens. This presented Soeharto’s government with a dilemma. On the one hand, its longstanding policy was, as mentioned, to treat ethnic Chinese as a group apart from “indigenous” Indonesians. This approach, of course, militated against naturalizing alien Chinese. On the other hand, there has also been a longstanding, if historically more recent, fear that non-nationalized alien Chinese could be a Trojan horse for interference in Indonesia’s affairs by the PRC (Suryadinata 1997, pp. 129–45). This was a particularly influential concern in the first two decades of the New Order when Cold War politics were the engine of Indonesia’s PRC policy. Relations were not, in fact, normalized until 1990 (Suryadinata 1997, pp. 144–45).

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The result of these competing tensions was a messy compromise by which procedures for “alien” Chinese to become citizens were simplified through two Presidential Decisions, Nos. 2 and 13 of 1980,9 but, as will seen shortly, procedures were also established by which the Chinese could still be treated as a de facto separate group of “subcitizens”. The naturalization Decisions of 1980 were made pursuant to paragraph IV(1) Law No. 62 of 1958 on Citizenship, which provides: An alien who was born and resides in the region of the Republic of Indonesia, whose father or mother — if he or she had no familial relationship with the father — was also born in the region of the Republic of Indonesia, may submit an application to the Minister of Justice to acquire Indonesian citizenship …

Essentially, the two Presidential Decisions set up a process by which aliens could obtain a citizenship certificate (the SBKRI) from the head of the camat, the regional administrative sub-district, instead of going through the much slower and more complex Court process. This certificate would then become the basis of a more or less automatic naturalization process. Suryadinata argues that this simpler naturalization process has been effective in reducing the overall number of ethnic Chinese considered alien by converting them into citizens. He claims, for example, that in the 1970s there were still about one million ethnic Chinese “who were either PRC citizens or stateless. But by 1986, according to Indonesia official figures, there were about 250,000 Chinese who were PRC citizens” (Suryadinata 1997, p. 145). He does not, however, indicate how many remained stateless. Unfortunately, however, today the SBKRI has become a rich source of corruption for government officials — especially at the local level — with the unofficial cost of obtaining an SBKRI varying up to Rp7.5 million (around US$885) (Jakarta Post, 2003a).10 Many Chinese Indonesians cannot afford such a sum in a country where the average annual income is only US$946 (DFAT 2003). Consequently, many are left effectively stateless and if married often do so illegally, with children officially born out of wedlock, as their marriages will not, in practice, be accepted for registration (Jakarta Post, 2003a). Many poor Chinese thus find themselves locked in a “statelessness” trap, often existing outside the system in a sort of legal limbo. I now turn to the question of how Indonesia has dealt with ethnic Chinese citizens, including, of course, recently naturalized “aliens”.

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Citizens

Paragraph 26(1) of the Constitution provides:11 “Citizens are persons who are original Indonesians [orang-orang bangsa Indonesia asli] and persons of other nations [orang-orang bangsa lain] who have acquired a legal status as citizens.” The term “bangsa” as used in these provisions is not straightforward. It is usually translated as “nation” but does not necessarily imply a “state”. It can thus also be used to refer to a “race” or “ethnic group”. On either reading, however, Paragraph 26(1) establishes a distinction between “original” (asli) Indonesians or first nation or racial groups and all other, implicitly “later arriving”, nation or racial groups. Bangsa asli is thus understood in Indonesia to be equivalent to pribumi, a term usually translated as “indigenous” and in turn understood to be identical to the Dutch racial classification of inlander or “native”, a group that expressly excluded the ethnic Chinese.12 The words are thus a code: Indonesia asli is read as pribumi, that is, a member of a local ethnic group other than ethnic Chinese — even if the ethnic Chinese person speaks only bahasa Indonesia and has a family that has lived in Indonesia for centuries (Coppel 2002, p. 25). The effect of this is that, despite the guarantee in Article 27 of the Constitution that all citizens will be treated equally (see Appendix 2.1), the dichotomy between asli and other citizens established in Article 26 has become the basis for institutionalized discriminatory treatment of ethnic Chinese citizens, through laws and subordinate regulations introduced under Paragraph 26(2) which provides that “[c]onditions to acquire, and other matters on, citizenship shall be determined by law”. The SBKRI Regulation

The key to the discriminatory system is Article 14 of Law No. 62 of 1958 on Citizenship, a law (undang-undang) passed pursuant to Paragraph 26 (2). It provides: Any person who needs to prove his or her Indonesian citizenship whilst not having any document that proves that he or she possesses or obtains or inherits the possession or the obtaining of the citizenship, may ask the Civil Court of his or her residential area to determine whether or not he or she is an Indonesian citizen, according to the normal civil proceedings…

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Presidential Decision No. 52 of 1977 provides an alternative, bureaucratic process to the Court. 6(1) Every Indonesian citizen who needs to prove his Indonesian citizenship may obtain a Surat Bukti Kewarganegaraan Republik Indonesia [SBKRI or Proof of Indonesian Citizenship Document]. 6(2) The Ministry of Justice is responsible for the issuance of Proof of Indonesian Citizenship Document mentioned in subsection 1.

Ministry of Justice Regulation No. 3/4/12/1978 likewise provides in Section 1 that “every citizen who needs to prove his or her citizenship may submit his or her application to the Ministry of Justice to obtain the SBKRI” and, of course, the 1980 Presidential Decisions establish the camat alternative. None of these instruments make any specific mention of the ethnic Chinese. In practice, however, they are read by the bureaucracy, and are generally understood by Indonesians, as only applying to Indonesian citizens of Chinese descent — that is, “non-asli” citizens (Jakarta Post, 2003a; Kompas, 2003). The SBKRI has thus become essential evidence of citizenship for most ethnic Chinese Indonesians (Jakarta Post, 2003a) and, combined with the special coding for ethnic Chinese on their identity cards (see below), has become in some ways reminiscent of the colonial passenstelsel system, an internal passport system, which applied only to Foreign Orientals during the colonial era (Coppel 2002, p. 371) and allowed the movements of Chinese to be tightly restricted and monitored by a formal documentary pass system. Over the period of the New Order, controversy regarding the SBKRI system deepened, with many Chinese Indonesians being denied basic rights such as access to education as the SBKRI gradually became a requirement, in practice, for entry to most state and private universities (see below). This occurred either because those without the SBKRI were excluded from education or because those with the SBKRI found places limited by quotas that favoured pribumi. Their SBKRI and linked identity cards identified them as non-pribumi and thus, on either basis, could deny them entry. To make matters worse, in 1992 Ministry of Justice Decree No. 02HL.04/10/1992 on Proof of Indonesian Citizenship Status for Children of Indonesian Citizenship Holder of Foreign Descent required that Chinese Indonesians be subject to a periodic re-registration process

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(Coppel 2002, p. 397). This had the effect of reinforcing the centrality of the SBKRI in the daily lives of many ethnic Chinese and extended the opportunities for state intervention in the lives of the ethnic Chinese. It also vastly expanded the opportunities for bureaucratic exploitation of a vulnerable social group seen by many as legitimate targets for exploitation, because of the popular myth of Chinese avarice (Suryadinata 1992, chapter 1). Reformasi and the SBKRI

The injustice of the SBKRI system became so manifest that, a few years later, President Soeharto issued a Presidential Decision (No. 56 of 1996) purporting to abolish all laws and regulations on SBKRI requirements. Like so many other attempts at law reform under the New Order, however, this Decision was either incompetently drafted or, more likely, done in bad faith — Coppel’s “forked tongue” of the government. It was, in effect, largely irrelevant for many ethnic Chinese, as it applied only to persons whose husbands, fathers, or mothers already possessed an SBKRI, thus confirming many non-SBKRI families in the “statelessness” trap. Likewise, the purported abolition of the SBKRI regulations did not, in fact, result in the system ceasing at all. Indeed, it remains in place today (Purdey, this volume). In 1999 President Habibie issued Presidential Instruction No. 4 of 1999 to respond to Presidential Decision No. 56 of 1996. Again, however, it stipulated that regulations on SBKRI requirements were no longer effective, but only as regards persons whose husbands or parents are already holders of SBKRI, thus confirming the absurdities perpetrated by No. 56/1996. More recently, the Megawati government — three presidents removed from Soeharto — has demonstrated the state’s continued unwillingness to alter the SBKRI system, by refusing to remove the SBKRI requirement from its Citizenship Bill (at the time of writing,13 about to be deliberated in the legislature) (Jakarta Post, 2003b). The Minister of Justice and Human Rights, Yusril Ihza Mahendra, argued that this would be inconsistent with Citizenship Act No. 62/1958 and Presidential Decision No. 52 of 1977 on demographic affairs (Jakarta Post, 2003b), a response that obviously begged the question of why these laws were not also to be amended. The result is that, in practice, the SBKRI is still required by educa-

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tional bodies and government agencies and thus continues to function as an effective barrier to entry for many ethnic Chinese across a whole range of sectors (Jakarta Post, 2003a; Purdey, this volume). It also operates as a basic mechanism — the “carrier” — for a discriminatory policy that, while less obvious, is comparable in its effect to Malaysia’s more obvious and overt pro-bumiputera policies (Suryadinata 1997; Huang-Thio 1964). OTHER DISCRIMINATORY LAWS, PRE-REFORMASI

There are many other regulations that continue to directly restrict the freedoms of Chinese Indonesians. Most are in the form of Presidential Decisions or Instructions or regulations issued by various ministries but there are also statutes (undang-undang) produced by the legislature (the People’s Representative Council or Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat [DPR]) and the People’s Consultative Assembly or Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (MPR) has played a part through various Decisions (Ketetapan),14 which are, effectively, legislation immediately below the level of the Constitution, and thus rank higher than even statutes, in the formal hierarchy of laws (MPR Decision No. III of 2000 on The Sources of Law and the Hierarchy of Laws and Regulations).15 For most ethnic Chinese Indonesians, however, it is not the Constitution, MPR Decisions, or statutes that are the source of the discrimination and exclusion by the state that they experience in their daily lives but rather the morass of subordinate regulations issued by local and regional governments that grant discretion to bureaucrats to implement the anti-ethnic Chinese policies implicit in those higher instruments. These are often obscure in their wording, hard to locate, rarely publicized, and sometimes contradict other regulations and even statutes and Constitutional provisions. They are, nonetheless, highly effective. To give just one example, Regional Regulation of the Municipality of Jakarta No. 3/1999 about Regional Compensation deals with that constant bugbear of the ethnic Chinese, Civil Registration. It provides as follows: s7(1) The principles and the implementation of compensation fee to cover the costs of printing civil registration documents as mentioned in s4(2) are to have regard to the printing costs, the cost of duplicating civil registration forms, and

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the financial ability of the community as well as the aspect of justice. [emphasis added]

The highlighted words are interpreted by Jakarta bureaucrats in the light of the popular but inaccurate (Coppel 2002, chapter 6) perception of all ethnic Chinese as being members of the wealthy, trading class to justify charging them higher fees. In other words, this Regulation allows covert discrimination based on identification of the Chinese not by ethnicity but by purported economic status (although this is, of course, in reality entirely racially derived). This is a common feature of many current regulations and is very hard to combat, as it is not expressly directed at the Chinese despite it being understood by any Indonesian that that they are the obvious target. As will be discussed below in the context of a recent MPR Decision on economic reform, it is only in the last few years that there has been any success in opposing this sort of egregious but evasive form of legal discrimination, where economic status is used as code for ethnicity. Like the SBKRI regulations, many of these discriminatory instruments date from the late 1960s. After Soeharto’s New Order took control of the government from March 1966, a range of regulations (some of which are translated and discussed in detail in Coppel [2002, pp. 14–47] and Suryadinata [1997, pp. 142–45]) were introduced, pressuring Chinese Indonesians to repudiate their “Chineseness”. This approach sat well with the aggressively anti-communist, and thus anti-Red China, policies of the rightist and military-backed Soeharto administration that had forced President Soekarno from control of the government and then engineered the massacre and imprisonment of hundreds of thousands of communists and alleged leftists. This objective of “assimilating” the ethnic Chinese Indonesians into the majority population was pursued through a series of interlocking and sometimes overlapping bureaucratic subordinate regulations, often issued in the form of “circular letters” and “decisions” by a range of ministries. As in the case of the Jakarta regulations, these are ambiguous and, again, are intended as codes, often signalling official approval and encouragement for institutionalized discrimination rather than expressly authorizing it in detail. The effect was, however, the same, as will be seen from the following brief survey of regulations dealing with identity card codes; the adoption by the ethnic Chinese of “Indonesian” names; the limiting of public use of the Chinese language; the restriction of ethnic Chinese educational access; and the limiting of commercial opportunities for the ethnic Chinese.

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Coded Identity Discrimination

It is widely believed that Chinese ancestry is coded on identity cards (KTP— Kartu Tanda Pengenal) and passports (Coppel 2002, p. 397; Suryadinata 1992, pp. 200–1). It is certainly the case that, at least until 1990, the codes on the identity cards of ethnic Chinese were previously prefaced with a zero, to distinguish them from other Indonesians. From 1979 this led to protests, according to Suryadinata (1992, pp. 200–1), that ultimately resulted in the 1990 decision to abandon the zero tag. Suryadinata (1992, pp. 200– 1) claims, however, that a new, more subtle coding system has since been covertly introduced which, while less obvious, still allows authorities to easily identify the ethnic Chinese, thus targeting them for bribes, extortion, or other forms of discrimination. Most Indonesians, whether ethnic Chinese or not, agree that this is true. Limiting Use of Chinese Names

Presidential Decree No. 127/U/Kep/12/196616 states in its Preamble that it is issued in consideration of: “… the need for standardisation and control in regulating the change and addition of surnames, as a step to homogenise Indonesian citizens [and] Act No. 4/1961 about the Change and Addition of Surnames” [emphasis added]. The regulation reflects pressure, under both Soeharto and Soekarno, for ethnic Chinese who are citizens to adopt pribumi-sounding “indigenous Indonesian names … names in conformity with those customarily used in the Indonesian community”, as a token of “the process of assimilation”. “Alien” Chinese are thus not allowed to change their names (Suryadinata 1997, pp. 118). This, of course, makes them more easily identifiable, although some ethnic Chinese citizens have resisted the pressure, for example, Kwik Kian Gee, a Cabinet Minister under both Wahid and Megawati. Limiting Public Use of Chinese Language

Presidential Instruction No. 49/V/IN/8/1967 and a Circular Letter of the Ministry of Information No. 2/SE/Ditjen/PPG/K/1988 banned publications and advertisements using Chinese characters. Likewise a Decree of the Minister of Trade and Cooperatives No. 286 of 1978 banned the importation, sale, and distribution of Chinese publications.17

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These were among the most blatantly discriminatory regulations directed at the ethnic Chinese; as Coppel (2002, p. 24) has observed, there is no similar ban on any other non-Romanized script, for example Arabic or, absurdly, the Chinese-derived kanji characters used in Japanese. Limiting Access to Education

The anti-Chinese racial quotas on education mentioned above are set pursuant to Articles 7–9 of Presidential Instruction No. 37 of 1967 on Main Government Policies on People of Chinese Descent, which stipulated that the Chinese were to be given only up to 40 per cent of the seats offered in national schools; and that the number of Indonesian students per class must be greater than that of the Chinese. Although under the Indonesian hierarchy of laws a Presidential Instruction rates lower than a statute and thus may not be contrary to a law (MPR Decision No. III of 2000), these Articles nonetheless directly contradict Article 7 of Law No. 2 of 1989 on the National Education System, which provides: “The enrolment of a participant in an educational unit shall be done without differentiation based on sex, religion, ethnicity, race, social and economic status…”. Limiting Economic Opportunities

Presidential Instruction No. 37 of 1967 limited the economic opportunities of ethnic Chinese Indonesians through the establishment of the Coordinating Body for Chinese Matters18 and a series of linked, discriminatory laws. Presidential Instruction No. 10 of 1968, for example, provided that the economic activities of Chinese aliens were to be closely monitored. Likewise, Central Bank of Indonesia Circular Letters No. SE 6/37/UPK/1973 on Investment Credit for Small Businesses and No. 10/5/UPPB/1977 on Share Ownership by Indigenous Indonesians set up systems for favourable treatment of the economic activities of pribumi Indonesians. The impact of these regulations was much greater than their low position in the hierarchy of laws would suggest. The 1973 Circular, for example, clearly specified that the term “small businesses” only applied to businesses owned and run by indigenous Indonesians, thus completely excluding the ethnic Chinese — rich or poor — from this investment credit scheme. These examples are not a complete summary of the full range of discriminatory regulations directed at the ethnic Chinese. They are, how-

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ever, representative and give some idea of how restricted and regulated the life of this community had been in New Order Indonesia. However, despite the enormous extent to which this array of intrusive regulations restricted the daily lives of the ethnic Chinese in New Order Indonesia, they were often accepted by many ethnic Chinese by reason of the intense vulnerability that they felt — a vulnerability that was, of course, in part created, or at least maintained, by the regulations themselves. POST-SOEHARTO REFORMS

Since the fall of Soeharto in May 1998, the combination of an increased ethnic Chinese presence in public politics, including the Cabinet;19 a more vocal — even feral — media; and some international pressure has pushed the reduction of state-sponsored discrimination against Chinese Indonesians onto the government’s reform agenda (Apakabar 2003). This process has, however, often been disappointing, as public debate has been more concerned with symbolism than practical reality. An example of this is the intense, and as yet unresolved, debate surrounding proposals that the word “Tionghoa” be the preferred term of reference for ethnic Chinese, in place of the currently more common “Cina”, a word often perceived to be derogatory (Budiman, this volume; Coppel 2002, pp. 369–80). This would involve the repeal of Presidential Circular SE-06/Pres Kab/6/1967, which called for the terms “Tionghoa” and “Tiongkok” to be replaced with “Cina”. This section will survey some of the regulatory reforms introduced with regard to discrimination against the ethnic Chinese since Soeharto’s resignation. The reforms described are ordered loosely according to the status of the instrument by which they have been made in the formal hierarchy of Indonesian laws, according to MPR Decision No. III of 2002. Native vs Non-Pribumi Indonesians

Since 1999 the MPR has amended the country’s Constitution of 1945 four times,20 the only amendments made since the document was drafted. As it now stands, the Constitution is incomparably better than the original document in terms of the protections it affords, in theory at least, to the ethnic Chinese. Prior to the amendments, the Constitution provided that only an “original” Indonesian was eligible to be President, using the same term “asli” as in Article 26 on citizenship. Article 6 now provides:

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Candidates for the Presidency and the Vice Presidency must have been Indonesian citizens since birth, must never have taken other citizenship of their own accord, must never have committed treason, and must be spiritually and physically able to carry out the duties and obligations of the President and Vice-President.

This amendment still excludes naturalized Chinese, but it does allow an Indonesian-born ethnic Chinese to become President. This may seem to be a minor reform and unlikely to directly affect the majority of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, few of whom would ever even dream of being President of their own country. It is nonetheless a very important political symbol because it ends half a century of constitutionally enshrined discrimination, reversing a strong statement that the ethnic Chinese were somehow not fit to be head of the state of which they were citizens. That this amendment reflects a significant shift in public attitudes is demonstrated by the fact that the MPR — the institution that amended the Constitution — agreed in 2002 to drop the word “pribumi” from a proposed Decision on Economic Recovery, after widespread objection, especially in the mass media. The draft Decision was initially worded as follows: 5. Improving the national economic structure by widening public participation and emancipation, including gender equity, so as to boost and develop the economy of underprivileged and native [pribumi] people and reorganise the distribution system of the people’s needs as producers and consumers to improve productivity. [emphasis added]

The decision to omit the word “pribumi” constitutes a refutation of the common myth that all Chinese are wealthy and privileged — the use of economic code to target the ethnic Chinese. Although, like the amendment made to Article 6 of the Constitution, this outcome may have little practical effect it is, nonetheless, of symbolic significance as another departure at the highest level of political debate from the constant, if usually indirect, anti-ethnic Chinese rhetoric that marked regulation in the New Order period. This outcome is also important because the differentiation between pribumi (native) and non-pribumi (non-native) has become deeply embedded in contemporary Indonesian life and public culture (Suryadinata 1992). This was evident in the 1998 attacks on the ethnic Chinese that

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accompanied the fall of Soeharto, especially in Jakarta and other Javanese cities (see Purdey, this volume). In many cases only houses and buildings labelled milik pribumi (property of a native) escaped the lootings, rapes, and killings. It became clear, however, that the word “non-pribumi” had evolved in the latter years of the New Order so that it was often understood to connote non-Muslim Indonesians generally, a category popularly assumed to include most ethnic Chinese, despite some conversions to Islam by members of that group. In other words, the term had come to describe a broad social cleavage that forced non-Muslim but non-ethnic Chinese Indonesians into a common category with the ethnic Chinese, thus potentially creating solidarity between the ethnic Chinese and non-Muslim “indigenous Indonesians” (especially Christians) instead of separating the ethnic Chinese from other Indonesians, as militant advocates of the term had hoped. This may explain why, four months after the riots of May 1998 (and associated anti-Chinese violence) that delivered him the Presidency, Habibie issued Presidential Instruction No. 26 of 1998 to prohibit the use of the terms “pribumi” and “non-pribumi”. Whatever the motivations of this regulation, however, it was nonetheless another public step away from the deliberate polarizing of Indonesian society at the expense of the ethnic Chinese that coloured New Order policy. So far, however, it seems to have achieved little in practice, as the term is still in common usage (Purdey, this volume). It therefore remains to be seen whether these reforms will prove to be as hollow and hypocritical as those introduced by Soeharto in the years immediately following his rise to power in 1966. Re-recognition of Confucianism

A further important measure was taken under the government of the fourth President Abdurrahman “Gus Dur” Wahid, who was outspoken in his support for the ethnic Chinese, openly attending Tahun Baru Imlek 21 and at one time even claimed that he himself was of part-Chinese descent (Heryanto 1999, p. 329). Wahid issued Presidential Decision No. 6 of 2000, which provides that permits are now no longer needed to organize Chinese cultural, social, or religious activities. This Decision thus repeals Presidential Decision No. 14 of 1967, which is widely understood to have effectively stopped the practice of Confucianism and Chinese customs, in-

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cluding celebration of Chinese festivals in public, and to have thereby “banned” Confucianism as a religion in New Order Indonesia. This is despite the fact that Confucianism was still recognized as a religion in the Penjelasan (Explanatory Memorandum)22 to Law No. 1 of 1965, which remained in force and was clearly superior in the hierarchy of laws to the Decision.23 Coppel (2002, pp. 236–38) has argued that there has, in fact, never been any regulation that explicitly states that Confucianism (Khonghucu) per se is not recognized as a religion by the Indonesian state. That may be true, but as he also points out (Coppel 2002, p. 238): “People talk about there being five recognised religions in Indonesia, not six. It is Confucianism which has been omitted from the former six.” 24 The point is that, whatever its actual effect at law, Presidential Decision No. 14 of 1967 was widely understood to be the legal source of this omission and the purported ban on Confucianism that was thus constituted was consistently followed in the usual web of linked regulations, including the Joint Decree by the Minister of Religion, Minister of Internal Affairs, and the Attorney General of Republic Indonesia No. 67 of 1980, No. 224 of 1980, and No. Kep.III/JA/10/1980; the Circular Letter of the Minister of Religion No. MA/608/1980; the letter of the Minister for Social Welfare to the Minister of Home Affairs No. 764 of 1983; and the Circular Letters of the Minister of Internal Affairs Nos. 477/74054/1978 and 477/ 2535/PUOD/1990. Presidential Decision No. 69 of 2000 provides as follows: 1. Abrogates Presidential Decree No. 14/1967 about Chinese religion, belief and customs. 2. The effect of the issuance of this Presidential Decree is to abrogate all regulations that were made in the implementation of Presidential Decree No. 14/1967 about Chinese religion, belief and customs. 3. Hereby allows the organisation of Chinese religious activities, beliefs and customs to be done without application of special permit — a practice commonly required so far.

This Decision was accompanied by an instruction from the Minister of Internal Affairs (No. 477/805/Sj) repealing the 1978 Circular Letter of his predecessor. Although, again, none of these instruments explicitly refers to Confucianism per se as an acknowledged religion, it is, again, widely understood that the combined effect of the Decision and the Circular Letter is

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to reverse the old status quo “understanding”, such that Confucianism is now again “understood” to be one of the recognized religions. This also has the effect of recognizing Confucianism as a religion for the purposes of marriage licence applications and allows Confucian marriages to be recognized and registered in Indonesia (assuming, of course, that those wishing to be married each hold a SBKRI). The New Bill of Rights: Article 28 25

The original 1945 Constitution contained few guarantees of civil and political rights. Instead it emphasized citizens’ duties to the state. For example, Article 27 of the Constitution provided, as mentioned, that all citizens are equal; however, it also provided that citizens had a positive obligation “to uphold by the law and the government without any exception”, while “freedom of association and assembly and the like, shall be prescribed by law” (Article 28 — see Appendix 2.1 for details). The latter phrase was, of course, not a guarantee of rights at all, but the conferral on the state of the right to deal with rights as it saw fit. The absence of significant guarantees of rights in the 1945 Constitution was not an oversight. The chief drafter was Professor Dr Raden Soepomo, a strong advocate of the authoritarian, command-style, organic state, embodied in the integralisticstaatsidee (integralist state idea), a refutation of socialist, democratic, and liberal political thinking (Bourchier 1999; Burns 1999). Soepomo therefore set out to create a Constitution that could “give the greatest accent to the government”, while being itself “also accountable to the government and primarily the head of state” (Indra 1990, p. 44). For Soepomo, there was no need for a civil (private) legal sphere independent of the state — and thus able to place checks on the state — because the state was all citizens and their interests were therefore identical (Nasution 1992; Yamin 1959, p. 114), a principle that obviously ignored the real differences among Indonesia’s diverse citizens, let alone between them and the state. For Indonesia’s newly legitimate MPR in 2000, the product of a fair and democratic election held in 1999, the addition to the Constitution of a new chapter on human rights was obviously an essential step towards dismantling Soepomo’s creation. This was because integralism was by then closely associated with the New Order, which had developed it into a virtual state religion (Pemberton 1994). The new articles 28A to 28J of the Constitution (which form Chapter XA of the amended Constitution) delivered perhaps the most radical change to the original philosophy of

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the Constitution by inserting clauses lifted directly from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR). Chapter XA is a lengthy and impressive passage, granting a full range of protections extending well beyond those guaranteed in most developed states. These range from the right to have a family; the right to selfdevelopment; the right to collective action; the right to education; a right against violence and discrimination; a right to equal opportunity; a right to access to information; and so forth. The full text of this new Bill of Rights appears in the Appendix to this chapter and it is clear from even a superficial reading that it has enormous potential as a source of rights for the ethnic Chinese that could be used to resist both discriminatory laws and policies. The question is how this could be done. Broadly speaking, there are two possibilities. The first is by using the Constitution to strike down laws (undang-undang) repugnant to the Bill of Rights in Chapter XA. This was impossible in Indonesia until the Constitutional Court was formed in August 2003 and the remedies now available through this new judicial body are discussed further below. The other possibility is, of course, using it as the basis for new regulations that seek to implement the Constitutional mandate created by the Article 28 amendments. Two significant reformasi legislative initiatives that accompanied the amendment process — the Anti-Discrimination Law and the Human Rights Law — can be seen as doing this and these are now discussed in turn. Anti-Discrimination Law

Law No. 29 of 1999 on the Ratification of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination 1965 formally introduced international standards regarding anti-discrimination into Indonesian law, providing that “… all citizens shall have equal opportunities to claim their civil, political, economical and cultural rights”. The law defines “race” as classification of people according to their physical differences, while “ethnicity” distinguishes people according to their customs, traditions, religion, languages, history, geography, and relationship. Chapter III of the bill bans public display of hatred against a particular race or ethnic group, including writings, speeches, drawings, or other related acts. The new law also gave the National Commission on Human Rights (Komisi Nasional Hak Asasi Manusia or Komnas HAM) the responsibility of monitoring the implementation of the law, and the authority to evaluate compliance by the government and other agents suspected of

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racially discriminatory action. Individuals and non-government organizations are now also able to bring actions and seek compensation from those violating the law (Jakarta Post, 2002a). At a broader level, some sixty regulations have been identified as repugnant to the law on the grounds that they discriminate against the ethnic Chinese, some of which have been discussed above (Jakarta Post, 2002b). These now need to be brought before Komnas HAM, the Court, or the legislature. However, the author was, at the date of writing, not aware of any steps being taken to do so.26 Human Rights Law

Law No. 39 of 1999 on human rights developed the principles set out in Law No. 29 of 1999. It drew on MPR Decision No. XVII of 1998 on human rights and supplemented the 1993 Presidential Decree that established Komnas HAM. The new law grants Komnas HAM more power and new functions. Importantly, Section 1(3) provides a broad definition of “discrimination” that embraces grounds of ethnicity, race, and social and economic status (all forms of discrimination which have been exercised against the ethnic Chinese in the past). It also provides an equally broad definition of abuse of rights that covers both the private and the public and extends to the “abuse or the taking away of the recognition, the implementation or the practice of” political, economic, social, cultural, and “other social” rights and basic freedoms, as well as more obvious legal rights: … any limitation, aggravation or isolation, directly or indirectly based on individual differences such as religion, ethnic, race, group, social status, economic status, gender, language, political belief, which results in the attenuation, the abuse or the taking away of the recognition, the implementation or the practice of human rights and basic freedom in both private and collective sectors, in politics, economics, legal, social, cultural and other social aspects.

Again, the author is not aware of these powers yet being exercised to the benefit of the ethnic Chinese. THE NEXT STEP: ENFORCING RIGHTS?

It is axiomatic that for constitutional rights to be more than hortatory, they must be asserted. Judicial review is, in most modern states, the key

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means of doing so because it is the mechanism by which laws, whether produced as statute by the legislature or as regulation by the executive, can be forced to comply with the principles fixed in the Constitution (Clarke 2003; Fenwick 2001). Without judicial review, a Constitution may be little more than a policy document. As mentioned, amendments to Article 24 of the Constitution introduced in 2001 established a new Constitutional Court, with jurisdiction over, among others, judicial review of legislation.27 Article 24(1) provides: “The Constitutional Court has the authority to hear matters at the lowest and highest levels and to make final decisions in the review of legislation against the Constitution.” The creation of the Constitutional Court was, in large part, a response to the long absence of judicial review in Indonesia and thus the inability to assert rights that it conferred. Soeharto’s Law No. 14 of 1970 confirmed that Indonesian courts could not exercise such power, save in respect of subordinate regulation, but even that power was rarely, if ever, exercised. Accordingly, for the long judicial winter of the New Order, legislation was routinely rubber-stamped by the DPR, without any prospect of judicial assessment or interpretation (Lev 1999, pp. 227–46). Likewise, the absence of a judicial power of constitutional review meant that there has been no real capacity for the Indonesian judiciary to develop doctrines of constitutional interpretation that might guide the other branches of government before litigation is necessary. The unfortunate result was that much of the Soeharto-era web of regulations was, in fact, unconstitutional, internally contradictory, lacking consistency, and, unfortunately, also unimpeachable. This was one of the critical factors that contributed to the steadily worsening dysfunction, corruption, and political exploitation of Indonesia’s legal system since 1959 (Lev 1999). It also directly contributed to the development of the web of dispersed and opaque regulations dealing with the ethnic Chinese described above. The Constitutional Court was, however, formally established on 17 August 2003 and has only recently commenced hearing cases, some of which are highly controversial, for example, the trials of the Bali bombers (Clarke 2003). It is too early to say whether it will provide an avenue for the public to hold the legislature and executive accountable. If, however, it does prove effective, the new Court has the potential to radically transform the Indonesian judicial and legislative relationship and create a new check on the conduct of lawmakers and the presidency. Until then, the Soeharto-era status quo is likely to be retained for most ethnic Chinese. So, for example, the government consensus is already

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that the guarantee in Article 18 of the Constitution that the state will “recognize and respect the individual communities of traditional law and their traditional rights as long as they survive” and in Article 32 that the state will “guarantee the freedom of the people to cultivate and develop their cultural values” and “respect and cultivate regional languages as national cultural treasures” are held not to apply to Chinese traditions or language, because these are not part of the “Indonesian” heritage. Instead, the survival of these traditions and cultures is left solely to the discretion of the state. The question is therefore whether the ethnic Chinese will have the political confidence to assert their rights through the judicial process, for so long seen as controlled by the state and thus as inaccessible or even hostile to them. To date, no ethnic Chinese has brought any action before the Constitutional Court, so far as the author is aware. In the light of the history of state discrimination against the ethnic Chinese set out in this chapter, such a move would require great courage indeed.

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Appendix 2.1 Comparative Table: Extracts from the 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, Pre- and Post-Amendments28 The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, before Amendment (1945 to 18 October 1999)29

The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, as Amended on 17 August 200230 Article 18B 1. The State recognises and respects particular Provincial Governments which have a special or unique status that is regulated by law. 2. The State recognises and respects the individual communities of traditional law and their traditional rights as long as they survive, and in accordance with the development of the community and the principle of the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia, as regulated by law.

Chapter IX The Judicial Power Article 24 1. The judicial power is exercised by a Supreme Court and other such courts of law as are provided for by law. 2. The composition and powers of these legal bodies shall be regulated by law.

Chapter IX The Judicial Power Article 24 1. The judicial power is the independent power to maintain a system of courts with the objective of upholding law and justice. 2. The judicial power is exercised by a Supreme Court and the courts below it in the respective environments of public courts, religious courts, military courts, administrative courts and by a Constitutional Court. 3. Other bodies with functions that relate to judicial power are regulated by law. Article 24C 1. The Constitutional Court has the authority to hear matters at the lowest and highest levels and to make final decisions in the review of legislation against the Constitution, the settlement of disputes regarding the authority of State bodies whose authority is given by the Constitution, the dissolution of political parties, and the settlement of

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Appendix 2.1 – cont’d The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, before Amendment (1945 to 18 October 1999)

The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, as Amended on 17 August 2002

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

Chapter X The Citizens Article 26 1. Citizens are native Indonesian persons and persons of other nations who have acquired a legal status as citizens. 2. Conditions to acquire and other matters on citizenship shall be determined by law.

disputes concerning the results of general elections. The Constitutional Court has the duty to adjudicate on the opinion of the Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat regarding allegations of misconduct by the President and/or the Vice President in accordance with the Constitution. The Constitutional Court is comprised of nine constitutional judges who are appointed by the President, of whom three are proposed by the Supreme Court, three by the Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, and three by the President. The Chairperson and Vice Chairperson of the Constitutional Court are elected from and by the constitutional judges. Constitutional judges must possess integrity and irreproachable character, be just, be statespersons who fully understand the Constitution and administrative law, and must not hold government office. The appointment and removal of constitutional judges, the procedural rules of the Constitutional Court and other provisions regarding the Constitutional Court shall be regulated by law.

Chapter X Citizens and Inhabitants Article 26 1. Citizens are native Indonesian persons and persons of other nations [bangsa] who have acquired a legal status as citizens. 2. Inhabitants are Indonesian citizens and foreign persons who reside in Indonesia. 3. Matters relating to citizens and inhabitants are regulated by law.

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Appendix 2.1 – cont’d The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, before Amendment (1945 to 18 October 1999)

The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, as Amended on 17 August 2002

Article 27 1. All citizens have equal status before the law and in government and shall abide by the law and the government without any exception. 2. Every citizen has the right to work and to live in human dignity.

Article 27 1. All citizens have equal status before the law and in government and shall abide by the law and the government without any exception. 2. Every citizen has the right to work and to live in human dignity. 3. Every citizen has the right and duty to participate in the defence of the nation.

Article 28 Freedom of association and assembly, of verbal and written expression and the like, shall be regulated by law.

Article 28 No change.

Chapter XA Human Rights Article 28A Each person has the right to live and has the right to defend their life and their living. Article 28B 1. Each person has the right to form a family and to continue their family line through legitimate marriage. 2. Each child has the right to viable life, growth and development, and to protection from violence and discrimination. Article 28C 1. Each person has the right to develop themselves through the fulfilment of their basic needs, the right to education and to obtain benefit from science and technology, art and culture, in order to improve the quality of their life and the welfare of the human race. 2. Each person has the right to advance themselves in struggling to obtain their collective rights to develop their community, their people, and their nation.

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Appendix 2.1 – cont’d The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, before Amendment (1945 to 18 October 1999)

The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, as Amended on 17 August 2002 Article 28D 1. Each person has the right to the recognition, the security, the protection and the certainty of just laws and equal treatment before the law. 2. Each person has the right to work and to receive just and appropriate rewards and treatment in their working relationships. 3. Each citizen has the right to obtain the same opportunities in government. 4. Each person has the right to citizenship. Article 28E 1. Each person is free to profess their religion and to worship in accordance with their religion, to choose their education and training, their occupation, their citizenship, their place of residence within the territory of the State and to leave it and to return to it. 2. Each person has the freedom to possess convictions and beliefs, and to express their thoughts and attitudes in accordance with their conscience. 3. Each person has the freedom to associate, gather, and express their opinions. Article 28F Each person has the right to communicate and to obtain information in order to develop themselves and their social environment, and the right to seek out, obtain, possess, store, process, and transmit information using any means available. Article 28G 1. Each person has the right to the protection of themselves, their family, their honour, their dignity, the property that is in their control, and the right to

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Appendix 2.1 – cont’d The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, before Amendment (1945 to 18 October 1999)

The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, as Amended on 17 August 2002 feel safe and to be protected from the threats of fear from doing or not doing something that is a basic right. 2. Each person has the right to be free from torture or treatment that lowers human dignity and has the right to obtain political asylum from other countries. Article 28H 1. E a c h p e r s o n h a s t h e r i g h t t o physical and spiritual welfare, to have a home, to have a good and healthy living environment and to obtain health services. 2. Each person has the right to assistance and special treatment in order to gain the same opportunities and benefits in the attainment of equality and justice. 3. Each person has the right to social security that allows their full personal development as a human being. 4. Each person has the right to private property and this right may not be arbitrarily interfered with by anyone at all. Article 28I 1. The right to live, the right not to be tortured, the right to freedom of thought and conscience, the right not to be enslaved, the right to be individually recognized by the law, and the right not to be prosecuted under retrospective laws are basic human rights that may not be interfered with under any circumstances at all. 2. Each person has the right to be free from discriminatory treatment on any grounds and has the right to obtain protection from such discriminatory treatment.

RECONSTITUTING THE ETHNIC CHINESE 71

Appendix 2.1 – cont’d The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, before Amendment (1945 to 18 October 1999)

The 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia, as Amended on 17 August 2002 3. Cultural identity and the rights of traditional communities are respected in accordance with the continuing development of civilization over time. 4. The protection, advancement, upholding and fulfilment of basic human rights is the responsibility of the State, especially the Government. 5. In order to uphold and protect basic human rights in accordance with the principle of a democratic State ruled by laws, the implementation of human rights shall be guaranteed, regulated, and provided for in regulations and legislation. Article 28J 1. Each person is obliged to respect the basic human rights of others in orderly life as a community, as a people, and as a nation. 2. In the enjoyment of their rights and freedoms, each person is obliged to submit to the limits determined by law, with the sole purpose of guaranteeing recognition and respect for the rights of others and to fulfil the requirements of justice and taking into consideration morality, religious values, security, and public order in a democratic community.

Article 32 The Government shall advance the national culture.

Article 32 1. The State shall advance the national culture of Indonesia among human civilization by guaranteeing the freedom of the people to cultivate and develop their cultural values. 2. The State shall respect and cultivate regional languages as a national cultural treasure.

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Notes 1

2

3

4

5

The author wishes to acknowledge with gratitude the research assistance of Diana Mulyanto and Helen Pausacker, both Research Assistants in the Asian Law Centre, in the preparation of this chapter. Any mistakes are, of course, my own. Surat Bukti Kewarganegaraan Republik Indonesia (Proof of Indonesian Citizenship Document), discussed below. This provision then became Article 163 of the Indies Constitution of 1925, replacing the Staats Regeling. First title, Book III, Burgerlijke Wetboek [Code of Civil Procedure] of 1847, now the Kitab Undang-undang Hukum Dagang. For example, Section 9(2) of the Decree provides that “Birth registration [lodged outside] the limitation period as stipulated in Section (1) must obtain: a. Approval of the Head of Region, for those who are governed under Staatsblad 1920 No. 751 on Civil Registration Office Directives for the Indonesian Ethnic Group, Staatsblad 1933 No. 75 on Civil Registration Office Directives for Christian People of Java, Madura and Minahasa, as well as Non Staatsblad; b. Approval of the Court, for those who are governed under Staatsblad 1849 No. 25 on Civil Registration Office Directives on European Ethnic Group and Staatsblad 1917 on Civil Registration Office Directives for the Chinese Ethnic Group.”

6

7

8

9

10 11

12

13

The exception is arguably the government of Abdurrahman Wahid (see below and Budiman, this volume). See, in particular, Coppel (2002), especially chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 19, 22, and 23. The colonial racial groupings continue to apply, however, for other purposes, as indicated above. The use of a Presidential Decision allowed the government to avoid opposition in the legislature, which would have been inevitable had they chosen to use the statutory form (Undang-undang). See also Suryadinata (1997, p. 117). This Article was amended post-Soeharto but without material change to these provisions. For a discussion of the meaning of pribumi, see Suryadinata (1997, chapter 5). August 2003.

RECONSTITUTING THE ETHNIC CHINESE 73 14

15

16 17

18 19

20 21

22

23

24

25 26 27

For example, MPR Decree No. 27/MPRS/1966 on Religion, Education, and Culture; MPR Decree No. XXXII/MPRS/1966 on Press Management. After Soekarno’s fall, in 1966 the MPR fixed a new hierarchy of laws in a Decision later confirmed in MPR Decision No. III of 2000. It is worth noting that Presidential Decisions (Keputusan Presiden or Keppres) have a place in the hierarchy as the lowest level of legislation above other “implementing regulations”, which include Presidential Instructions (InPres). Presidential Decrees, or Maklumat, were specifically removed from the hierarchy by the MPR and the term “Decree” should therefore not be used for Presidential Instructions post-1966. See Coppel (2002, p. 33) for the full text. These may be the answer to Coppel’s observation (2002, p. 25) that he has “not managed to locate the source of the ban on the use or dissemination of publications or signs using Chinese characters”. Badan Koordinasi Masalah Cina. As mentioned, Kwik Kian Gee has been a prominent Minister, first of Economy, Finance and Industry, and then for National Development, in the Wahid and Megawati governments respectively. See Lindsey (2003) for a detailed account of the amendment process. Imlek means Chinese lunar calendar. Tahun Baru Imlek means the Chinese lunar New Year. The Elucidation is the explanatory memorandum that accompanies most Indonesian legislative and regulatory instruments and, although not a formal source of law on its own, is usually read as part of the text of the instrument. It is routinely used by the courts in interpreting the meaning of any statute. Presidential Decree No. 69/2000 also revoked Presidential Decree No. 264/1962 on the banning of Liga Demokrasi, Rotary Club, Divine Life Society, Vrijmetselaren-loge, Moral Rearmament Movement, Ancient Mystical Organizations of Rosicrucians, and the Baha’i Organization. The former six being Islam, Christianity (Protestantism), Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Confucianism: Explanatory Memorandum, Presidential Decree No. 1/1965. This section draws on Lindsey (2003). August 2003. This and the following paragraphs in this section draw on Lindsey (2003).

74 28

29

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This version was translated and developed by Helen Pausacker, Rowan Gould, and Tim Lindsey of the Asian Law Centre, University of Melbourne. See Lindsey (2003). Developed from the translation of the first edition, from the Republic of Indonesia, Information Ministry (1950). Developed from a version published in Kompas newspaper, 12 August 2002.

References

Apakabar. “Sejumlah UU Diskriminatif Dimintakan ‘Judicial Review’”. . Downloaded 21 August 2003. Bourchier, David. “Positivism and Romanticism in Indonesian Legal Thought”. In Indonesia: Law and Society, edited by Tim Lindsey, pp. 186–96. Sydney: Federation Press, 1999. Burns, Peter. The Leiden Legacy — Concepts of Law in Indonesia. Jakarta: Pradnya Paramita, 1999. Clarke, Ross. “Retrospectivity and the Constitutional Validity of the Bali Bombing and East Timor Trials”. Australian Journal of Asian Law 5 (2003): 128. Coppel, Charles. Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002. DFAT. Indonesia: General Information. Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) Country Fact Sheet. . 2003. Fasseur, C. “Colonial Dilemma: Van Vollenhoven and the Struggle between Adat Law and Western Law in Indonesia”. In European Expansion and Law: The Encounter of European and Indigenous Law in 19 th- and 20 th-Century Africa and Asia, edited by W.J. Mommsen and J.A. de Moor, pp. 237–56. New York and Oxford: Berg, 1992. ———. “Cornerstone and Stumbling Block: Racial Classification and the Late Colonial State in Indonesia”. In The Late Colonial State in Indonesia: Political and Economic Foundations of the Netherlands Indies 1880–1942, edited by Robert Cribb, pp. 31–56. Leiden: KITLV Press, 1994. Fenwick, Stewart. “The Rule of Law in Mongolia — Constitutional Court and Conspiratorial Parliament”. Asian Law 3 (2001): 213.

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Furnivall, J.S. Netherlands Indies: A Study of Plural Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1944. Gautama, Sudargo. Indonesian Business Law. Bandung: PT Citra Aditya Bakti, 1995. Gautama, Sudargo and Robert Hornick. An Introduction to Indonesian Law. Jakarta/Bandung: no publisher, 1983. Heryanto, Ariel. “Ethnic Identities and Erasure: Chinese Indonesians in Public Culture”. In Southeast Asian Identities: Culture and the Politics of Representation in Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand, edited by Joel S. Kahn, pp. 95–114. New York: St. Martin’s Press and Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1998. ———. “Rape, Race and Reporting”. In Reformasi, Crisis and Change in Indonesia, edited by Arief Budiman, Barbara Hatley, and Damien Kingsbury. Melbourne: Monash Asia Institute, 1999. Hooker, M.B. Legal Pluralism: An Introduction to Colonial and NeoColonial Laws. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975. ———. Law and the Chinese in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2002. Huang-Thio, S.M. “Constitutional Discrimination under the Malaysian Constitution”. Malaysian Law Review 6 (1964): 1–6. Indra, Dr Muhammad Ridhwan. The 1945 Constitution: A Human Creation. 1990. Details not available. Copy on file with author. Jakarta Post. “RI to Take Steps against Racial Hatred”, 11 September 2002a. ———. “Activists Welcome Bill against Discrimination”, 12 September 2002b. ———. “SBKRI: Segregation in Practice” (editorial), 15 August 2003a. ———. “Citizenship Bill Maintains Institutionalised Racism”. . Downloaded 15 August 2003b. Kompas. “Etnis Tionghoa Alami Genosida Kultural”. . Downloaded 21 August 2003. Lev, Daniel. “Between State and Society: Professional Lawyers and Reform in Indonesia”. In Indonesia: Law and Society, edited by Tim Lindsey, pp. 227–46. Sydney: Federation Press, 1999. Lindsey, Tim. “Indonesian Constitutional Reform: Muddling Towards Democracy”. Singapore Journal of International & Comparative Law 6 (2003): 244–301. Linnan, David. “Indonesian Law Reform, or ‘Once More Unto the Breach’”. Australian Journal of Asian Law 1, no. 1 (1999).

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Nasution, Adnan Buyung. The Aspiration for Constitutional Government in Indonesia: A Socio-legal Study of the Indonesian Konstituante 1956– 1959. Den Haag: CIP-Gegevens Koninklijke Bibliotheek, 1992. Pemberton, John. On the Subject of ‘Java’. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994. Republic of Indonesia, Information Ministry. 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia. Jakarta, 1950. . Suradji, H., S.H., Pularjono, and Tim Redaksi Tatanusa. UUD 1945 beserta Perubahan Ke-I, II, III & IV. Jakarta: PT Tatanusa, 2002. Suryadinata, Leo. Pribumi Indonesians, the Chinese Minority and China. 3rd ed. Singapore: Heinemann Asia, 1992. ———. Chinese and Nation-Building in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 1997. Wertheim, W. Indonesian Society in Transition: A Study of Social Change. 2nd ed. The Hague and Bandung: Van Hoeve, 1959. Yamin, H. Muhammad. Naskah Persiapan Undang-Undang Dasar 1945. Vol. 1. Jakarta: Yayasan Prapanca, 1959.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles BUDDHISM are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg > AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 77

3 Buddhism and Confucianism in Contemporary Indonesia Recent Developments Leo Suryadinata INTRODUCTION

Throughout his academic career, Charles Coppel wrote extensively on Confucianism in Indonesia, covering the period from the beginning of the twentieth century until 1995 (Coppel 2002a–e). Both of us were the first academics who paid special attention to this unique religion developed in Nusantara (Suryadinata 1974; Coppel 2002b). Charles focused more on the historical aspect of Confucianism (Coppel 2002c–e), while I myself wrote more on contemporary issues (Suryadinata 1974; 1997, pp. 125–94; 2002a,b). This chapter addresses the developments of Confucianism after the fall of Soeharto and analyses how government policy has influenced the interaction of Confucianism and Buddhism. At the beginning of the New Order (1966–98), Soeharto began to introduce an assimilation policy towards the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. This was new because during the Liberal Democracy Period (1949–58) and the Guided Democracy Period (1959–65), government policy had shifted from liberalism to integration. The three Chinese cultural pillars, namely Chinese media, Chinese organizations, and Chinese-medium schools, were allowed to operate. From 1958 Indonesian citizens of Chinese descent had been required to attend Indonesian-medium schools, many of which were sponsored by the Chinese community. Indonesian Chinese who were foreign citizens, however, were permitted to continue their education in Chinese-medium schools.

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SOEHARTO’S ASSIMILATION POLICY TOWARDS ETHNIC CHINESE

With Soeharto’s rise in the wake of the abortive coup of 1965, however, the policy towards the ethnic Chinese changed fundamentally. Soeharto’s New Order was suspicious of the Chinese community’s links with the People’s Republic of China. Eager to establish a “homogeneous nation”, the government decided to introduce an assimilation policy towards the ethnic Chinese. It is imperative to note that the so-called “homogeneous Indonesian nation” was based on the indigenous model. The ethnic Chinese were “non-indigenous” and therefore had to abandon their cultural identity if they wanted to become “genuine Indonesians”. The indigenous Indonesian identity, to which they were to transform was, however, vaguely defined. As it turned out later, the indigenous Indonesian identity was nothing but an identity which was “non-Chinese”. To achieve this “indigenization” of the Chinese, the Soeharto regime introduced a number of measures, including the name-changing regulation (1966); a restriction on celebrating Chinese festivals and practising Chinese traditions in public (1967); and the elimination of the three Chinese cultural pillars, namely Chinese media (1965) and Chinese organizations (both political and social) and Chinese-medium schools (1966). The objective of the policy was that through assimilation, the entire ethnic Chinese community as a separate community would disappear. However, the assimilation policy was problematic. Apart from its unfortunate definition of the “indigenous Indonesian nation”, the Indonesian state ideology Pancasila1 allowed ethnic minorities — arguably including the ethnic Chinese — to maintain their religious identities. Likewise, two of the officially recognized religions — Buddhism and Confucianism — are linked to the ethnic Chinese, who constitute the majority of followers of these religions. The first principle of the Pancasila ideology, “belief in one supreme god” (Ketuhanan yang Maha Esa), was, however, interpreted as based on the concept of a single, supreme god. This posed a problem for non-Islamic and non-Christian religions, the non-monotheistic beliefs. Minority religions such as Buddhism and Confucianism somehow had to be “adjusted” in order to gain recognition from the Indonesian state. Tan Chee Beng maintains that Chinese religions can be divided into “Chinese religions” and “Chinese Buddhism” as they have two different components (Tan 1995, pp. 139–65). In his view, Chinese religions subscribe to the multiple deities concept (duo shen
). Buddhism, when it was transformed in China and became Mahayana Buddhism, also

BUDDHISM AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 79

adopted the multiple deities concept. The Chinese in Southeast Asia in general, and in Indonesia in particular, have inherited this concept. More than this, they have merged local religious beliefs into Chinese religions and Chinese Buddhism. However, in Soeharto’s Indonesia the multiple deities concept did not sit well with the New Order interpretation of the first principle of the Pancasila. THE RISE OF CONFUCIANISM AS A FORMAL RELIGION: PRE-1978

Confucianism existed in Indonesia before the twentieth century but it was not an organized religion. In 1900 the first pan-Chinese organization, the Chinese Association (THHK, Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan
 != or Zhonghua huiguan), was established in Batavia (now Jakarta), using Confucianism as the basis of the organization. However, the THHK developed into an educational institution and deviated from the original objective of spreading Confucianism; hence the Confucian Association (Khong Kauw Hwee
 =or kongjiao hui) was later established. The first Khong Kauw Hwee was formed in 1918 in Solo and later in other towns. In 1923 various Confucian organizations gathered in Yogyakarta to hold a congress, resulting in the establishment of the General Organization of Khong Kauw Hwee. The headquarters of the General Organization was in Bandung. This event can be considered to be the formal origin of Agama Khonghucu (
 Kongfuzi, the Confucian Religion) in Indonesia.2 It was during this period that the concepts of Tian
=(Heaven) as god in the Chinese religion and Confucius as His Nabi (apostle, prophet, or messenger) were first established but before World War II Confucianism was not yet an organized religion in the sense that it is today. In addition to the Khong Kauw Hwee, there was another Chinese religious association called Sam Kauw Hwee
 (or Sanjiao hui, The Association of Three Religions), which aimed to promote Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism. It was first established in the mid-1930s. The Sam Kauw Hwee (later known as Tri Dharma) was, however, dominated by the Buddhists.3 After World War II the Khong Kauw Hwee and Sam Kauw Hwee continued to co-exist. During the Soekarno period, the communist influence increased and the military, which was anti-communist, wanted to use religious forces to halt, if not to eliminate, communism. Soekarno, who was then under military pressure, issued a well-known regulation in 1965 recognizing six Indonesian religions, namely Islam, Protestantism,

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Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Confucianism (Suryadinata 1998, pp. 5–24). Soon after the promulgation, however, an alleged communist coup took place on 30 September 1965, which led to the liquidation of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), the downfall of Soekarno, and the triumph of the Indonesian military led by General Soeharto. Under Soeharto religions continued to be cultivated by the state to combat communism and the leftwing movement, as communists were believed to be atheists and anti-religious. All religious organizations and parties, including the Khong Kauw Hwee, therefore became more active than in the past. In August 1967 the General Organization of Khong Kauw Hwee held its sixth congress in Solo, attended by the new regime officials. Even President Soeharto and General Nasution4 sent written messages wishing success for the congress. Many government officials, including the military, continued to attend later congresses, showing their support for the Confucian religion (Moerthiko 1980, p. 120). The sixth congress was significant as it was then that the official name of the Confucian religious association was adopted: the Majelis Tertinggi Agama Khonghucu Indonesia (Supreme Council of the Confucian Religion of Indonesia, abbreviated as Matakin). The Chinese term Khong Kauw Hwee was changed to the Indonesian term Agama Khonghucu. In addition, the congress detailed regulations of the Confucian religion, including its rituals and organizational structure. From this time onward, Confucianism was transformed into a “real” Indonesian religion. Matakin did not deviate from the basic ideas of pre-World War II Confucianism. As stated earlier, the concepts of Tian and Nabi originated from the THHK. The Four Books and Five Classics (Sishu Wujing

) remain the “Holy Books” of the Confucian religion. However, after 1967, the doctrine became more systematic and the propagation became more intensive. The form of Confucianism has also become more “Indonesianized”. Sishu Wujing is the bible of the Confucian religion, but only four books were translated into Indonesian. As to the five classics, only The Book of Changes (Yak Keng
 or Yijing) was in Indonesian; the other four have not been translated. In fact, the real bible of Agama Khonghucu is only Sishu or Su Si, commonly known in Indonesia as Kitab yang Empat. The format of Su Si, with its pocket size and blue cover, is similar to that of the Bible.5 Since the 1967 congress, the Confucian religion has also become more institutionalized, with its organization founded along similar lines as those

BUDDHISM AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 81

of Christianity and Islam (Suryadinata 1974; Coppel 2002b, pp. 247–50). It has a church called Lithang (Litang
, which originally meant Ceremonial Hall), not klenteng (Chinese temple).6 Sometimes it is also called Kong miao
 or Bun bio (Wen miao
), which means the Temple of Confucius. It often displays either the statue or picture of Confucius, or both. The temple is run by Confucian priests, who consist of three ranks: Haksu
=(xueshi), Bun Su
=(wenshi), and Kauw Seng
 ( jiaosheng).7 The Confucian church operates like the Christian church. It not only conducts sermons but also marriage ceremonies. THE DERECOGNITION OF CONFUCIANISM: POST-1978

In the first eleven years after Soeharto came to power, the new regime welcomed Confucianism. A few of its leaders were well-connected with the military and supported the government party Golkar in the 1971 and 1977 general elections. However, after a while the Soeharto regime felt sufficiently secure to no longer require Confucian support. Furthermore, Soeharto’s generals felt that Confucianism was a hindrance to the complete assimilation of Chinese Indonesians. From 1978, the government began to keep a distance from the Confucian religion. Towards the end of 1978, the Ministry of Home Affairs issued a circular, recognizing only five religions, excluding Confucianism. In early 1979 the Soeharto Cabinet also issued a decision, stating that Confucianism was not a religion. The Matakin congress, scheduled for February 1979, was cancelled because it failed to get a permit from the government. Since 1979 Confucianism could no longer appear as a religion on Indonesians’ identity cards. Confucians instead had to be registered as Buddhists. When married, Confucians also had to be registered as a Buddhist couple in their marriage documents; otherwise, the marriage would not be recognized by the state. However, this practice did not result in public protest, probably for two reasons. First, Confucians were afraid of government suppression and second, Indonesian Buddhism was capable of being practised liberally to include Confucianism. The Marriage of Budi and Lany

However, in the mid-1990s a democratization process began in Indonesia. Some young Confucians began to challenge the state authorities. Budi Wijaya (alias Po Bing Bo) and Lany Guito (alias Gwie Ay Lan) got

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married on 23 July 1995 in the Confucian temple (Boen Bio) in Surabaya and applied to the Surabaya Civil Registry Office to have their marriage registered. According to the Indonesian law, followers of religions other than Islam are required to register their marriages at the Civil Registry Office, failing which their marriages would be considered illegal. As in the past, the Civil Registry Office refused to register the Budi-Lany marriage because the Indonesian state no longer recognized Confucianism. However, the office offered to register their marriage as Buddhist. Budi and Lany refused to change their religion and sued the chief of the Civil Registry Office for refusing to register their Confucian marriage. The court case lasted for a few months and captured the attention of both the Chinese and non-Chinese communities. Even Abdurrahman Wahid (commonly known as “Gus Dur”), who represented the largest Islamic organization in Indonesia, Nahdlatul Ulama, attended the hearings. The case was important because it concerned the legal status of Confucianism. The decision would affect both the religious life of the ethnic Chinese and basic human rights in Indonesia. The lawyers for Budi and Lany argued that Confucianism is a religion and, as the state ideology of Pancasila recognizes religious freedom, every citizen is free to practise his/her religion. The Civil Registry Office therefore did not have the right to reject the registration of the Confucian marriage. The government lawyers argued in response that Confucianism is not a religion and that even if it was a religion, it was no longer recognized and that the Civil Registry Office therefore had the right to reject the registration. The Surabaya Court finally decided that it was beyond its authority to decide whether or not Confucianism is a religion. Since the Ministry of Religious Affairs no longer recognized Confucianism, the Civil Registry Office, which is a state institution, should follow the existing regulations. The court then decided for the Civil Registry Office.8 This decision was not well received by both the Chinese and indigenous communities. Some liberal Islamic intellectuals criticized the government for violating basic human rights and religious freedom. The most interesting comment was made by Gus Dur who argued that the question of whether or not Confucianism was a religion should be left to its followers; the state should not interfere. He said that, in his view, Confucianism is a religion and to deny it the legal status of a religion was unfair and unjust to the Chinese minority.

BUDDHISM AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 83

Budi and Lany decided to appeal to the Supreme Court (Mahkamah Agung, the highest court in Indonesia) but most believed that their chances of winning the case were very slim. While the court case was still pending, Lany gave birth to a daughter. As their marriage was still not recognized by the state, she became illegitimate. This decision was eventually reversed, but not until after the fall of Soeharto. The legal status of Confucianism is, however, still a problem. We will discuss the case again later. CONVERTING KLENTENG TO VIHARA 9

Since Indonesia’s ethnic Chinese assimilation policy was defined in terms of eradicating Chinese components from the so-called “Indonesian culture”, it is not surprising that soon after the derecognition of Confucianism as a religion, the government began to cultivate Buddhism, at the expense of Confucianism. In the view of the Soeharto regime, Buddhism was more Indonesian than Confucianism. After all, Indonesia had been the location of two large Buddhist empires, namely Syailendra and Srivijaya. As mentioned earlier, Confucian marriages were registered at the Civil Registry Office as Buddhist marriages. Since Confucianism was derecognized as a religion, many Confucians were required to list Buddhism as their religion in their identity cards. Many “Confucian” Chinese in Indonesia are, in fact, not purely Confucian. They are followers of Sam Kauw
= (Sanjiao) or three religions (a combination of Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism). Chinese temples therefore often shared the characteristics of all three of these religions. In Indonesia these temples are known as klenteng. The Soeharto regime decided to transform the klenteng into Buddhist temples (vihara). Brigadier-General W.D. Sukisman, an indigenous Sinologist who worked for the military intelligence service, maintains that while the vihara is the place of worship for Buddhists, the klenteng is a worship place for adherents of Confucianism and Taoism. Activities which take place in a klenteng include: 1. 2. 3. 4.

making oaths; conducting wedding ceremonies; conducting ceremonies to adopt children; and social organizations gathering to preserve Chinese traditional culture.

Sukisman considered that the Soeharto government had prohibited the use of klenteng as a social gathering place, but had not been

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successful in eliminating these activities. On 29 February 1984 the Indonesian Buddhist General Organization (Perwalian Umat Buddha Indonesia, abbreviated in Indonesian as Walubi) held a meeting to discuss the “problem” of klenteng. Oka Diputhera, the director of the Hinduism–Buddhism section in the Ministry of Religious Affairs, discussed the ministry plan to convert klenteng to vihara. He divided the klenteng into three types: 1. Full vihara, if there is a Buddha statue/Bodhisatva, dragon, or deities in the klenteng; 2. Vihara, a klenteng which has some Buddhist elements; 3. Chinese traditional place of worship, a klenteng without any Buddhist elements, but which could become Buddhist. The third type of klenteng was required to be converted to vihara. General Sunarso, the head of the Chinese Problem Co-ordinating Body (Badan Kordinasi Masalah-Cina) did not share Oka’s view. At a meeting on 17 March 1984, Sunarso stated that klenteng are Chinese traditional places of worship and they are not vihara. He noted that this was the right time to separate klenteng from Buddhist places of worship and build “true” vihara which would suit the local culture. Sunarso wanted to separate Buddhism from Chinese culture, thus marginalizing Chinese Buddhism. In August 1984 the Walubi held a congress, making a recommendation to the government that klenteng be changed to vihara immediately. The Sam Kauw Hwee/Tri Dharma rejected the proposal. However, the government decided to implement the plan. Some klenteng refused to change but the majority appeared to have conformed. In 1990 the Indonesian Ministry of Religious Affairs issued a circular, appealing to the Buddhists that no Chinese festivals or Lunar New Year be celebrated in vihara as these festivals are not related to Buddhism. This was a further step towards what was emerging as the policy objective of removing Chinese elements from “Indonesian” Buddhism. According to one report, the conversion of klenteng to vihara had some success. In Jakarta the Chinese name of an old Chinese temple, Klenteng Kim Tek Jie (Jin De Yuan), was changed to the Sanskrit Buddhist name, Wihara Dharma Bakti. This more than a century-old temple was administered by the Chinese Council (Kong Koan
 or Gong Guan) in Jakarta. During the Soeharto era the temple was administered by the Walubi, which set up a committee under a foundation (yayasan), a typical New Order model of administration. The commit-

BUDDHISM AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 85

tee members consisted of Indonesian citizens. The chairman of the committee between 1991 and 1995 was — incredibly — a Javanese Muslim, not a Chinese Buddhist (Sukisman 1995).10 There is also a Chinese temple in the Sunter Agung Permai (Jakarta). Its present name is Vihara Dhamma Cakka Jaya. However, the building style is no longer Chinese. This is a result of continuing restructuring under the chairman of its temple foundation, Rear Admiral D.P. Koesno (Sukisman 1995, p. 9). In Malang, East Java, the Maitreya Buddhist Temple also experienced Indonesianization. Initially the temple had both the statues of Buddhist gods and Chinese deities such as Guan Gong
= and Ba Xian
 (Eight Immortals). However, in the 1980s the statues of Guan Gong and Lu Chunyang
 = were ordered to be removed (Brown 1990, p. 120). The Director of Hindu–Buddha Affairs Section in the Department of Religion stated openly that these deities belonged to Chinese religions which were not recognized by the Indonesian Government (Brown 1990, p. 120). THE PROMOTION OF BUDDHISM AND BELIEF IN ONE SUPREME GOD

To suit the first principle of Pancasila, which is “belief in one supreme god”, the Buddhist doctrine in Indonesia also required significant adjustments. As Buddhism has no concept of one supreme god, some Indonesian Buddhist leaders decided to reinterpret it. The most well-known case was the attempt of Bhikkhu Ashin Jinarakkhita (alias The Bwan An, 1923–2002), who established the organization Indonesia’s Great Buddhist Clergy (Maha Sangha Indonesia). Bhikkhu Ashin was, in effect, the person who Indonesianized Buddhism in Indonesia. He maintained that there is a concept of Adi Buddha (Great Buddha, which is an equivalent to Supreme God) in Sang Hyang Kamahayankan, a Javanese Buddhist text. In his view Im! Namo Budhaya! Im! in Indonesian means Segala Puji Sanghyang Adi Buddha or “All Praise to the Almighty Buddha” (Brown 1990, p. 114). Those who disagreed with him argued that the word “Adi” (Almighty) is not in the text. It was added by him in the Indonesian translation. The teaching of Bhikkhu Ashin gained some support among Indonesian Buddhists, including a few indigenous Indonesians who later became important figures in the Ministry of Religious Affairs. Those who disagreed with Bhikkhu Ashin eventually broke away from Maha Sangha Indonesia to form their own organization.

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Walubi and the Buddhist Schism

The result was a split among Indonesian Buddhists. In 1979 the Walubi was established. It consisted of three Sangha (one of which was Ashin’s Sangha) and seven Buddhist Councils (Majelis). However, the Walubi was doctrinally diverse and represented conflicting group interests. As a result, there was constant conflict within the organization. Initially Ashin’s group was dominant and his doctrine was even adopted by the Ministry of Religious Affairs. However, gradually his group was pushed aside and the anti-Ashin group gained more influence. The Ashin group was expelled from the Walubi. A Chinese businesswoman, Hartati Murdaya (alias Zou Liying), was elected as the new chairperson of the Walubi. It should be noted that if Ashin intended to Indonesianize Chinese Buddhism, the new group which took over the leadership of the Walubi was not much different. Some Buddhist leaders within and outside the Walubi wanted to halt further eradication of the Chinese elements from Indonesian Buddhism. They came into conflict with the Hartati leadership. After the fall of Soeharto in May 1998, the opposition to the Hartati group re-emerged. In November 1998 the Walubi held an extraordinary general meeting. The anti-Hartati group openly challenged the Walubi leadership. As a result, the Walubi was dissolved. But in December 1998 the Hartati group quickly established a new organization called the Representatives of the Indonesian Buddhist Community (Perwakilan Umat Buddha Indonesia). The Indonesian name of this new organization is still abbreviated as Walubi. The anti-Hartati group, which consisted of four Buddhist associations (including Ashin’s association), formed a rival Buddhist group called the Supreme Buddhist Clergy Conference (Konferensi Agung Sangha Indonesia or KASI). In 1999 the new Walubi and KASI contested a seat allocated to Buddhists in the Indonesian People’s Consultative Assembly (Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat or MPR) but Hartati gained the seat as she was supported by Indonesian politicians as well as the Ministry of Religious Affairs. Maitreya Buddhism

During the Soeharto era Maitreya Buddhism11 also developed quite rapidly. This sect of Buddhism had also adjusted its doctrine in order to be accepted by the government by admitting the existence of the Ming Ming God (

 = Mingming Shangdi). Two leading figures in China’s Maitreya Buddhism were Tian Ran and Yue Hui, who were believed to

BUDDHISM AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 87

have originally spread Maitreya Buddhism beyond China. To make Maitreya Buddhism more Indonesian, the Ming Ming God in Indonesia is simply called Tuhan Yang Maha Esa (The One Supreme God), while Tian Ran and Yue Hui are called Guru Agung (Great Teacher) and Ibu Suci (Holy Mother) respectively. THE DEVELOPMENT OF BUDDHISM AFTER THE FALL OF SOEHARTO

Towards the end of Soeharto’s rule, there was a relaxation of control towards the five officially recognized religions: Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. The ethnic Chinese, especially those who still read and spoke Chinese, began to be active again in building and reviving Chinese temples. Two modern Buddhist temples — the Dharmasagara (Fa Hai Si
 ) and Vihara Mahavira Graha Pusat (Dacongshan Xicansi
 !"#) — were established in Jakarta in the early 1990s. Unlike the traditional Buddhist temples in Indonesia, they are modern in architecture and possess modern facilities. They are also run like businesses. For instance, they raise funds by selling goods donated by their members. Although based on the vihara in Taiwan, where many of the monks were educated, the organizations which run the two vihara are more dynamic. The monks are younger and better educated. Dharmasagara and Mahavira vihara have rather different approaches. Dharmasagara conducts services using Chinese texts while Mahavira uses both Sanskrit and Chinese texts. The newest Buddhist temple is the Maha Vihara Duta Maitreya Temple in Batam (Riau). Known in Chinese as the Tianen Mile Foyuan

 ! (Providence Maitreya Missionary Monastery), it claims to be the largest Maitreya temple in Southeast Asia. It is not only a place of worship but also includes a hostel for people to live in while they study Buddhism. Built on 4.5 hectares of land, the temple occupies 35,000 square metres. Initiated by a migrant Chinese in Indonesia (Hong Cailai


) and supported by the Taiwanese Maitreya organization, it took seven years to complete and was officially opened on 23 January 1999 (Kata Sambutan, n.d.). About 10,000 people attended the ceremony, making it one of the largest such gatherings in Riau islands. The Maitreya temple is linked to Taiwan’s Yiguandao


, which is also known as Tiandao
= (The Heavenly Way). The sect was quite popular among educated Chinese and was also active in Java.

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The pioneer of Maitreya Buddhism in Indonesia was Grand Master Chen Boling


= (1893–1983), a Hokkien migrant from Taiwan who came to Indonesia in 1949 (Maitreyawira Sang Perintis 1994, pp. 1, 8). He was given the mission by the Taiwanese Maitreya association to spread the “Gospel” and succeeded in recruiting some followers in Java. However, it appears that the conditions in Java were not very conducive, as many Chinese had lost their command of the Chinese languages. CONFUCIANISM AFTER THE FALL OF SOEHARTO

Whilst Buddhism was able to grow during the Soeharto era, Confucianism was derecognized and suppressed. However, as soon as Soeharto was overthrown, Confucianism re-emerged. During the Habibie presidency (May 1998–October 1999), the Minister of Religious Affairs claimed verbally that Confucianism was recognized as a religion again. However, nothing was done on the rehabilitation of the Confucian religion, as old regulations and Presidential Decisions restricting and banning Chinese traditions had not been lifted. Under the more democratic atmosphere, Confucian leaders were able to fight for their rights but did not achieve much during the Habibie presidency. Matakin was not allowed to hold congresses the between 1979 and 1998, but after the fall of Soeharto, it was not only permitted to hold the congress again, but was also allowed to use the premises of the Ministry of Religious Affair to do so. Apparently many Muslims were sympathetic to Confucians who were suppressed during the Soeharto period. The links were more than sympathetic, however. For example, Chandra Setiawan (Huang Jinyuan), then the chairman of Matakin, was educated in an Islamic University, where he studied economics. When Gus Dur became President he declared that Confucianism was, in fact, a religion, and that his government recognized its existence. He and his Cabinet members attended the celebration of the Chinese New Year (in February 2000) in Jakarta, which was organized by Matakin. Gus Dur also abrogated Presidential Decision No. 14 of 1967, which prohibited Chinese Indonesians from celebrating Chinese festivals in public.12 On 31 March 2000 his Minister of Home Affairs, Surjadi, issued a new instruction (No. 477/805/Sj), repealing the 1978 Circular (Surat Edaran) that recognized only five religions, excluding Confucianism.13 Together, these acts lead to the conclusion that the post-Soeharto state has re-recognized Confucianism.

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Budi-Lany Case Revisited

Under the Gus Dur administration, the Supreme Court was instructed to re-examine the Budi-Lany case. In June 2000 the Supreme Court reversed the decision of the Surabaya local court and recognized the marriage of Budi and Lany.14 Nevertheless, Budi and Lany were required to perform another wedding ceremony, presumably because the religion was only recognized after the first ceremony.15 Unfortunately, this case is an exception rather than the rule, because other Confucian couples are still not yet able to get their marriages registered, and have to go through the same court process. Worse still, after the fall of Gus Dur, local governments prohibited the inclusion of Confucianism on identity cards. Opposition to Confucianism is apparently still strong in government. DECLINE OF CHINESE RELIGIONS IN INDONESIA

In 1971, 0.9 per cent of the Indonesian population were Buddhists (1,073,088), while 0.8 per cent were Confucians (954,584). Between 1979 and 1998 Confucianism was derecognized and the assimilation policy was intensified. As a result, many ethnic Chinese converted to either Buddhism or non-Chinese religions. The 2000 Census shows that Buddhists constituted 0.84 per cent of the population (1,689,173) and followers of “other religions” (excluding the five big religions) only constituted 0.24 per cent.16 If half of them were Confucians, then in 2000 the number of Confucians was 281,528, a drastic decline from 1971 (954,584). The Soeharto government was so successful in eliminating Agama Khonghucu that by the year 2000, the number of Confucians was no longer significant. Some have become Buddhists but many more may have converted to other religions. Possibly they have joined the ranks of Christianity. It is a public secret that since the 1965 coup, many Chinese have converted to Christianity to escape persecution. The number of Chinese Christians has increased although there is no official figure on that. Nevertheless, the overall Christian population in Indonesia has increased. For instance, the 1971 Census showed that 7.4 per cent of the Indonesian people were Christians but the 2000 Census showed that the number had increased to 8.9 per cent. This increase may be due to the conversion of ethnic Chinese to Christianity.

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CONCLUDING REMARKS

There is no doubt that Chinese religions and Chinese Buddhism have been able to revive after the fall of Soeharto. The more democratic atmosphere has provided minority religions with a new lease of life. Nevertheless, Buddhism appears to be able to develop better than Confucianism. For one thing, many old regulations and lingering governmental prejudice against Confucianism have not been eradicated. It is interesting to note that under the presidency of Megawati, the Lunar New Year has been declared as a national holiday. Although Confucians celebrate the Lunar New Year, the holiday was declared because of its cultural association with the Chinese minority rather than Confucianism per se. The battle for the legal status of Confucianism in Indonesia thus continues. Notes 1

2

3

4

5

The Pancasila, or “five principles”, is the Indonesian national ideology. These are: (1) belief in one supreme god, (2) humanitarianism, (3) Indonesian unity, (4) representative democracy, and (5) social justice. For a discussion on the development of Confucianism in Indonesia, see Suryadinata (1974, 1997, 2002a), Liao (2002, pp. 47–64), and Coppel (2002a–c). For a discussion of the Sam Kauw Hwee, see Suryadinata (1997, pp. 148–51, 168–73). General Abdul Haris Nasution (1918–2000), a Batak who was a cadet at the Dutch military academy at Bandung. During the war against the Dutch, he was a commander of West Java division, and in 1948 was promoted to commander of all Java. Between 1950 and 1962 (except during 1952–55) he served as Army Chief of Staff. From 1962 to 1966 he was Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces and Minister of Defence. Dismissed by Soekarno in February 1966, he was elected chairman of the MPRS (Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat Sementara, or Provisional People’s Consultative Assembly). Still influential during the early years of Soeharto’s New Order, he was also the father of the Army doctrine known as “The Middle Way”, or the dual role of the Indonesian military. See also Coppel (2002b, pp. 249–50) for a description of the four books and their comparison with the Christian Bible.

BUDDHISM AND CONFUCIANISM IN INDONESIA 91 6

7

8

9

10

11

12 13

14

15

16

Temple dedicated to Guanyin and by extension any kind of Chinese temple (in Indonesia). Sino-Indonesian organization of Confucian priesthood, with three different ranks (Top Priest, Confucian teachers, and missionaries). For the newspaper reports on the case and court proceedings, see Makin and Boen Bio (1996a,b). For various comments on the case, see Cenggana et al. (1998). This section is mainly derived from my earlier work (Suryadinata 1997, pp. 170–73). It is not known whether the chairman is still a Javanese Muslim. However, the man behind the yayasan has always been a Chinese businessman. (Interview with a Chinese community leader in Glodok in 2002.) Maitreya Buddhism is a Buddhist sect which originated in China. The teachings of the Maitreya sect in Indonesia combine Chan (Zen) Buddhism, Sukhavati (Pure Land) Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism (Daoism). The followers often refer to the writings on “Buddha Nature” by Hui Neng
, the sixth patriach of the Chan Buddhist Sect, who lived in the seventh century. Nevertheless, Maitreya Buddhism came to Indonesia before World War II and is currently influenced by Taiwanese Buddhism. See Presidential Instruction No. 6 of 2000, 17 January 2000. See Revocation of Circular by Minister of Internal Affairs (Pencabutan Surat Edaran Menteri Dalam Negeri) No. 477/74054 of 18 November 1978. See MA Decision No. 178 K/TUN/1997, Administrative Appeal Case between Budi Wijaya, known as Po Bing Bo vs The Head of the Civil Registry Office of the Municipality of Surabaya (Perkara Kasasi Tata Usaha Negara antara Budi Wijaya alias Po Bing Bo melawan Kakan Catatan Sipil Kodya Surabaya), issued on 26 June 2000. I would like to thank Dr Chandra Setiawan for providing me this information. See Badan Pusat Statistik (c2002, p. 39). According to one demographer, Agama Khonghucu was included in the census in the category of “others”.

References

Badan Pusat Statistik. Penduduk Indonesia: Hasil Sensus Penduduk 2000. Series I.2.2. Jakarta: BPS, c2002.

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Brown, Iem. “Agama Buddha Maitreya: A Modern Buddhist Sect in Indonesia”. Contributions to Southeast Asian Anthropology, no. 9 (December 1990), pp. 113–24. Cenggana, Anly et al. Hak Asasi Beragama dan Perkawinan Khonghucu: Perspective Sosial, Legal, dan Teologi. Jakarta: Gramedia, 1998. Coppel, Charles A. “Khong Kauw: Confucian Religion in Indonesia”. In Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 228–42. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002a. A talk delivered on 9 December 1995 to the Peranakan Culturele Vriendenkring, in Amstelveen. ———. “Contemporary Confucianism in Indonesia”. In Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 243–55. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002b. First published in Proceedings of the Seventh IAHA Conference, 22–26 August 1977, Bangkok, pp. 739–57. Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University Press, 1979. ———. “The Origins of Confucianism as an Organised Religion in Java, 1900–1923”. In Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 256– 78. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002c. First published in Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 12 (1981): 179–96. ———. “Yoe Tjai Siang: Portrait of a Syncretist”. In Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 279–90. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002d. Paper presented at the Asian Studies Association of Australia Fifth Annual Conference, 13–19 May 1984, at Adelaide University. ———. “From Christian Mission to Confucian Religion: The Nederlansche Zendingsvereeniging and the Chinese of West Java, 1870–1910”. In Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 291–312. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002e. First published in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Indonesia: Essays in Honour of Professor J.D. Legge, edited by D.P. Chandler and M.C. Ricklefs, pp. 15–39. Monash Papers on Southeast Asia, no. 14. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute, 1986. ———. “Peranakan Construction of Chinese Customs in late Colonial Java”. In Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 313–35. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002f. First published in South China: State, Culture and Social Transformation during the Twentieth Century, edited by L.M. Douw and P. Post, pp. 119–30. Amsterdam: Koninklijke Nederlande Akademie van Wetenschappen, 1996. Kata Sambutan Maha Sesepuh Gautama Hardjono Pada Peresmian Maha Vihara Duta Maitreya Pulau Batam, Indonesia. No publisher, no date.

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Liao Jianyu (Leo Suryadinata). “Xianjieduan de Yinni Kongjiao”. In Liao Jianyu, Xianjieduan de Yinni huaren zuqun, pp. 47–64. Singapore: Department of Chinese Studies, National University of Singapore and Global Publishing Co., 2002. ———. “Yinni Kongjiao Xianzhuang”. In Rujia yu shijie wenming, edited by Chen Rongzhao, pp. 275–83. Vol. I. Singapore: Department of Chinese Studies, National University of Singapore and Global Publishing Co., 2003. Maitreyawira Sang Perintis. Jakarta: Dewan Pengurus Pusat Majelis Pandita Buddha Maitreya Indonesia, 1994. Makin and Boen Bio, eds. Antara Formalisme dan Hati Nurani. Surabaya: Makin and Boen Bio, 1996a. ———. Putusan Tanpa Dasar Asas Ligalitas. Surabaya: Makin and Boen Bio, c1996b. Moerthiko. Riwayat Klenteng, Vihara, Lithang: Tempat Ibadat Tridharma se Jawa. Semarang: Sekretariat Empeh Wong Kam Fu, 1980. Sukisman, W.D. “Perkembangan Budaya Cina di Indonesia dalam kaitannya Impres 1967/14”. Paper presented at the Meeting of the Founding Interdepartmental Working Committee for Assimilation (Rapat Pokja Interdep Pembauran) in accordance with the Despatch of the Minister of Home Affairs (Kawat Menteri Dalam Negeri) No. T 415.3/189, 23–24 January 1995, in Jakarta. Suryadinata, Leo. “Confucianism in Indonesia: Past and Present”. Southeast Asia (Southern Illinois University) 3, no. 3 (Spring 1974): 881– 903. Republished in Leo Suryadinata, The Chinese Minority in Indonesia: 7 Papers, pp. 33–62. Singapore: Chopmen Enterprises, 1978. ———. The Culture of the Chinese Minority in Indonesia. Singapore and Kuala Lumpur: Times Book International, 1997. ———. “State and Minority Religion in Contemporary Indonesia: Recent Government Policy towards Confucianism, Tridharma and Buddhism”. In Nation-State, Identity and Religion in Southeast Asia, edited by Tsuneo Ayabe, pp. 5–24. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 1998. ———. “Konghucuisme dan Agama Konghucu di Indonesia: Sebuah Kajian Awal”. In Leo Suryadinata, Negara dan Etnis Tionghoa: Kasus Indonesia, pp. 157–93. Jakarta: LP3ES and Centre for Political Studies, November 2002a. Revision of article published in Pergulatan Mencari Jati Diri: Konfusianisme di Indonesia. Yogyakarta: Interfidel, 1995.

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———. “Etika Konghocuisme dan Bisnis Tionghoa Perantauan”. In Leo Suryadinata, Negara dan Etnis Tionghoa, pp. 194–206. Jakarta: LP3ES and Centre for Political Studies, November 2002b. Paper originally presented for the seminar Etnisitas dan Kekuatan Ekonomi: Peran Ekonomi Cina Perantauan di Indonesia, sponsored by SPES, 27 May 1993, in Jakarta. Tan Chee Beng. “The Study of Chinese Religions in Southeast Asia: Some Views”. In Southeast Asian Chinese and China: Socio-cultural Dimension, edited by Leo Suryadinata, pp. 139–65. Singapore: Times Academic Press, 1995.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg > PORTRAIT OF THE CHINESE 95

4 Portrait of the Chinese in PostSoeharto Indonesia Arief Budiman INTRODUCTION

On Saturday, 8 March 2003 about 200 members of two paramilitary gangs demonstrated outside Tempo weekly magazine’s office in Pegangsaan, Jakarta. A number of them, escorted by police, entered the building and met with some of the editors. Later, they went to the local police station and continued the meeting. Both in the Tempo office and the police station the leaders of these gangs harassed and physically attacked a number of the Tempo editorial staff. This took place in front of the police but the police did not intervene (Jakarta Post, 2003a,b; Tempo Interaktif, 2003a). One gang belonged to the Artha Graha Group (a business company owned by Chinese konglomerat1 Tomy Winata) and the other was the Banteng Muda Indonesia (Young Wild Bulls of Indonesia), a paramilitary organization associated with PDI-P (Partai Demokrasi Indonesia — Perjuangan or the Indonesian Democratic Party — Struggle).2 A few days before the attack, Tempo had written a story in its 3 March edition, indicating that Artha Graha Group might be implicated in a fire which had broken out the previous month at the huge textile market in Tanah Abang, Jakarta. Prior to the fire, Artha Graha, according to Tempo, had signed a contract to renovate this market. In its article, Tempo reported rumours about the possible involvement of the Artha Graha Group in the fire, together with Tomy’s rebuttal (Jakarta Post, 2003b). Tomy has since successfully sued Tempo, claiming damages for calling him a “big scavenger” (Jakarta Post, 2003a,d). The brutal attack resulted in popular anger directed at Tomy Winata. However, fuelled by a latent anti-Chinese sentiment, this soon transformed into anger at all ethnic Chinese. People felt that Winata’s actions

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were “typical Chinese” behaviour, especially for Chinese businessmen. They felt that the Chinese “always” bribed state officials, particularly the police and the military. A considerable amount of commentary about the event was published on the Internet, including inflammatory antiChinese remarks. Fortunately, before this anger became uncontrollable, community leaders issued statements that many Chinese were “decent”, and “not like Winata” (Gus Dur 2003; Tempo Interaktif, 2003b; Jakarta Post, 2003a). For example, former President and Muslim leader, Abdurrahman Wahid (commonly known as “Gus Dur”), commented: I am anxious and concerned to see the development of the current war against premanisme (gangsterism). If [people] are not careful, it could develop into inter-ethnic prejudice. Because our community habitually makes generalisations and [things get] out of proportion. This could incite much conflict in our community. (Gus Dur 2003)3

It is not clear whether it was just because of these warnings that the situation remained calm. As will be discussed below, it is also possible that the pribumi (indigenous Indonesian) perception of the Chinese and the self-perception of the ethnic Chinese themselves have changed since the political reformation began in 1998. THE PRIBUMI PERCEPTION OF THE CHINESE

The May 1998 riots in Jakarta and Solo — during which many Chinese houses were looted and a number of Chinese were killed and raped — were very dramatic events in Chinese Indonesian history (Heryanto 1999, pp. 299–334; Coppel 2002b, pp. 17–18; Purdey, this volume). They led to changes in a number of areas. One striking episode, which appeared on television, showed a Chinese man crying like a child after losing his wife and two daughters during the anti-Chinese riots in 1998. They had all burnt to death inside his house. While crying, he told the audience what happened, asking what was his sin that led him to suffer this ordeal. He said he was not a Chinese anymore — his “eyes were not slanted”, he could not speak Chinese, he was poor, and he joined the Hansip (community security guard).4 This led to many viewers feeling guilty for assuming that all Chinese were rich, materialistic, greedy, and exploitative. Since the riots, some nonChinese have begun to realize that there are many kinds of Chinese: rich,

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poor, business tycoons, workers, small traders, and unemployed. Some Chinese make money and become rich; some others remain poor, discriminated against, and exploited. The Chinese are not perceived in the same one-dimensional way that they were before the riots. THE CHANGING SELF-PERCEPTION OF THE CHINESE

It is not only the pribumi who have changed their perception of the Chinese. The Chinese themselves have changed their own perception of their rights and obligations as Chinese Indonesians. In order to understand the political circumstances which cause this, the changing position of the Chinese themselves during the Soekarno, Soeharto, and reformation eras will be examined briefly below. Soekarno (1945–65)

Under Soekarno, there were two positions taken by the Chinese on their role as part of the Indonesian nation. The first position was advanced by the Chinese socio-political organization, Baperki (Badan Permusyawaratan Kewarganegaraan Indonesia or Consultative Body for Indonesian Citizenship).5 Baperki took the position that the Chinese had to maintain their Chinese culture and tradition. By doing this, Baperki argued, the Chinese were not less “Indonesian”. Indonesia as a nation had many ethnic cultures, including those of the Javanese, the Buginese, the Acehnese, and the Bataks. Being a true Javanese or Minang6 did not mean that one became less “Indonesian”. Chinese culture was similar: one ethnic culture among many others. The second position was taken by a group called LPKB (Lembaga Pembinaan Kesatuan Bangsa or Institute for Development of National Unity). LPKB, in contrast with Baperki, argued that the Chinese in Indonesia had to lose their Chinese culture and tradition and start to adopt “Indonesian” values, culture, and tradition. They even asked the Chinese to change their Chinese names to Indonesian ones and intermarriage between the Chinese and the pribumi was encouraged, in order to speed the process of “assimilation”: a very different approach to Baperki’s “integration” policy. These streams of thought were originally merely an interesting discourse. Later, a fierce political battle developed between the two opposing groups, reflecting a deepening conflict between the opposing

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political ideologies of the left and right in the 1950s. The left was led by Soekarno, supported by the Communist Party, and the right was supported by the Indonesian military and Muslim groups. During the Soekarno era (1945–66), these two different views about the path that the Chinese should take remained largely a debate. However, because these two beliefs were transformed into a political struggle between the military and the communist/leftist nationalist group, many considered that the conflict was becoming dangerous. The “integration” camp was perceived to be influenced by communist ideology, following a political line from Red China, to which Soekarno was seen as becoming closer. The “assimilation” camp was seen as belonging to the anticommunist Indonesian military, supported by the existing Islamic groups. There was no middle position. Soeharto (1965–98)

In 1965 an alleged communist coup attempt took place, which was put down by the military. Soekarno was pushed out of power, and General Soeharto emerged as the new national leader with enhanced personal power. Along with the change in regime, the government’s policy on the Chinese also changed, with “assimilation” becoming the official government policy. Baperki was therefore banned and was accused of being an instrument of the Communist Party to control the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. The “integration” policy was pronounced a communist strategy to separate the Chinese from the pribumi, thereby creating “a Trojan horse” for Red China. The Chinese were asked to change their Chinese names to Indonesian ones to prove that they genuinely wanted to become one with the Indonesian people.7 Chinese cultural expressions were banned, including the Chinese media,8 Chinese schools (Coppel 1983, pp 160–62), celebration of Chinese festivals (including New Year), 9 and the use of Chinese characters in public, such as shop names in Chinese characters.10 The Chinese were officially called Cina, usually considered a more insulting term than the former term, Tionghoa
= (or Zhongguoren,
 ) (Coppel and Suryadinata 2002). Anti-Chinese riots occurred more often, for example, in Bandung (1973) and in Solo, Semarang, and Pekalongan (1980).11 Government-sponsored hostile community attitudes had a strange psychological impact, especially among the young Chinese. Many started to feel guilty or uneasy about being Chinese. They tried to “erase” their

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Chineseness from their lives. They developed feelings of inferiority, beginning to believe that being Chinese was different from being, say, Javanese or Batak12 in the sense that a Chinese, unlike a Javanese or a Batak, was somehow not genuinely Indonesian. Of course there were some Chinese who refused to abandon their feeling of self-worth. They felt that there was nothing wrong with being Chinese — indeed, they were even proud of their ethnicity. Some even looked down on pribumi, thinking that the Chinese Indonesians were better than the pribumi Indonesians. However, in a context where the majority of the people perceived the Chinese as “inferior” Indonesian citizens, even the Chinese with superiority complexes had to live in a “cocoon” to protect themselves from outside pressure. This was why many Chinese felt deterred from becoming involved in politics. Feeling that they were not fully Indonesian, they did not consider that they could legitimately become involved in politics. They were afraid that they would be called “intruders”. Many Chinese parents therefore advised their children not to join political rallies or student demonstrations against the government. They commented that the Chinese were simply immigrants, “guests” in Indonesia, so they did not have the right to decide the future of Indonesia. Many Chinese therefore became active in non-political arenas, such as business and sport. Reformation (1998 to the Present)

As stated above, reformasi (reformation) has changed many things, including pribumi perceptions of the Chinese, as well as the self-perception of the Chinese. After the May 1998 tragedy,13 many pribumi started to realize that they had unfairly discriminated against the Chinese. They began to be more accepting of the Chinese as Indonesian citizens. Some began to sympathize with the quiet suffering of the Chinese during the Soeharto era. Many Chinese appear to have sensed that the attitude of the pribumi towards them is changing. After the May 1998 tragedy, the Chinese felt that their passive acceptance of the unfair discrimination had been a mistake. They began to struggle to secure their rights and to be treated as equals. One manifestation of the recovered self-confidence of the Chinese is that they started to organize their own political parties and social organizations, such as the Partai Bhinneka Ika (PBI or Indonesian Unity in Diversity Party, previously known as Partai Bhineka Tunggal Ika

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Indonesia)14 and INTI (Perhimpunan Indonesia Keturunan Tionghoa or Chinese Indonesian Association).15 Encouraged by Islamic leaders such as Gus Dur and Amien Rais, the Chinese started to celebrate the Chinese New Year (Kompas, 2000, 2002). 16 To their surprise, the celebrations were well received by pribumi Indonesians. Many pribumi watching the famous Chinese lion and dragon dances and their noisy fireworks asked each other, “Why did Soeharto prohibit such interesting, colourful events?” This liberal and permissive environment was further enhanced by the election of Gus Dur as President in 1999. Gus Dur is a liberal, with progressive views on minorities in Indonesia, be they Chinese or Christian (Barton 2002, p. 177).17 So, Chinese “aggressive” behaviour in claiming back their rights was not only strongly supported, but even encouraged by Gus Dur. The Chinese felt truly euphoric. In the beginning most non-Chinese were happy to see this euphoria. However, over time it began to be perceived as “a bit too much”. Some pribumi started to whisper, ‘If we keep letting the Chinese advance, they will become arrogant and think they can control this country.” Some Chinese sensed this change of feeling among the pribumi and began warning their friends not to go “overboard” in celebrating their Chineseness. They felt that if the euphoria continued unchecked, it might rekindle latent anti-Chinese feeling. The Chinese have now become somewhat confused. They have welcomed a changed situation, in which they are able to express their cultural identity without fear. They also feel that it is important to keep revealing this identity in order to “re-educate” society to accept that being Chinese does not necessarily mean being less “Indonesian”: they can be both good Chinese and good Indonesian citizens who love their motherland. Many feel, however, that if they step over an (invisible) line, there might be a strong backlash. They do not really know how much is “too much”. They only know that if they cross that mysterious line, there is a possibility that negative feeling against the Chinese could be rekindled, and that it could spark renewed anti-Chinese riots. The Chinese have regained much of their pre-Soeharto self-confidence, but remain very cautious. They have formed strong organizations such as INTI and SNB (Solidaritas Nusa Bangsa or Solidarity for the Motherland and Nation),18 which actively lobby the government to eliminate legislation which discriminates against the Chinese. However, these activities are conducted very cautiously. The Chinese are all too aware that the

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occurrence of cases such as the Tempo-Winata incident could cause a serious setback in the advances achieved to date. Chinese Indonesians are still trying to find their place in Indonesia, but now, within a still unstable society undergoing a slow transition towards democracy, this is not a simple process and its outcome cannot be predicted. Notes 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Konglomerat is a common Indonesian term for an ethnic Chinese business tycoon. This is the party headed by former President Megawati Soekarnoputri. The party’s symbol is a banteng, or wild bull, which is the symbol in the Pancasila (Five Principles of the Nation) for sovereignty by the people. “Saya cermas dan prihatin melihat perkembangan melawan premanisme sekarang ini. Sebab bila tidak hati-hati, bisa berkembang ke arah sentimen antar ethnis. Sebab masyarakat kita punya kebiasaan menggeneralisasi sesuatu di luar proporsinya. Hal ini kan yang selalu menjadi pemicu munculnya konflik besar di masyarakat kita.” This episode was also shown in the documentary, Living in Fear, by Michael Carey, screened on SBS television in Australia on 8 August 1998 at 7.30 p.m. Both Baperki and LPKB, as well as the political situation between 1963 and 1965, are discussed in greater detail in Coppel (1983, pp. 43–51). “Minang” is a term used to refer to the Minangkabau ethnic group, from West Sumatra. See the English translation of Presidential Decision No. 240 of 1967 in Coppel (2002b, p. 31). See also Lindsey (this volume). See Coppel (1983, pp. 162–63) and the English translation of MPRS (Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat Sementara or Provisional People’s Consultative Assembly) Decision No. XXXII of 1966 Article 4, in Coppel (2002b, p. 46). See also Lindsey (this volume). See the English translation of Presidential Instruction No. 14 of 1967 in Coppel (2002b, p. 35) and Joint Decision of the Minister for Religion, Minister for Internal Affairs, and the Attorney General of the Republic of Indonesia No. 67 of 1980, No. 224 of 1980, and No. 111 of 1980 in Coppel (2002b, pp. 38–39). See also Lindsey (this volume). See Coppel (2002a, p. 25). Coppel notes, “I have not been able to locate the source of the ban on the use or dissemination of pub-

102

11

12 13

14

15 16

17

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lications or signs using Chinese characters”, but see Lindsey (this volume). The riots in Bandung in August 1973 started after the Chinese occupants of a car beat up the non-Chinese Indonesian driver of a cart, which had grazed the car (Coppel 1983, p. 160). The 1980 Solo riots, on the contrary, started with an accident between a Javanese on a motor bike and a Chinese on a bicycle. Stereotyping reversed the facts in the rumours that followed. The 1980 Solo riots spread to other cities in Central Java (Siegel 1986). The Batak ethnic group is from North Sumatra. The May 1998 tragedy refers to the anti-Chinese riots of May 1998 (see the section “The Pribumi Perception of the Chinese” above). See the websites and for further details. See INTI’s website: . A barongsay (dragon dance) was even performed at a local branch of PAN (Partai Amanat Nasional or National Mandate Party), led by Amien Rais (Heryanto 1999, p. 329). Gus Dur has also claimed that he has some Chinese ancestry. See: “Said Aqil: Gus Dur itu Keturunan Cina”, Jawa Pos, 13 November 1998, as quoted in Heryanto (1999, p. 329). Solidaritas Nusa Bangsa, led by Ester Indahyani Jusuf, is an antidiscrimination organization, rather than an exclusively Chinese organization. In speaking about the 1998 riots, for example, Ester Jusuf makes common cause with the urban poor, the forgotten victims of the riots, stating: “Racism targeted the Chinese, but in the end everyone was a victim” (Kwok 1999). See Perspektif Online (2004) for an interview with Jusuf and Ester Jusuf (2000) for her statement at the Asian regional expert seminar in Bangkok.

References

Barton, Greg. Abdurrahman Wahid: Muslim Democrat, Indonesian President: A View from the Inside. Sydney: UNSW Press, 2002. Budiman, Arief, Barbara Hatley, and Damien Kingsbury, eds. Reformasi: Crisis and Change in Indonesia. Melbourne: Monash Asia Institute, 1999. Coppel, Charles A. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur and Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1983.

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———. Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia (Asian Studies Monograph Series no. 7). Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002a. ———. “Chinese Indonesians in Crisis: 1960s and 1990s”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia (Asian Studies Monograph Series no. 7), pp. 14–47. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002b. Reprint of article first published in Perspectives on the Chinese Indonesians, edited by Michael R. Godley and Grayson J. Lloyd. Hindmarsh, South Australia: Crawford House Publishing, 2001. Coppel, Charles A. and Leo Suryadinata. “The Use of the Terms ‘Tjina’ and ‘Tionghoa’ in Indonesia: An Historical Survey”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia (Asian Studies Monograph Series no. 7), pp. 369–80. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002. Reprint of article first published in Papers on Eastern History 2 (September 1970): 97–118. Ester Jusuf. “Racial Discrimination and Violence against Ethnic Chinese People in Indonesia”. Statement to Asian regional expert seminar, 5–7 September 2000, in Bangkok. Human Rights Osaka website, . Gus Dur (Abdurrahman Wahid). “Gus Dur: Hati-hati Buat Pernyataan Seputar Kasus Tomy Winata”. . 17 March 2003. Heryanto, Ariel. “Rape, Race and Reporting”. In Reformasi: Crisis and Change in Indonesia, edited by Arief Budiman, Barbara Hatley, and Damien Kingsbury. Melbourne: Monash Asia Institute, 1999. The Jakarta Post.“‘Tempo’ Protested by Tomy Winata Supporters over Fire Report”, 9 March 2003a. ———. “An Attack on ‘Tempo’ Is an Assault on Our Freedom”, 12 March 2003b. ———. “Community Leaders Unite to Denounce Thuggery”, 15 March 2003c. ———. “Tomy Sues ‘Tempo’ for Rp120b”, 6 June 2003d. Kompas. “Keppres No. 6 Tahun 2000: Prosesi Keagamaan dan Adat Cina tak Perlu Izin Khusus”, 19 January 2000. ———. “Imlek Akan Dirayakan secara Terbuka”, 14 January 2002. Kwok, Yenii. “A Daring Leap of Faith: Ethnic Chinese Are Now Getting Involved”. Asiaweek, 16 July 1999. Perspektif Online. “Ester Indahyani Jusuf: Masih Banyak Peraturan yang Diskriminatif”. . 13 April 2004. Accessed on 18 June 2004.

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Siegel, James T. “Money Comes into View: Students, Their Fashions, and Chinese”. In James T. Siegel, Solo in the New Order: Language and Hierarchy in an Indonesian City, chapter 9, pp. 232–54. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986. Sinar Harapan. “Aksi Premanisme terhadap Pers”, 14 March 2003. Tempo Interaktif. “Wartawan Tempo Terluka Dilempar Anak Buah Tomy Winata”, 11 March 2003a. ———. “Amien Rais Mendukung Penyelesaian Kasus Tempo Lewat Jalur Hukum”, 14 March 2003b.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg > MAKAM JUANG MANDOR MONUMENT 105

5 The Makam Juang Mandor Monument Remembering and Distorting the History of the Chinese of West Kalimantan Mary Somers Heidhues1 INTRODUCTION

Speaking of the reception of Chinese–Malay literature in Indonesia, Charles Coppel wrote that local histories tend to “remember”, “distort”, and also “forget” the contribution of this body of writings (Coppel 2002, p. 191). In West Kalimantan local histories also tend to remember, distort, or forget the past of the relatively important Chinese minority and their contribution to local affairs. This is true in spite of their numbers — well over 10 per cent of the total population2 — and their significant economic position, as well as the determined opposition of Chinese gold miners to the expansion of Dutch rule in the nineteenth century (Heidhues 2003). This chapter will look at the province’s most striking historical monument and at some local versions of its history. The Makam Juang, burial place of those who struggle, or “Mandor Struggle Cemetery”, is situated near the town of Mandor, which is 88 kilometres northeast of Pontianak. Mandor itself was once a Chinese gold-mining town, home to the legendary Lanfang Kongsi, founded by Lo Fong Pak (Luo Fangbo) in 1777, and the longest-surviving of the gold miners’ co-operative organizations that ruled much of northwestern Borneo in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The Dutch Sinologist de Groot located a written history of Lanfang that had been composed in the nineteenth century,

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using it as the basis for his well-known work on Chinese kongsi (Groot 1885). Lanfang fell on bad times after the 1850s and the Dutch finally dissolved it in 1884. The territory around Mandor contained some fairly fertile agricultural land and many ethnic Chinese remained in the area after 1884, mostly as farmers. In 1967 local army authorities incited gangs of Dayaks to drive the Chinese from the rural areas of West Kalimantan. No ethnic Chinese live in Mandor today and few relics of their history remain,3 apart from a memorial to Lo Fong Pak erected several decades ago.4 The Makam Juang, which will be described below, is a major historical monument. The edifice and surrounding park replace a memorial erected in Pontianak in 1947. This was a column, reported to have been 5 metres tall (but destroyed, probably in the 1950s), as well as the ereveld (memorial park) in Mandor itself, where most of the bodies of massacre victims were found and reburied.5 The new memorial appears on tourist maps and frequently attracts excursions from Pontianak. Since 1973, the memorial has been the focus of an annual commemorative service on Hari Berkabung (Day of Mourning), 28 June, the final day of the executions in the Pontianak Affair. The memorial commemorates the victims of Japanese atrocities in World War II, but the history it transmits has changed. THE MANDOR MASSACRES

West Kalimantan (then known as West Borneo) was the scene of what was probably the worst Japanese war crime on Indonesian territory. Whereas in Singapore and Malaya, the Japanese rounded up and killed thousands of Chinese (especially those who had been involved in pre-war anti-Japanese movements), in Indonesia there were no other such mass reprisals. True, during the Occupation hundreds of ethnic Chinese in Java were imprisoned for their political activities, but they were not killed. For this reason, the massacres of 1943–45 in Mandor and other parts of West Kalimantan stand out for their scope and violence. World War II had come to the area suddenly, with a bombing attack on Pontianak as early as 19 December 1941. Japanese forces moved swiftly from landings in the northern part of Borneo, catching the limited Dutch forces by surprise. After torching strategic installations, the Dutch withdrew from Pontianak on 28 January 1942. The Japanese army troops arrived in the city five days later and promptly asserted control. The Dutch surrendered

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officially in March; nearly all Dutch nationals were arrested, and most of them were later moved to camps in Sarawak. At first the army administered the province, but in August 1942 it turned over responsibility for Indonesian Borneo, like the rest of eastern Indonesia, to the Japanese navy (Zeedijk 1994, pp. 20–21).6 The navy expected to make eastern Indonesia — a source of rubber, petroleum, and other strategic goods — into a permanent Japanese colony. As a result, it made no attempt (at least until 1944) to organize or mobilize people politically to support the war effort, although it did organize youth and work battalions like the Heiho. Talk of independence was suppressed. Although they were suspicious of the native rulers, believing them to be too pro-Dutch, the occupying authorities did allow them to remain in office (Kanahele 1967, pp. 38–39, 43, 58– 59; Zeedijk 1994, p. 22). The Japanese naval headquarters for eastern Indonesia were in Makassar, whereas for the island of Borneo they were in Banjarmasin. Because the island had no land communications between the south and west, and the sea lanes were soon threatened by the Allies, the Pontianak military authorities were relatively isolated and, of course, hopelessly outnumbered. Just over 800 Japanese personnel were stationed in the whole of Borneo, 146 of them in Pontianak (Zeedijk 1994, p. 22).7 They maintained power through ignorance, brutality, deprivation, and fear. They controlled information, publishing a single newspaper in Malay and forbidding any radio receivers that could be used to receive non-official broadcasts. In addition to the regular police forces (some of whom were recruited from Malays or later Banjars, Malay-speakers from southern Borneo), they created a Keibitai (surveillance corps) and, from its ranks, a Tokeitai (or Tokkei), special police force, somewhat like the Kenpeitai in Java (Maekawa 2002, p. 158). The Tokeitai would be responsible for the massacres. THE HAGA “PLOT”

The prelude to the Pontianak Affair was a supposed “conspiracy” that came to light in early 1943 in Banjarmasin. The former Governor of Borneo, B.J. Haga,8 who was interned there, was said to be the leader. How he could organize a conspiracy from a Japanese prison is unexplained. He was accused of maintaining contact with the Allies and of planning an uprising. Arrests followed, even a few weapons came to light. Some 140 people were executed.

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Incredible though the idea of this conspiracy was, the confessions obtained — in all likelihood through torture — indicated that the plot extended to other parts of Borneo, another improbable assertion, in view of the wartime isolation of the territories. The head of police in Banjarmasin, under pressure to produce evidence confirming the allegations, paid several visits to West Kalimantan before the Pontianak Affair began on 23 October 1943 (Zeedijk 1994, pp. 47–48). THE PONTIANAK AFFAIR

Pressure to uncover a “conspiracy” in West Borneo must have been great. The first people arrested there were probably tortured and forced to name other “participants”. Many simply signed blank “confessions” or papers written in Japanese they could not understand.9 Arrests continued from October 1943 until 24 January 1944. From January until June, trucks picked up people by night, either from their homes or from the prisons, taking them secretly to Mandor. People could only speculate about the fate of those who disappeared.10 One answer came from the official newspaper, Borneo Shimbun (Pontianak edition) on 1 or 2 July 1944. The headline charged that a conspiracy against Japanese rule had come to light. Hoards of weapons had been uncovered. A list of forty-eight leaders of the plot followed, with their official positions or their professions and their ethnicity. The account asserted that they had all been arrested, tried, and executed by 28 June 1944. The list included Malays, Bugis, Javanese, Minangkabaus, Bataks, Menadonese, Madurese, Chinese, Eurasians, and Dayaks. The largest single group consisted of the twelve native rulers of West Kalimantan and some members of their families. Also mentioned were seven ethnic Chinese, most of them well-known businessmen.11 Others accused were doctors, lawyers, journalists, teachers, and political leaders. But the list was puzzling, for most of those mentioned had collaborated with the Japanese; many held office in Japanese-sponsored organizations. The only common thread among the supposed conspirators was that they were somehow prominent members of society. Somewhat later, beginning in late 1944, over a hundred more people, all of them Chinese, were also arrested and most killed. They were supposedly participants in a plot to poison the Japanese. Perhaps they were simply being made scapegoats for the bad economic situation, caused by war conditions and inept policies, or the Japanese wanted to break their

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hold on the economy, or the occupiers simply wanted to confiscate their property. This was the Chinese Affair.12 An historical, and largely autobiographical, novel written in Pontianak decades later, describes the immediate reaction of some of Borneo Shimbun’s readers to the allegations in July 1944 of a multi-ethnic anti-Japanese plot that planned to establish a “People’s Republic”, doing away, presumably, not only with the Japanese but with the native aristocracy (who were themselves accused of being participants): “If it is true they planned an uprising, that was extraordinarily brave…” said Irsam…. “If it is not true, that means the reason for the matter is a fiction”, interrupted Yahya…. “Very dubious”, Aspar said. “They come from all different positions in society. Thus they have quite different interests. There are Sultans, Panembahans, and in addition to them, government employees and traders”…. “If we examine the groups, what interest moved them to plan an uprising? That is, if the plot really existed”, asked Irsam…. [A list of five groups of participants follows: the rulers, former nationalist politicians, businessmen, officials, and common people.] …If indeed there had been a plan for an uprising, its background was very heterogeneous. If it were not true, one thing was clear: they were victims of a foreign occupation and colonisation of the nation and the people…. (Yanis 1983, pp. 183–84) ALLIED INVESTIGATIONS

Australian troops had entered eastern Borneo in mid-1945, but they were still far from West Kalimantan when the Japanese surrender took place on 15 August 1945. The Australians assigned to accept the surrender in the west only reached Pontianak on 16 October, fully two months later, accompanied by the first Dutch officials belonging to NICA (Netherlands Indies Civil Administration), who intended to restore Dutch authority in the territory. Before the end of the month the Dutch assumed power, at least in Pontianak, gradually extending it to other urban regions. The Allied forces promptly evacuated the Japanese military to Sarawak.13

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The front page of Chung Hwa Jit Po, a Chinese-language daily, greeted the arrival of the Allies and the NICA representatives with an open letter in Chinese, Dutch, and English: Since the invaders, Japanese, occupied the regions of West Borneo, thousands of Chinese and Indonesia [sic] had perished under the tyranny administration. People, including women and youngsters, were arrested, not knowing the reason at all. Once they disappeared from their homes, they could never be found again.

The letter went on to describe the tortures they underwent: ….after midnight, when they were taken out, hands bound and heads covered, packed like pigs in motor trucks, and were then brought away to the unfinished aerodrome somewhere in the vicinity of Mandor. They were buried there (alive or head-cutted [sic]) in pits which were previously dug for such purposes. The Japanese repeated such cruel acts again and again.… (Chung Hwa Jit Po, 1945)

Investigation proved difficult. The Japanese troops had had two months to cover their tracks. They had destroyed any incriminating documents and, before they could be questioned in Sarawak, agreed on a story emphasizing the multi-ethnic conspiracy described in the Borneo Shimbun account. Under questioning, however, some of those accused admitted that the charges were fictitious; no “Pontianak Affair” ever existed and the Chinese poison “plot” was in fact a means to confiscate the remaining wealth of those accused.14 Multi-ethnic co-operation had been untypical of West Kalimantan in the past and the Allies themselves knew of no underground activity in the region.15 The Dayak population of the area of Sanggau on the Kapuas River did rise against the Japanese, killing a number of them in May–June 1945. For months the region was insecure, but this was not linked to the other affairs (Böhm 1986, p. 42; Jacobus 1981; Yanis 1983, p. 225).16 Leading military officers, who were responsible for the massacres in West Kalimantan, were tried at war crimes trials in Tokyo. In January–February 1946 the Allies returned over one hundred lesser participants from Sarawak to Pontianak to stand trial there. Two years later, seven were sentenced to death and five to prison terms of ten to twenty years. Although the accused led Dutch officials to mass graves, no explanation of the massacres seemed adequate.17 The idea of a conspiracy was hardly believable and, as far as the Chinese were concerned, their participation in a common underground movement doubt-

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ful. One Japanese prisoner admitted as much: “[The Chinese] were arrested on account of their wealth, not because they had committed any crime… They were mostly wealthy and important people and therefore it was better to kill them.”18 Finally, after exhuming and reburying the remains, the authorities concluded that over 1,000 people had been killed at the unfinished airfield being constructed near Kopyang, Mandor, another 270 at Sungai Durian, Pontianak’s airfield, 150 in Ketapang (the district capital south of Pontianak), and about twenty others at various sites in Pontianak; in all about 1,500 people. The lists were compared with evidence from families of missing persons. Of these, 854 were Chinese, while over 500 were native Indonesians and the rest Indians, Europeans, and Eurasians. Only a few dozen of these had been given a peremptory trial; most had had none at all.19 The killings had eliminated the leadership of an entire province. The Dutch recognized this when they tried to organize a federal state of West Borneo in the following months. There were few competent people to work with, and many of these already harboured sympathy for the Republic of Indonesia. Sources in Dutch archives lead to the conclusion that there had never been any plot. The Japanese military personnel who were responsible for the killings had destroyed all documents, and no witnesses had survived, apart from the Japanese themselves. Those responsible had felt that they had to produce something to satisfy their superiors. One participant made some overzealous Tokkei personnel from Banjarmasin responsible for cooking up the “plot”.20 Another theory advanced about the massacres was that the Japanese navy was trying to eliminate the local leadership in order to achieve a “Japanization” of the society, something that was also a goal of other occupation measures, especially the Japanese-run schools, as part of its aim of indefinite colonization of the region.21 Most of the victims came from Pontianak or Singkawang. After 1947 other victims came to light. In Pemangkat, a coastal town to the north, a monument commemorates over fifty victims, all but a few of whom were Chinese (Akçaya, 1978). Certainly many others throughout the province were never recorded. Later texts published in Japan appear to confirm the initial count of victims. In 1982 the Pontianak daily Akçaya quoted a former member of the Japanese navy, Tsuneo Izeki, who admitted to having been present at about 800 executions in Mandor. His commanding officer had told him that in all 1,486 people had been killed. Most victims had been killed by beheading because the sound of gunshots could have aroused suspicion

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among those living near by. Izeki said he was moved to make his participation public because the Indonesian press had mentioned as many as 200,000 (a misprint for 20,000?) deaths in West Kalimantan.22 In 1988 Asahi Graph (Tokyo) of 23 September reported on a book by Izeki published the previous year from notes made after 1945.23 Izeki’s book retold the story of the occupation and the arrests of October 1943– June 1944, followed by the killings. In September 1944 renewed arrests of Chinese took place with the purpose of breaking the economic strength of the Chinese in the province.24 An Indonesian-language account from 1970 originating with the local military gives a total of 1,534 people killed in the Pontianak Affair, over 900 of them Chinese.25 This account, too, appears to confirm the results of the immediate post-war investigations, allowing for a few hundred more victims of the second, Chinese Affair. Meanwhile, in Kalimantan Barat the massacre had assumed greater significance. THE MAKAM JUANG

Thirty years after the dedication of the first memorial, a larger, more imposing monument replaced it, located at the Mandor site. The original monument in Pontianak from 1947, erroneously thought to be a colonial monument, had been destroyed, probably in the 1950s. The park in Mandor itself was overgrown and neglected, so that visiting the sites of the mass graves was difficult (Akçaya, 1996). The authorities apparently felt that the massacre was now worth commemorating on a larger scale. The central edifice of the Makam Juang Mandor is a tall and wide cement block, faced with light-coloured marble and decorated with the Indonesian national emblem, the garuda eagle. Its shape, according to architect Said Djafar, represents the sacks used to cover the heads of the victims as they were taken away to be executed (Figure 5.1). To the right and left are six large, bronze-coloured bas-reliefs, each 2.5 metres high, depicting the tale of the massacre.26 Near the memorial is a small information building that houses the list of names and, where available, photographs of some of the victims who appeared in the Borneo Shimbun article. These structures are located in a spacious park near a man-made lake formed on the site of a former gold mine. A road, estimated to be over 2 kilometres long, leads through the park area past ten common graves in the form of small hills; one is marked, for example, as that of the local rulers and their families.27 Since 1973, secular “pilgrimages” (ziarah) take place annually on 28 June (Hari Berkabung), increasing

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FIGURE 5.1 Makam Juang Mandor

in scale since the monument was dedicated in 1977. Construction of the monument is said to have cost almost Rp50 million (Rivai 1978, p. 36). The reliefs represent the Occupation and the massacres. One shows Japanese soldiers harassing local people, especially women (one figure wears Indonesian sarong-kebaya, another Western clothing, and the third is in a Chinese dress) (Figure 5.2). Another depicts an attack by Indonesians on Japanese soldiers, presumably representing the Dayak rebellions or some other unrest. Others illustrate the arrest, transport, mistreatment, and finally the killing of the victims, who are being shot at the edge of a pit dug to receive the bodies. One relief (Figure 5.3), however, portrays a group of people standing or seated on rough benches or stools, around a table. One figure, barefoot, is clearly a labourer, at least two are intellectuals (with glasses), while another is a nobleman, recognizable by his embroidered pici (cap) and slippers. Two women observe the proceedings, as does a rather stifflooking Chinese in a Mandarin jacket with embroidered fasteners. Seated at the table is a man who resembles an American Indian, with feathers in his headband, apparently a Dayak in war dress (a Dayak visiting

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FIGURE 5.2 Bronze Relief on Makam Juang Mandor

FIGURE 5.3 Bronze Relief on Makam Juang Mandor

Pontianak in this array would have attracted considerable attention, as few Dayaks lived in Pontianak at the time). They are meeting (a teapot and teacups emphasize that discussions are taking place) in a simple wooden building. Obviously, this depicts a clandestine session of the multi-ethnic conspiracy described in Borneo Shimbun, the underground movement that both the Allies and Japanese believed had never existed. The site now commemorates not a probably unprovoked war crime on the part of the occupiers, but a conspiracy to oppose fascist oppression led by a multi-ethnic group of Malays, Dayaks, Javanese, other Indonesians, and

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Chinese, all together. In depictions at the site, the number of victims differs by a factor of ten from that of the initial investigators: it is said to be 21,037.28 From a senseless massacre, the killings of the Pontianak Affair are now given historic significance; 28 June has become Hari Berkabung. Ceremonies that take place at the memorial annually warn the following generations not to submit to fascist or imperialist exploitation in any form, a message for all ethnic groups, just as all groups participated in the alleged conspiracy. The message is loyalty to the cause of Indonesian nationalism and, sometimes, inter-ethnic co-operation. LOCAL HISTORY

Published Indonesian-language accounts of the history follow closely, and often cite at length, the version published in Borneo Shimbun. They repeat its headline that a “Plot of Traitors against Japan” had been “Destroyed to its Roots”, that all the leaders had been shot, and include the list of those condemned to death — forty-eight names in all.29 The explanation begins with the existence of the thirteen pre-war organizations that, according to Japan, were “all” influenced by leaders of left-wing parties, among them Parindra (itself a conservative nationalist organization), and by communist ideas. These organizations planned an uprising to culminate in a Negara Rakyat Borneo Barat (People’s Nation of West Borneo, sometimes translated as “People’s Republic”), eliminating the role of the local rulers. In the end the rulers somehow joined the conspiracy anyway. Two outsiders (that is, non-members of nationalist organizations) — an Ambonese named J.E. Pattiasina, who had been a clerk (commies) in the Dutch administration, and a certain “Richard” (whose name is not on the list of forty-eight victims), a former police inspector in colonial times — had managed to influence the group of thirteen nationalist organizations. These two had been arrested by the Japanese but released after promising good behaviour. They and some other insiders, local doctors or Chinese businessmen, joined with members of the thirteen organizations to unite all the movements and all the ethnic groups to oppose Japan and formed the Nisshinkai,30 which had pretended to be pro-Japanese. In October 1942, however, the organization was dissolved, so they used Pemuda Muhammadiyah, the youth organization of a modernist Muslim movement, as a cover for their activities. Borneo Shimbun goes on to describe how the leaders of the conspiracy heard rumours that America and Australia would soon attack Indonesia

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and also got wind of the activities of former Governor Haga in Banjarmasin, which made them even more daring. The Chinese, however, held back, waiting for more news from the front, while the native rulers agreed to work with Pattiasina. At the end of 1942, Allied propaganda about the German defeat in Stalingrad and Japan’s loss of Guadalcanal led the Chinese, who in West Borneo had often been involved in rebellions, to participate. Some couriers came from Banjarmasin to stir up resistance, but in May 1943 the news arrived that the Haga plot had been broken up. Nevertheless, the West Kalimantan plotters clung to the plan of a mass uprising. They held several meetings of conspirators, gathered funds and weapons, organized armed forces, and finally, set a date in December 1943 for the rebellion. They also planned to contact the Allies. One night in October, sixty-nine people gathered at the Gedung Medan Sepakat, a Pontianak meeting hall, to finalize plans for the uprising.31 The Japanese authorities learned of the matter and began arresting the plotters on 23 October. After Pattiasina was picked up, other leaders gathered at the palace of the Sultan of Pontianak or the home of a local doctor, but they hesitated to take action. They decided instead to try to poison members of the Keibitai, or surveillance corps, in order to free those who had been arrested.32 Local histories have also embellished on the theme of the planned uprising and the number of its victims. A few of them may serve as examples. Rivai’s Peristiwa Mandor, published in 1978,33 leads the list, not least because it is intended to explain the history of the affair to the younger generation. In this book a grandfather, an Islamic religious teacher, explains the meaning of Hari Berkabung to his grandsons (Rivai 1978, p. 40). After recounting the beginning of the Occupation, the tale continues with the formation of the Nissinkai under Japanese sponsorship. Secretly, members of the organization met to discuss how they could advance the goals of the Indonesian nation (Rivai 1978, pp. 43–44). The Japanese got wind of an underground movement, but the Nissinkai decided to call a working conference on 24 May 1944 in Gedung Medan Sepakat as a cover for the conspiracy and to meet with sympathisers from branches outside the city without further arousing suspicion. “Where did they get the money to carry out their plans?” asks one of the young boys. The answer is that several Chinese businessmen acted as treasurers for the struggle. They supported the action personally and were able to collect funds from their “countrymen” (bangsanya).

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…The Chinese in our country were active for a long time in trying to set up their own government, beginning with the “Montrado War” or “Mandor War” decades ago. So it is understandable that even they seized the opportunity behind the armed struggle, … (Rivai 1978, pp. 46–48)

The conspirators, more than sixty-nine people, formed a Cabinet. For some time, the youth in the Japanese paramilitary groups had been restless and had provoked some incidents, so that the Japanese decided to call a meeting of all the local rulers and, having brought them together, the Japanese arrested all of them on 23 April 1944. Of these, the Panembahan of Mempawah and the Sultan of Pontianak were temporarily released, only to be killed at a later date (Rivai 1978, pp. 53–58). Rivai’s history devotes considerable attention to the role of the local rulers. When the Nissinkai conference took place on 24 May 1944, the Japanese surrounded the building and arrested or immediately killed all the participants. The Japanese intended to kill not only the leadership, but all adults and even teenagers, in order to eliminate the generation educated before Japan had assumed control (Rivai 1978, pp. 62–64). Finally the affair proves that there was a “struggle, or at least an attempt”, to fight against the Japanese colonialists who had occupied Indonesia (Rivai 1978, p. 87).34 Other versions of the history of the province offer more dramatic details, for example, that 500 men and women were in the Medan Sepakat building when the Japanese closed in.35 A semi-official history vehemently denies that the plotters hoped to establish a state of “West Borneo”, as charged in the Borneo Shimbun version. The goal was not to divide the territory from Indonesia, but to unite with an independent Indonesia. The fact that all thirteen pre-war organizations joined the movement and that they used the word rakyat (the people) says nothing about their ideological orientation.36 There were no communists in pre-war West Borneo, so the reference to left-wing leadership was only an attempt by Japan to blacken the movement: “…in reality, it was the Indonesian independence movement” (Sejarah, 1984, p. 85). The Japanese, with their obvious falsehoods, were merely trying to hide the fact that “[a]ll these struggles and sacrifices were a great contribution to upholding Indonesian independence” (Sejarah, 1984, p. 89). Others, however, express doubts about the Japanese account. Even in 1978 some voices were raised to this effect. Those who were said to be included in the plot certainly realized that their strength was not enough to face Japan. They certainly

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never thought to gamble carelessly with the fate of hundreds, even thousands of people, if they were not yet certain that their movement would succeed. What really happened? Did Japan really capture an effort to bring about the collapse of its government? Wasn’t there another, more long-term motive for liquidating thousands of popular leaders? (Suwondo 1978/79, p. 83)

A more recent account of the history also raises questions about the Borneo Shimbun story: The theory that there was a conspiracy [by the victims], as the Tokeitai charged, has never been proved in any way. But there is a possibility that there was a group of young officers from a unit of the special police who wanted to improve their prestige in the eyes of their commanders in … East Kalimantan. For that purpose, they [could have] deliberately engineered a theory of conspiracy, so that they could finish off the victims with a single stroke of the samurai sword. (Usman 1997, p. 23)

Although all these versions of the history indicate that the Chinese were among the victims of the killings, none emphasize, as do the Dutch and other early accounts, that the Chinese were the majority of those killed. Some authors do show great reserve about accepting the Borneo Shimbun account at face value, but the second round-up of victims, the Chinese Affair of late 1944, is hardly mentioned.37 THE “OFFICIAL” VERSION

Since the late 1970s West Kalimantan’s officials have effectively written their own version of the Mandor violence, to their own specifications, just as Soeharto’s New Order put its stamp on historical accounts of the Indonesian Revolution or the events of 1965–67. Klaus Schreiner has shown how Jakarta created “sites of memory” like the Lubang Buaya monument to the generals murdered in September 1965, manipulating the recollection of events to its own purposes (Schreiner 1997, pp. 99–118; 1999). The first “official pilgrimage” to the Mandor site, led by Governor Kadarusno, was on 28 June 1973. Over 400 relatives of the victims and a total of 5,000 onlookers attended the dedication of the memorial on 28 June 1977. Kadarusno then emphasized that the purpose of the memorial

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was not to stir hate against Japan but to provide a monument to the history of the struggle of the Indonesian people in West Kalimantan and to the patriotism and the willingness to sacrifice of the national fighters ( pejuang) themselves (Akçaya, 1996). In 1996 Governor H.A. Aswin took the opportunity to refer to the Mandor victims as “heroes” (pahlawan) deserving of great honour (West Kalimantan still has no nationally recognized revolutionary pahlawan, as do most provinces). The chairman of the DPRD (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat Daerah or provincial parliament) also emphasized that any recent versions of the events in the Japanese press (presumably a reference to Asahi Graph and the other reports from the 1980s) were irrelevant, since the investigation of 1977 had established the true story of the massacres on the basis of interviews with prominent people and the discovery of the original Borneo Shimbun article. Unfortunately, this original article, which was displayed in the information building in Mandor, described the victims as “criminals”. Aswin felt that this might mislead visitors into thinking they were really criminals and not heroes, so perhaps it should be removed. As for the discussion about the number of victims, Aswin continued, the correct number was 21,037, because this was the “official” number cited by Governor Kadarusno at the dedication of the memorial in 1977. The author Mawardi Rifa’i38 heard it from a Japanese tourist named Kiotada Takahashi, and it was the result of Rifa’i’s own investigation. The tourist was a member of a group that visited the area in March 1977. They said that they just wanted to see the island, but obviously they were former Japanese military personnel, since no Japanese tourists had ever come to West Kalimantan before that time. Governor Kadarusno had questioned the visitors and it appeared that they were looking for remains of Japanese soldiers who had died on the island. On further questioning, Takahashi finally admitted that the number of victims was 21,037 and that this was found in war documents kept in the libraries of Japanese universities. Takahashi himself had been stationed with the navy in Pontianak. In the end Rifa’i made it known that there was some difference of opinion, but he believed that he had obtained a competent figure with 21,037.39 CHINESE COMMENTS

As noted above, a local Chinese newspaper, Chung Hwa Jit Po, first drew Allied attention to the massacres. The local Chinese minority was most concerned to find an explanation for the disappearance of

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prominent citizens during the Japanese Occupation. A photograph reproduced in Zeedijk’s thesis shows a group of men posing with human skulls and bones and holding a sign, “graves of unfortunates buried alive by Japanese, 27th September 1945”. On that day, the first group of people from Pontianak apparently went to Mandor to investigate what had happened there. The photograph shows the group displaying a placard in Chinese, giving the date of “34th year of the Chinese Republic (1945), discovered on 23 September” and explaining that these are the remains of “Chinese fellow countrymen, buried alive and cruelly massacred by the Japanese military” (Zeedijk 1994, p. 4),40 a slightly different but significant message. In 1947 a book published in Singapore with biographies of prominent Chinese listed many persons of Chinese origin who were killed during the Occupation, by place of residence, some 174 in all, with brief accounts of their lives and even photographs of the victims. Apart from the account of the massacres, which keeps closely to the version known to the Dutch and emphasizes the sufferings of the Chinese, there are also photographs of the exhuming of the bodies in early 1946.41 That these accounts emphasize that the Chinese of West Kalimantan were victims is easily explained by their strong feeling of specialness at the time. Partly as a result of Japanese policies themselves and partly as a result of their expectation of a strong China in a post-war world, they tended to see themselves not as within the polity of Indonesia or even West Kalimantan, but as a group apart. In more recent times, the commemoration seems to have become more an activity of the local provincial government and less one of the Chinese community. Nevertheless, the presence of the Chinese among the victims is not denied, and cannot be, so long as the list of forty-eight victims clearly contains names of ethnic Chinese. At present, some ethnic Chinese are taking a new look at Indonesian history and at their role in the nation. Perhaps this endeavour will find a new view of the events in West Kalimantan, a balance between singling out the Chinese victims or downplaying their role. CONCLUSION “Real” history is taught in the universities, and is part of an international, neutral, rational intellectual world. Governments sponsor a selective narrative which they hope will explain the past, legitimize the present, mobilize for the future, and unify

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society…. History is the most political of disciplines… (Sutherland 1997, pp. 88–89)

And, it might be added, historical monuments are very political indeed. In a memorial a trauma is elevated to meaning, and at the same time it becomes open to forgetting (Schreiner 1999, pp. 5–7) or distorting, for memorializing a tragic event may also give it a meaning it never had. The first version of the massacres presented here, based on Dutch documents and questioning of Japanese participants, could be called the “real” or “archival” history. It seeks proof and disproof and attempts, in the absence of reliable witnesses, to find a plausible account. At the same time it could be argued that the Dutch authorities, returning to their former colony after a traumatic expulsion, were anxious to put the story into their own perspective, one of weak nationalist activity in pre-war times, too weak to build dependable institutions or to unite a diverse population. Therefore, they doubted the existence of a common conspiracy and belittled its nationalist content. Additionally, in bringing those responsible for the massacres to justice, it was important to show that the actions of the perpetrators were unprovoked and gratuitous brutality, not a response to a real threat from the underground. Numbers, too, take on their own importance. Robert Cribb reminds us that statistics of mass death are “highly political”. Yet he insists that we be concerned about accuracy in such statistics, first, because we are dealing with individuals; second, because the historian should seek accuracy; and third, as a matter of justice to both the victims and the accused (Cribb 2001, p. 83). Using the much higher figure of over 20,000, instead of 1,400, 1,500, or even 2,000, blurs the question of who the victims really were, since it bears little relation to the forty-eight known names listed in Borneo Shimbun, much less the longer lists produced during the Dutch and other early investigations. Apart from the question of numbers, local accounts of the history and, above all, the “official” version of the events of 1943–45, seek to use the supposed conspiracy to show that all the ethnic groups and various social elements had worked together on the “conspiracy”, making them not just common victims but also common actors. This message was especially relevant in the 1970s, following the traumatic experience of the expulsion of perhaps 70,000 Chinese from the rural areas and the consequent economic and social dislocation in the entire province.42 The current official version does give all the victims, including the Chinese, a place in a common endeavour.

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In a centrifugal province like West Kalimantan, with relatively weak links to the centre, the official versions of the history have insisted that the aim of the supposed plotters (or pahlawan, in their terms) was the liberation of all Indonesia as a united republic. Importantly, they interpret the alleged conspiracy not as an attempt to free the region of West Borneo from Japanese rule by declaring an independent state — for that would be a subversive goal in the Indonesian national project — but as part of the national struggle itself. Notes 1

2 3

4

5

6

Thanks are due to Claudine Salmon for her comments on the draft and to Jamie Davidson, who kindly made available a collection of Akçaya clippings about Mandor for 1978–99. Chinese made up 13.5 per cent of the population in 1930. On the expulsion of the Chinese, see Coppel (1983, pp. 145–49); Davidson and Kammen (2002); Davidson (2002, chapter three); and Heidhues (2003, pp. 243–55). The Chinese temple in Mandor is a ruin, but illegal gold miners are even now working over some of Lanfang’s long-abandoned sites. For a photograph, see Franke et al. (1997, p. 94) and Heidhues (2003, p. 254). This memorial to Lo Fong Pak, erected in 1939, gives the founding date of Lanfang as 1776, probably to give the kongsi the significant age of 108 years, a propitious number in Chinese religious belief, at its dissolution. Akçaya (1996). Akçaya, now also called Pontianak Post, is Pontianak’s daily newspaper. Lieutenant Governor-General van Mook dedicated the monument, which was sponsored by representatives and survivors of the victims, although the Dutch made a substantial contribution to it. Van Mook was in Pontianak in March 1947, according to Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia, Algemene Secretarie (Archives of the Secretary-General, hereafter ANRI AS) 1309, telegram of van Mook about arrival in Pontianak (see also Akçaya, 1995). Heather Sutherland kindly made this thesis available. Kanahele (1967, p. 51) places the transfer to the navy in July 1942, apparently the date the decision was taken. For a “historical novel” that deals with the period 1942–45, see Yanis (1983, pp. 30–32). Yanis’ account is largely autobiographical and is based on his carefully kept diaries. A Minangkabau and born in West Sumatra, Yanis worked during the war for a Japanese lumber firm in Pontianak and later entered the

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7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

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bureaucracy, becoming Sekretaris Wilayah/Daerah (provincial secretary) from 1957 to 1979. See also Heidhues (2003, pp. 197– 208). These were the figures for August 1945. According to Maekawa (2002, p. 158), there were about 200–300 Japanese military personnel in Pontianak and an additional 200 in Singkawang, with thirty more in Ketapang. This may have been the peak strength. In any case, it was a very small number for a large province. The Dutch-controlled part of the island was a single province in the 1930s. Japanese sources have admitted that methods of questioning by persons who did not know local languages well increased the chances of false confessions, although sometimes interpreters were used. See Maekawa (2002, p. 167, note 29). Zeedijk uses archival records, including interrogations of Japanese prisoners in the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation. After 1945 the Dutch exhumed bodies and carefully collected evidence of war crimes, as they had done in Europe, in order to bring the offenders to justice and to document underground activities. They investigated the Pontianak Affair as thoroughly as the means at their disposal permitted. Netherlands Institute for War Documentation, Indische Collectie (hereafter NIOD IC) 019783-4, interrogation of Okajima Riki; Böhm (1986, p. 44). One participant testified that there had been eight or nine such transports to the killing grounds, with about five trucks each and about thirty people per truck. See NIOD IC 017030-017031, questioning of Ishiyama Yusaburo, 8 April 1946. Zeedijk (1994, p. 49). The date 2 July is given in NIOD IC 064431064432, which quotes from Borneo Shimbun; Indonesian accounts say 1 or 4 July. Since 2 July was a Sunday, and the paper was published three times a week, 1 July is more likely. One account (below) insists on Tuesday, 4 July. Zeedijk (1994, pp. 54–58). The plot was touched off by the arrest of a man with a forbidden radio. Netherlands, Staten-Generaal, Enquêtecommissie Regeringsbeleid (1956, pp. 576–77); ANRI AS 1308, report of Abell, Singapore, 29 October 1945, and report of Van der Zwaal, 1 November 1945. Maekawa (2002, p. 159), who had access to accounts based on later interviews with Japanese participants, associates the poison plot with the first Pontianak Affair.

124 MARY SOMERS HEIDHUES 15

16

17 18

19

20

21

22

23

NIOD IC 019484-019490, report of Captain Krol, 1 March 1946, pp. 1–2; Algemeen Rijksarchief, Inventaris van het Archief van de Algemene Secretarie van de Nederlands-Indische Regering en de daarbij gedeponeerde archieven (1942), 1944–50, 2.10.14.02 (Inventory of the archives of the General Secretary of the Netherlands Indies Government and the archives located there, hereafter ARA AS) 5306, undated letter about war criminals in West Borneo; also ARA AS 5305; NIOD IC 019783-4. There was also a Chinese-led uprising against the Japanese in Sabah (British North Borneo) on 9 October 1943, which succeeded in occupying the town of Api (now Kota Kinabalu) for a day before being driven into the countryside. Its leaders were captured in December and later executed. No testimony has ever connected this distant event with the Pontianak Affair, not least because northern Borneo was under the army, with headquarters in Kuching, not the navy (Fujio 2002). NIOD IC 019484-019490: 4; ARA AS 3177. Zeedijk (1994, p. 61), citing testimony of one Japanese involved. Compare the undated account of intelligence officer Heijbroek (1946?), who expresses disbelief about the “plot”, ARA AS 5306, and other accounts from late 1945 in ARA AS 3173. From a speech of the memorial committee at the dedication of the monument, 15 March 1947 (ANRI AS 1309). The remains, including some from Sungai Durian, were reburied in ten mass graves covered with cement. Since the first graves had not been well covered, animals had dug out and scattered some of the remains. Survivors pressed for a decent burial for the victims. See Akçaya (1996). Izeki, Nishi Boruneo, cited in Maekawa (2002, pp. 160–61). Also named as responsible was a right-wing officer stationed in West Borneo named Nakatani, who was subsequently killed in the Dayak uprising. A Dutch intelligence officer referred to a similar policy of the Japanese in Korea and Manchuria (ARA AS 5306). Akçaya (1982). Izeki (in Akçaya spelled Iseki), at the time 72 years old, gave a telephone interview, apparently to an Akçaya reporter in Tokyo. Izeki had worked in the province for several years before the war and acted as a translator at the interrogations in the first Pontianak arrests. This book is cited in Maekawa (2002, pp. 160–61) as: Tsuneo Izeki, Nishi Boruneo Jumin Gyakusatsu Jiken: Kensho Pontiana Jiken [Massacre in Western Borneo: An examination of the Pontianak Incident] (Tokyo: Fuji Shuppan, 1978). Maekawa used several Japanese-

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25

26

27

28

29

30 31

32

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language accounts, including memoirs, for her article. One Japanese account mentions that a rumour circulated among the Chinese that the Guomindang (Nationalist) Chinese army would soon come to “liberate” West Kalimantan, perhaps incorporating it into China. This rumour resurfaced at the end of the war and shows how little the Indonesian idea then meant to the local Chinese. Maekawa and others also cite Kenichi Goto, “Pontianak Jiken Oboegaki” [Note on the Pontianak Incidents], in Nihon Senryoki Indonesia Kenkyu (Tokyo: Ryukei Shosha, 1988), pp. 149–79. Akçaya (1988). The original article was translated by a Japanese woman who lived in Pontianak. Asahi Graph is apparently a supplement to Asahi Shimbun. The author of this report notes that Indonesians believe the number of victims to be 21,037 (see below). This Indonesian source is Tanjungpura Berdjuang: Sedjarah KODAM XII/Tandjungpura Kalimantan-Barat (Tandjungpura, Semidam XII, 1970), p. 94, cited in Maekawa (2002, p. 161, table). Description in Akçaya (1996). The author visited the site in 1993 and 2000. Information leaflets at the site mention a children’s playground, cafeteria, and camping area near by. Described in Lombard (1984, pp. 77–97), who calls the hills cungkub or burial mounds. From information material distributed at the site (Dinas Pariwisata Propinsi Dati I Kalimantan Barat, Indonesia 1993). See also Djamhari et al. (1987, p. 7), which says there were 26,037 victims in all, 20,037 in Mandor (the latter possibly a misprint for 21,037, the number he uses on page 47). Sejarah (1984, pp. 111–18). This version gives the date of the article as Tuesday, 4 July. See also Yanis (1983, pp. 172–81), which follows Borneo Shimbun but includes a sentence not in Sejarah. Yanis (1983, p. 174) also illustrates a meeting of conspirators. This time well-dressed participants are gathered in the throne room of the Sultan of Pontianak. Yanis omits one name found in Soedarto (1977/78, pp. 203–5) and some other accounts. In most Indonesian-language accounts this is spelled Nissinkai. At this point the story quoted in Sejarah (1984) stops, but it is continued in Yanis (1983), probably on the basis of a continued account in Borneo Shimbun that appeared a few days later (4 July 1944?). This clubhouse, given its visibility, seems a poor location for a meeting of conspirators. Here, the version in Yanis breaks off.

126 MARY SOMERS HEIDHUES 33

34

35 36

37

38 39

40 41

42

Rivai (1978). Often cited is the account of Halim Ramli, Sekitar Korban Tentara Pendudukan Jepang di Kalbar (1977), which I have unfortunately been unable to locate. It will be recalled that Nisshinkai (to return to the Japanese spelling) had probably been dissolved in late 1942. For example, see Achmad (1981, p. 21); Sejarah (1984, pp. 77–78). Rakyat quite simply means “people”. True, left-wing parties were more likely to have this word in their names, but only in an atmosphere of violent anti-communism could it be associated with the left. In an interview in April 2000 Syafaruddin Usman spontaneously expressed doubt that the number of victims could be over 20,000. At the time the population of the entire province was just over 1 million and Pontianak, where most of the victims originated, had about 60,000 inhabitants. On population figures in West Kalimantan in 1944 and 1947, see Meel (1952, pp. 178–98). Rifa’i would be Mawardi Rivai, the author of Peristiwa Mandor. The 21 December 1996 issue of Akçaya contains a number of stories about the history of the monument. From these accounts, it appears that Rifa’i badgered the guest until he came up with a number. The photograph is taken from Orth (1993, p. 210). See Feng (1947, pp. 21–51 [biographies], 9–12 [account], and 33–34 [exhumation of the remains]). One of these photographs is dated February 1946. Estimates vary from 50,000 to 80,000 people displaced (Heidhues 2003, p. 252).

References

Achmad, Ja’. Kalimantan Barat Dibawah Pendudukan Tentara Jepang. Pontianak: Proyek Rehabilitasi dan Perluasan Museum Kalimantan Barat, Depdikbud, 1981. Akçaya. “Korban Keganasan Jepang Yang Di Lupakan”, 23 May 1978. ———. “1400 Lebih Penduduk Kalbar Yang Dibunuh Jepang”, 8 November 1982. ———. “Kekejaman Tentara Jepang Di Kalbar Dimuat Asahi Graph”, 28 September 1988. ———. “Setelah Proklamasi Dikumandangkan: Catatan Harian M. Yani”, 22 August 1995. ———. “Monumen Mandor Wujud Penghargaan”, 21 December 1996. Algemeen Rijksarchief, Inventaris van het Archief van de Algemene

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Secretarie van de Nederlands-Indische Regering en de daarbij gedeponeerde archieven (ARA AS) (1942). 1944–50. Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia, Algemene Secretarie [Archives of the Secretary-General] (ANRI AS). Böhm, A.H. West Borneo 1940–Kalimantan Barat 1950. Tilburg: H. Gianotten, 1986. Chung Hwa Jit Po, 16 October 1945, p. 1. Coppel, Charles A. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1983. ———. “Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting: Sino-Malay Literature in Independent Indonesia”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 191–212. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002. Cribb, Robert. “How Many Deaths? Problems in the Statistics of Massacre in Indonesia (1965–1966) and East Timor (1975–1980)”. In Violence in Indonesia, edited by Ingrid Wessel and Georgia Wimhöfer, pp. 82–98. Hamburg: Abera-Verlag, 2001. Davidson, Jamie S. “Violence and Politics in West Kalimantan, Indonesia”. Unpublished dissertation, University of Washington, 2002. Davidson, Jamie S. and Douglas Kammen. “Indonesia’s Unknown War and the Lineages of Violence in West Kalimantan”. Indonesia, no. 73 (April 2002), pp. 53–87. Dinas Pariwisata Propinsi Dati I Kalimantan Barat, Indonesia. Kalimantan Barat. Pontianak, 1993. Djamhari, Saleh As’ad et al. Monumen Perjuangan Daerah Kalimantan Barat. Jakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Direktorat Sejarah dan Nilai Tradisional, Projek Inventarisasi dan Dokumentasi Sejarah Nasional, 1987. Feng Xie. Zhanhou Nanyang Huaqiao Gaikuang: Xi Boneizhou Zhibu. Singapore, 1947. Franke, Wolfgang et al. Chinese Epigraphic Materials in Indonesia. Vol. 3: “Bali, Kalimantan, Sulawesi, Moluccas”. Singapore: South Seas Society, 1997. Fujio. “The 1943 Kinabalu Uprising in Sabah”. In Southeast Asian Minorities in the Wartime Japanese Empire, edited by Paul H. Kratoska, pp. 111–32. London and New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002. Groot, J.J.M. de. Het Kongsiwezen van Borneo. Eene Verhandeling over den Grondslag en den Aard der Chineesche Politieke Vereenigingen in de Koloniën. The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1885.

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Heidhues, Mary Somers. Golddiggers, Farmers, and Traders in the ‘Chinese Districts’ of West Kalimantan, Indonesia. Ithaca: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program, 2003. Jacobus, L.S.E. Frans. Sejarah Perang Majang Desa Melawan Jepang. Pontianak, 1981. Kanahele, George. “The Japanese Occupation of Indonesia: Prelude to Independence”. Unpublished dissertation, Cornell University, 1967. Lombard, Denys. “Guide Archipel IV: Pontianak et son Arrière-Pays”. Archipel, no. 28 (1984), pp. 77–97. Maekawa, Kaori. “The Pontianak Incidents and the Ethnic Chinese in Wartime Western Borneo”. In Southeast Asian Minorities in the Wartime Japanese Empire, edited by Paul H. Kratoska, pp. 153–69. London and New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002. Meel, H. de. “Het Verloop van de Bevolking in West-Borneo 1920– 1948”. Tijdschrift van het Koninklijk Nederlandsch Aardrijkskundig Genootschap, 2nd series, 69 (1952): 178–98. Netherlands, Staten-Generaal, Enquêtecommissie Regeringsbeleid, 1940– 45. Report, Part 8A, “Borneo en de Groote Oost”, pp. 576–77. The Hague: Staatsdrukkerij- en Uitgeberijbedrijf, 1956. Netherlands Institute for War Documentation, Indische Collectie (NIOD IC). Orth, M. “Documentatie Overzicht”. In Verzet in Nederlands-Indië tegen de Japanse Bezetting 1942–1945, edited by B.R. Immerzeel and F. van Esch, p. 210. The Hague: Sdu Uitgeverij, 1993. Rivai, Mawardi. Peristiwa Mandor. Jakarta: Pustaka Antara, 1978. Schreiner, Klaus H. “History in the Showcase: Representations of National History in Indonesian Museums”. In Nationalism and Cultural Revival in Southeast Asia: Perspectives from the Centre and the Region, edited by Sri Kuhnt-Saptodewo et al., pp. 99–118. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1997. ———. “Remembering or Forgetting ‘Lubang Buaya’: The ‘Coup’ of 1965 in Contemporary Indonesian Historical Perception and Public Commemoration”. Paper presented at the workshop Remembering and Forgetting. The Political and Social Aftermath of Intense Conflict in Eastern Asia and Northern Europe, 15–17 April 1999, at the University of Lund. Sejarah Perlawanan Terhadap Imperialisme dan Kolonialisme di Kalimantan Barat, pp. 111–18. Rev. ed. Jakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Direktorat Sejarah dan Nilai Tradisional, Proyek Inventarisasi dan Dokumentasi Sejarah Nasional, 1984.

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Soedarto. Sejarah Daerah Kalimantan Barat. Pontianak: Proyek Penelitian dan Pencatatan Kebudayaan Daerah, 1977/78. Sutherland, Heather. “Professional Paradigms, Politics and Popular Practice: Reflections on ‘Indonesian National History’”. In Nationalism and Cultural Revival in Southeast Asia: Perspectives from the Centre and the Region, edited by Sri Kuhnt-Saptodewo et al., pp. 83–98. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1997. Suwondo, Bambang. Sejarah Kebangkitan Nasional Daerah Kalimantan Barat. Pontianak[?]: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Pusat Penelitian Sejarah dan Budaya, Proyek Penelitian dan Pencatatan Kebudayaan Daerah, 1978/79. Usman MHD, Syafaruddin. Untaian Kisah Perjuangan Rakyat Kalimantan Barat: Pada Zaman Pendudukan Jepang Hingga Mempertahankan Kemerdekaan Republik Indonesia. Pontianak: Komitee Nasional Pemuda Indonesia Propinsi Kalimantan Barat, 1997. Yanis, M. Kapal Terbang Sembilan: Kisah Pendudukan Jepang di Kalimantan Barat. Pontianak: Yayasan Perguruan Panca Bhakti, 1983. Zeedijk, Remco. “De Chinezen in West-Borneo tijdens de Japanse Bezetting en de Onafhankelijkheidsstrijd 1942–1949”. Unpublished Master’s thesis, Vrije Universiteit, 1994.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg >

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6 Confucianists and Revolutionaries in Surabaya (c1880–c1906) Claudine Salmon1 INTRODUCTION

While the colonial era reformist activities of the Chinese in West Java have been well studied (Nio 1940; Williams 1960; Salmon 1971; Suryadinata 1974; Coppel 1981), those of their counterparts in East Java have fallen into oblivion. Nevertheless, the only temple in honour of Confucius in insular Southeast Asia was dedicated in Surabaya. In this chapter I consider the fact that some Chinese merchants of East Java succeeded in basing their own calendar on the birth date of Confucius some fifteen years before the famous reformist Kang Youwei
 = (1858–1927) suggested a similar reform for China; and that in 1899 the Chinese gentry and merchants of Surabaya decided to convert the Temple to the God of Literature, Wenchang ci
 , into a temple dedicated to Confucius that took the name of Wen miao
=(or Boen Bio2 in Hokkien), Temple of Literature. Finally, I will analyse the different political forces behind the sanctuary, to try and understand why reformists and revolutionaries were obliged to work together. TOWARDS THE ORIGINS OF THE CONFUCIAN CALENDAR?

Within China, Kang Youwei is generally considered to be the first reformist to have advocated the use of a national calendar based on the birth date of Confucius, which he did in a memorial to Emperor Guangxu
 presented in July 1898 (Yen 1976a, p. 33, note 4). Some weeks earlier the Chinese reformist newspaper of Singapore, named Thien Nan Shin Pao
 != (The New Daily of the South), had introduced the

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 131

Confucian calendar alongside the Imperial calendar.3 In the following year (1899) a group of Chinese merchants in Kuala Lumpur organized a public meeting at which they resolved to observe Confucius’ birthday (twenty-seventh of the eighth moon of the Chinese calendar) as a holiday for all Chinese and to adopt the Confucian calendar along with the Emperor Guangxu’s reigning year (Yen 1976a, p. 38). However, evidence leads us to think that this idea of reforming the calendar was not new to the South Seas. Some documents show that the use of the Confucian calendar had been initiated by scholars and merchants from Surabaya in the early 1880s. I have found the testimony of an enigmatic “K. Tj. K.”, published in 1934 with an introduction by the journalist Kwee Tek Hoay (1934b, pp. 1189–90), in which Kwee Tek Hoay refers to an ongoing debate about the best way to celebrate Confucius’ birthday.4 K. Tj. K. related how some fifty years earlier his teacher, Tjioe Ping Wie (died c1894), had, with the help of some friends, tried to establish Confucius’ birth date for use on a new calendar, which he circulated in China as well as in East Java. We should know [says K. Tj. K.] that around 2431 [1880] the late Mr Tjioe Ping Wie, with the help of Mr Ong Wan Liong, chief cashier of the shop, International, Mr Go Gwan Swie= x
 zI5 merchant, and the fortune teller Mr Yap Sik Kie, all residents of Surabaya, made investigations in order to establish the needed information. These investigations were extremely complicated and required the use of many books. After several calculations, they established a table of conversion (alas presently lost) and had 10,000 copies printed in Shanghai in red ink on white paper, about the size of an ordinary newspaper. They distributed it in China and Java. Because at that time there were no chambers of commerce or other associations in Java, they sent the table to prominent shops, which helped to circulate it.6

This statement is corroborated by the fact that this calendar was used in two inscriptions of the forerunner of Boen Bio
=in Surabaya, respectively dated 1884 and 1887, together with the year of Emperor Guangxu’s reign (Franke, Salmon, and Siu 1997, pp. 683–91).7 Bintang Soerabaja (Star of Surabaya) on 9 December 1887 provides additional evidence for K. Tj. K.’s statement. Bintang Soerabaja published an advertisement for a newly printed Chinese almanac for the year 2438 of Confucius’s birth and for the year wuzi
 of Emperor Guangxu’s reign (1888). The newspaper stated that the calendar had been produced by a Chinese teacher,

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Tjioe Ping Wie, and that it would be most useful to the gentry and prominent Chinese merchants; that it also gave the corresponding dates of the Western and Muslim calendars; and listed all the holidays, Chinese, Muslim, and Christian, as well as the days on which markets were held.8 The calendar must have been produced in Surabaya, for the Dutch firm of Gimberg there had informed the readers that it could print Chinese characters.9 This Mr Tjioe belonged to an important peranakan family of Surabaya,10 but he had studied in China and had obtained the degree of xiucai
 or licentiate (Albrecht 1881, p. 5). After his return to Surabaya in the late 1870s Tjioe Ping Wie opened a “modern” Chinese school named Nanyang xunmeng guan
 !"=(South Seas Training School), where pupils were taught mathematics, geography, sport, music, and drawing along with traditional teachings. According to K. Tj. K., the school was under the patronage of Confucius, who was worshipped twice a year on the anniversaries of his birth and death.11 This evidence, limited as it is, nevertheless suggests that the revival of interest in Confucius started quite early in Surabaya, compared to Batavia and even Singapore and the Malay Peninsula, where the use of the Confucian calendar does not appear in the epigraphy before the establishment of the first Chinese Republic in 1911.12 However, in Java this new calendar was apparently not so widely accepted, possibly for fear of possible reprisals from the Qing court. Judging from the epigraphs, there are only a few other instances. The first is an inscription dated 1897 in the temple of Tegal (Central Java) (Franke, Salmon, and Siu 1997, pp. 594–95);13 and the second is the Wen miao of Surabaya, where it appeared again on one of the three tablets erected to commemorate the enlargement of the sanctuary in 1906 (the last two providing the date according to the Guangxu era and the Western calendar) (Franke, Salmon, and Siu 1997, p. 695). However, the Confucian calendar was sometimes used by Sino–Malay journalists of Java, such as Lie Kim Hok
 (1853–1912), who employed it most notably in 1907 in his Malay adaptation of a still-unidentified French novel (Lie 1907). INITIATION OF THE WEN MIAO

Apart from the Nanyang xunmeng guan founded by Tjioe Ping Wie, other Chinese schools also came into existence in Surabaya in the early 1880s. We know that in 1884 a temple to Wenchang
, the God of Literature,14 had been founded in the quarter of Kapasan. The two

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 133

inscriptions dated 1884 and 1887 that commemorate its foundation only provide the names of the donors15 who contributed money for the construction of the sanctuary. But we know from other sources that the sanctuary was associated with a school, for the Bintang Soerabaja of 10 May 1887 alludes to a certain Go Tek Lie
 16 (the second donor after Major Zheng Detai
 , also known as The Boen Ke
 , in office from 1874 to 1888), as being “one of its two administrators”. Judging from the number of donors — almost 430 — one may assume that Go Tek Lie shared his Confucianist ideas with a great many merchants. Although we cannot follow in detail the development of their ideas, we know nevertheless that as early as 1899 these notables had decided to convert the Wenchang ci into a Confucian Wen miao. Still visible above the main entrance of the sanctuary is a wooden panel bearing the new name Wen miao, dated fourth moon of the year jihai
 of Guangxu (May or June 1899).17 Moreover a text published in Singapore in the Thien Nan Shin Pao (issue of 6 June 1899), retells the events in the following manner. We have already reported that the gentry and the merchants (shenshang
) had proposed to convert the Wenchang ci into a Wen miao; fifteen days later, they held a new meeting and after having consulted together decided to ratify the proposal. Nowadays the Wenchang ci has become a Wen miao where the Great Sage and Former Master Kongzi
 !"# is worshipped; but the effigy of Wenchang has been maintained for the cult. This shows that the gentry and the merchants from Surabaya honour our Sage; that they are able to eliminate unrefined practices and promote Confucianism; that they are in no way inferior to the Chinese of Yokohama. As regards the South Seas, they are the forerunners of the revival of Confucianism … (Liang 1995, pp. 137–38)

This statement is interesting, for the comparison with Japan is not a coincidence. In Surabaya, at a date that cannot be ascertained, probably towards the end of the nineteenth century, an association named Siwen hui
 (Association of the Confucianists) was founded with the aim of promoting a renewal of Confucianism.18 This association, which existed in Japan as early as 188719 (but not in China), was presumably initiated in Surabaya either by Chinese merchants from Yokohama20 or by Japanese merchants who had settled in Java and more especially in Surabaya. In 1913 the Japanese merchants residing in this city were so

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numerous that their Chinese counterparts decided to found an association in order to improve relations with them.21 This is not the only unique feature of Surabaya. Since the Wenchang ci was a rather small sanctuary, the reformers, under the leadership of Go Hoo Swie
 , a merchant from Xiamen
 (Fujian
 province) who had migrated to Surabaya in 1874,22 decided to construct a new edifice more in accordance with the position of the Sage. The collection of money took a certain time and the new sanctuary was not completed until 1906. Go Hoo Swie himself gave 1,200 guilders. The committee running the temple organized three stone inscriptions to be set up, to commemorate its enlargement. The first was written by two unknown literati from Jinjiang county=
 , Quanzhou prefecture=
, Fujian province. Their text alluded to the importance of Confucius and of his teachings for the Chinese as well as for the Europeans. It then retold the story of the construction of the Wen miao at Surabaya, relating that for decades the Chinese had been cut off from the culture of the Sage. The second text was allegedly written by Captain Zheng Taixing=
 (The Toan Ing=
 ), who in the following year was promoted to Major, a position which he retained until 1913.23 This text praised the merchants who had built a temple dedicated to the Great Sage in Surabaya and who desired to revive Chinese culture. If we compare the two texts, it appears that the first was in conformity with the orthodoxy of the reformist movement, for which the spread of Confucianism and education were the universal way. It praises Captain Zheng Taixing, who had given a plot of land and a huge amount of money that had enabled the construction of the temple and the school. The second one, however, shorter and written in simple Chinese, insisted: … on the importance of education as a means to help the local Chinese nation become enlightened, get rid of its superstitions, improve greatly its customs so that its posterity may progress, the talents be exceptional and the people have the hope of a Chinese nation in happiness. E
 !I=
 !"#$%I=
 !I
 !I=
 !"#$%I=
 !"#I=
 !"#
KF

According to a Chinese observer, a certain Huang Xiquan=
 , who visited Surabaya in 1902, the Wen miao was open twice, on the first and the twenty-sixth day of each moon, in order to teach the Imperial Edicts (Shengyu=
F=and the Six Classics. Since the attendance was large, it was decided to teach every Saturday night and in several rooms

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 135

simultaneously. The traveller commented: “Gradually the Chinese who were born in foreign countries learned how valuable Confucius’ Teachings are” (Liang 1995, p. 141). The new sanctuary was completed in 1906 and inaugurated with great pomp on Confucius’ birthday. According to the Chinese press of Java, hundreds of people attended the ceremony: The tablet of Confucius and those of his disciples24 were placed on the altars; Captain The Toan Ing (Zheng Taixing) and the master of ceremonies Lin Kunlian=
 knelt three times and made nine kowtow, while presenting incense in front of the altars; they were accompanied by some four hundred followers who, in groups, came and worshipped Confucius while singing songs in praise of the Sage. (Ik Po, 30 October 1906)25

The news also reached the Imperial court in Beijing and was briefly recorded in the Qing shilu=
 (Veritable Records of the Qing Dynasty).26 Emperor Guangxu even donated a wooden panel in praise of Confucius that reads: Shengjiao nanji=
 !=“The Teachings [of the Sage] open the South”. Although it only bears a seal in four characters: Guangxu nianjian
 ! (During Guangxu’s Reign), one may assume that the panel was presented in connection with the inauguration of the sanctuary.27 This was probably done in great secrecy, for the Dutch authorities were not keen to see the Chinese Government interfere in their colony. In 1907 Chen Baochen
 (1848–1935) visited the Wen miao and composed a pair of parallel sentences which are still on display in the temple and allude to the auspicious name of Surabaya, called Sishui
= in Chinese and recall the famous river of the same name, which flows past the city of Qufu
I the birth place of Confucius. He had been sent to the Indies by the Governor General of Fujian and Zhejiang
I=allegedly to inspect the educational facilities of the Chinese in the colony; however, his real mission was to promote the sale of shares in a Fujian railway enterprise (Hummel 1943, pp. 305–6; Williams 1960, p. 153; Franke, Salmon, and Siu 1997).28 The interior of the sanctuary was decorated with eighteen undated stucco panels that reproduced old sayings alluding to Confucius, such as Dao mi liuhe
 !I “His Doctrine Fills the Universe”, with the exception of one that conformed to the thoughts of the reformists which read Jiao pu quanqiu
 !I=“His Teaching Spreads over the World”. The sanctuary, like an open book, helped the worshippers to understand the importance of Confucianism.

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It is surprising to discover that the president of the Wen miao, Go Hoo Swie, waited until October 1909 to lodge a request to the Dutch authorities to obtain incorporation of the association running the temple. This was granted at the beginning of the following year for a term of 29.5 years, and the official statutes of the association were published in Dutch.29 POLITICAL FORCES AROUND THE SANCTUARY

Turning to the list of donors engraved on the third tablet, we notice first the name of the head of the Chinese community, Captain Zheng Taixing (The Toan Ing), the owner of one of the biggest sugar mills in East Java and a Freemason (Wright 1909, pp. 545–46).30 His name is followed by those of prominent merchants and entrepreneurs, born in the Dutch Indies, Fujian, or Guangdong, the last category being in smaller numbers.31 A significant number of these merchants were also to be found in the committee of the Chamber of Commerce, founded the same year, 1906 (Wright 1909, p. 545). Some of them were real reformers, but others turned out to be supporters of the revolutionary movement led by Sun Yat Sen, such as Tan Hian Goan (Chen Xianyuan=
 , died 1926), Lie Siong Hwie (Li Shuanghui
 ), and Tan Ping An, who gave respectively 300, 20, and 200 guilders. Tan Hian Goan was a prominent merchant from Gresik who, along with some members of the Liem family, had in 1892 established the San Liem Kong Sie
 !, one of the biggest teak wood companies, exporting timber to Europe, America, and South Africa.32 In 1909 Tan Hian Goan became the director of the printing house and bookshop that published the first Chinese revolutionary newspaper of Surabaya, the Sishui hanwen xinbao
 !"# (The New Chinese Journal of Surabaya).33 Lie Siong Hwie (born in Fujian in 1859) was then deputy manager of Kian Gwan=
 (Surabaya branch). He was the founder and first chairman of the Chamber of Commerce. Interested in politics, he raised funds for the Chinese imperial government but was the vice-president of the Soe Po Sia=
 (Reading Club), a revolutionary association founded in 1909 in Surabaya (Suryadinata, 1995: 84). Lie donated only 20 guilders. Tan Ping An
 I along with his two brothers, was the owner of the firm Tan Tjoen Gwan=
 , founded in 1873 by his father. He was

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 137

known to have been “a keen supporter of the Young China Party” (Wright, 1909, pp. 548–49). He nevertheless donated 250 guilders. We also find the supporters of two other short-lived revolutionary movements, namely the Guangfu hui
 (Society for the Return of Light, founded in Japan in 1904) and the Zhonghe tang=
 (Club of Equilibrium and Harmony, founded in Yokohama in 1898).34 These two parties shared a common aim with the Tongmeng hui
 (The United League, founded in Tokyo in 1905 under the national leadership of Sun Yat Sen), that is, the overthrow of the Qing dynasty and the restoration of Chinese rule. However, there were factional dissensions within these revolutionary movements: the Guangfu hui competed, for example, with Tongmeng hui in the raising of funds overseas. The membership of the Guangfu hui was largely drawn from the family Tjio (Jiang
) which originated in the village of Shudou=
=near Quanzhou
= (Fujian). The Tjios were very numerous in Surabaya, where they owned a dozen shops, all located in the quarter of Kapasan; and they could be easily identified, for the names of the shops all began with the character He (Hap
).35 The founder of the Guangfu hui, Tao Chengzhang
 I fled to the Dutch Indies in 1907, first to Bangka and then to Surabaya (Yen 1976b, p. 215). He is said to have recruited the two brothers Jiang Baohe
 and Jiang Baoli
 there. According to another source, the secret society Hongmen hui
 also helped to recruit another member of the same family, Jiang Baoqi
 I owner of the firm Heshun
. Jiang Baoqi contributed 150 guilders for the enlargement of the Wen miao. One of the most eminent members of the family was Tjio Poo Liauw
 (firm of Hap Lie Hoo
 ), who was an advisor to the Wen miao at least up to 1910. His name appears in the official statutes. He was also a revolutionary and acted as treasurer of the Tongmeng hui.36 Of interest here is the portrait of Tjio Poo Liauw made by Arnold Wright, who did not guess the merchant’s duality. During the past fourteen years Messrs Hap Lie Hoo & Co have held their place among the prominent Chinese firms participating in the extensive export trade which Java carries with Europe, America and the Far Eastern countries. But in addition to exporting coffee, sugar and the general produce of the island, they import large quantities of rice and have established agencies for the furtherance of their many and varied interests throughout Java and the Moluccas. The founder of the business, Mr Tjio Poo

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Liauw, a native of Amoy, China, arrived in Java twenty-two years ago. He has taken a prominent part in local Chinese affairs and is an ex-vice president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce and a member of the committee of the Burial Society, the Chinese Schools and the Chinese Church [Wen miao]. Mr Tjio Poo Liauw is a strong supporter of the Reform Party. (Wright 1909, pp. 549– 50, emphasis added)

The history of the Zhonghe tang in Surabaya is even more complicated. This political movement was launched in Yokohama by the Cantonese revolutionary, You Lie
K Although it had no formal association with the Xingzhong hui (Revive China Society, the first revolutionary society, founded in 1894 by Sun Yat Sen), it immediately became a strong prorevolutionary organization. In 1901 You Lie decided to move to Singapore and then to Malaysia, where he worked in close contact with secret societies and opened study clubs. He spread revolutionary ideas under the cover of a reformist movement, hence the name of zhonghe
 (“Equilibrium and Harmony”), borrowed from the Zhongyong
 (“Doctrine of the Mean”) at chapter 1, paragraph 4 (Yen 1976b, pp. 18, 42; Bergère 1994, pp. 31, 45, 218). Apparently supporters of this movement were among the sixteen people, who at the end of 1903 decided to found a school, Hezhong xuetang
 ! (School of Harmony and Equilibrium), in Surabaya. If we scrutinize their names, which are listed in the book commemorating the fifth anniversary of the school (THHK 1953), it appears that the application to open the school emanated from Liem Sioe Tien
 , who held the position of lieutenant from 1898 to 1904.37 Also listed as members are merchants such as Tio Tjee An
 , Han Siek Khwan
 , Njo Bian Tjhiang
 , who were in the organizing committee of Wen miao, as well as Tan Ping An=
 and Tio Siek Giok
 I who later became members of the Tongmeng hui. In 1906 another school, Zhonghe xuetang=
 ! (School of Equilibrium and Harmony), was added to the Hezhong xuetang. It is listed among the donors who contributed money for the enlargement of the Wen miao (and apparently also for the construction of a school also located in Kapasan) with a contribution of 3,357 guilders. The Dutch firm Amsterdam had previously given this school an amount of money that it was legally obliged to pay to the Chinese merchants of Surabaya.38 A decree of 1904 gave permission to the Hezhong xuetang — here called Hoo Tjiong Hak Tong — to be operated under the leadership of

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 139

Lieutenant Liem Sioe Tien (Javasche Courant, no. 20 [10 May 1904]). Two years later Tan Hian Goan became director of the school. As we have seen, in 1909 Tan Hian Goan also became the director — along with Lie Siong Hwie, Ong Tjien Hong, Tjio Poo Liauw, and Tio Siek Giok — of the printing house which published the journal of the revolutionaries. The Hezhong xuetang later merged with another school named Ik Joe Hak Koan (Yiyou xueguan
 !, School of the Friends of Progress)39 and in 1908 took the new name of Tiong Hoa Hak Tong (Zhonghua xuetang=
 != or Chinese School). However, it always kept a distance from the Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan
 ! of Batavia and never considered itself a branch of the latter. The erection of a temple dedicated to Confucius was the result of a long process of resinicization that started in Surabaya, and also in Makassar, in the mid-nineteenth century. During the first wave, the reformers tried to react against the “peranakanization”, or even merging, of the Chinese into the local society by reviving Chinese customs at the family level. In 1862 they therefore founded the Hokkien Kong Tik Soe
 !"=(Fujian Temple of Merits) to promote Chinese culture and to revive appropriate customs in funerals and weddings (Salmon 1996, pp. 195–200). The second wave was the revival of Confucianism as a tool to spread Chinese education and culture and, in so doing, to reassure the Chinese and strengthen their nation at a time when the empire was humiliated. The third and last wave was the dissemination of revolutionary ideas in order to overthrow the Manchus. One surmises through this fragmentary but fascinating documentation that, beyond the cult dedicated to Confucius, the Wen miao was the venue of an intense political life. It was animated by true reformers, but also by representatives of more progressive currents still in the process of being developed, who found it very convenient to work together with the Confucian cult. If we compare the political situation of Surabaya to that of Singapore, it is obvious that in the latter city reformists and revolutionaries worked differently. If during the first period the revolutionaries operated underground, it was mainly because they were largely working with members of secret societies and the lower classes. As soon as they started their newspaper, the Thoe Lam Jit Po=
 !=(Far Reaching Schemes Daily), in 1904, they moved to open activity, for their message appealed to all Chinese. In the Dutch Indies political oppression obliged the revolutionaries to remain underground. That is why we find them associated with the reformers, using the Wen miao as an umbrella to

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promote education. Confucianism was regarded as a cover to preach revolution. At this point two questions should be asked of the situation in Surabaya: to what extent did the reformers suspect the activities of the revolutionaries? And, if they did, how could they continue to cohabit with the latter? Our sources, unfortunately, do not allow us to solve these puzzles. We only know that in 1919 (Minguo
 18) the revolutionary Tjio Poo Liauw (Jiang Baoliao), along with two other unknown merchants, Wu Yingzhou
 and Li Bingyao
 I donated a pair of tablets to the Wen miao inscribed with parallel sentences that give the impression that Tjio was still a pious devotee. He presumably felt the need to publicly reassert his political commitment by alluding to the supremacy of a temple dedicated to Confucius in Surabaya, which in the eyes of a great number of peranakan and totok Chinese was still the cradle of a certain modernizing force as well as the main focal point for the unity of the Chinese community in Surabaya. The parallel sentences read:
 !"#$
 !"#$K The palace walls on Mount Nishan40 are said to be far away, But the sanctuary in the city of Sishui41 is still there as of old. CONCLUSION

In short, the Chinese of Surabaya experienced a communal life that was unique in insular Southeast Asia. First, in the late 1870s and early 1880s, they launched Chinese modern schools and established a new Chinese calendar, a reaction against the Christian one that was the calendar of the Dutch colonial authorities. In the eyes of the reformists, Confucius was a good match for Jesus Christ, because the Europeans also had great respect for the teachings of the Sage. Second, by initiating a revival of Confucianism and by founding a temple dedicated to Confucius — which has no counterpart in insular Southeast Asia — they resumed on a larger scale the resinicisation movement that had begun in the mid-nineteenth century. Of these Confucianists, some were real reformists whose aims were to improve the cultural life of the community, while others aimed to indirectly obtain access to Western education. Third, the success achieved by the reformists may well have attracted

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 141

various groups of revolutionaries, as had been the case in Singapore and the Malay Peninsula. But in Surabaya the duress of the colonial government forced the revolutionaries to cohabit with the reformists in greater intimacy and to meet each other on the precincts of the Wen miao, presumably until the early 1920s. Notes 1 2

3

4

5

6

I thank Mary Somers Heidhues, who kindly reread this chapter. The spelling in this chapter follows the Old Spelling, based on Dutch spelling, where “oe” is used for “u”; “tj” for “c”; and “dj” for “j”. Thus, “Boen Bio” in New Spelling is spelled “Bun Bio”. The phrasing was: “
 !"#$%&'()*+"&%(, (2449 years after the birth of Confucius, that is 24th year or year wuxu of the Guangxu’s Reign)”. See the reproduction of the third issue of that journal (28 May 1898) in Chen (1967, p. 64). Here, as in Tegal, Confucius’ birth date is also given as being 551 BCE. In the late 1920s the Chinese Government had decided to celebrate Confucius’ birthday arbitrarily on 27 August instead of the twentyseventh day of the eighth moon; but for several years the Chinese in Surabaya, like those of Singapore, refused to follow this usage. See Kwee (1934a, pp. 1154–56). Go Gwan Swie was apparently a brother or cousin of Go Hoo Swie
 , who initiated the enlargement of the Wen miao. See note 20. “Bahwa ketaoenja dan tersiarnja pertama atas penjelidikan dan kajakinannja Loosiansing Almarhoem Tjioe Ping Wie terbantoe oleh Lss Ong Wan Liong, hoofdkassier toko International, Lss Go Gwan Swie, soedagar, dan Lss Yap Sik Kie, khoa-mia siansing, semoea pendoedoek di Soerabaia, masa itoe kira-kira dalem tahoen 2431. Dengan tida menginget brapa soekarnja goena dapatken itoe keterangan misti koedoe membongkar brapa kitab-kitab sahingga bisa didapatken. Sasoedahnja dapet katerangan-katerangan lantes dibikinken lijst peritoengan satoe per satoe sampei djelas (sajang sekarang tida bisa dapet lagi) dan ditjitakken di Shanghay sepoeloeh riboe lembar, pake kertas poetih tinta merah, besarnja koerang lebi sabagi soerat kabar biasa dan disiarken seloeroeh Tiongkok dan Java, lantaran masa itoe di Java blon ada Siang-Hwee of laenlaen perhimpoenan, mendjadi itoe lijst dikirimkn pada toko-toko jang ternama goena bantoe menjiarken.” See Kwee (1934b, pp. 1189– 90).

142 7

8

9

10

11

12

13

CLAUDINE SALMON

The phrasing used in 1884 differs from that used later in 1898 in Singapore (see above note 3):
 !"#$%&#'
 !"#$%&'() “2434 years [after the birth] of the Great Sage, 24th year, jiashen, of Guangxu’s Reign”. The Malay text reads: “Satoe lembar kantor almanak hoeroef Tjina matjem baroe boewat tahoen Nabi Tjina 2438, Kongsiu tahoen Bo Tjoe … bowatannja goeroe Tjina bernama Tjioe Ping Oei, bergoena sekali pada sekalian pembesar Tjina jang berdagang….” (Bintang Soerabaja, 9 December 1887). The use of the year 2438 shows that Tjioe Ping Wie followed the tradition established by Sima Qian
 = and Zhu Xi
, according to which the date of birth of the Sage was fixed as 550 BCE, the other tradition opting for 551 BCE. “Siapa soeka, boleh soeroe bikin Kaartjes Tjina dengan letter Tjina, djoega bolih pake letter prada aken sedia boewat tahoen baroe Tjina.” See Bintang Soerabaja, 9 December 1887. The Tjioe (or Zhou
) family had been settled in Surabaya for several generations, but their history had yet to be written. In the 1880s the family was already divided into different branches. In 1889 a Tjioe Swie Hong and his two brothers, Swie Thong
 and Swie Tjhong, applied for permission to build a temple in honour of their father, Tjioe Ping Bang, obviously a brother or a cousin of Tjioe Ping Wie (see Javasche Courant, no. 63 [August 1889], pp. 578–79). Tjioe Swie Thong’s name also appears among those of the donors who contributed money for the construction of the Wenchang ci in 1884. Moreover, in 1891 Tjioe Swie Thong’s son, Tjiong Kie
, was married to a daughter of The Boen King
 , who had held the position of lieutenant of the Chinese in Surabaya since 1856 (see Bintang Soerabaja, 26 October 1891). These few facts suffice to show the social status of the Zhou family. The school was located in “Gang Sechawal” in a place which in the 1930s was occupied by the firm Hap Hong
, owned by Tjio Ie Hong (Jiang Yifang
 , perhaps in the Chinese quarter of Kapasan; see Kwee (1934b, p. 1190). See Chen and Chen (1972?); Franke and Chen (1982–1987, Vol. I, p. 9 and H 1.62.2-3); and Zhuang Qinyong (1998). Interestingly enough, here Confucius’ birth date is given as 551 BCE.

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 143 14

15

16

17 18

19

20

21

22

23

For more information about this deity, who originated in Sichuan, and on the spread of the cult related to him, see Kleeman (1994, pp. 1–83). There were some 275 donors named in the tablet of 1884 alone, including all the notables of the city. We know very little about Go Tek Lie but, judging from the fact that he was quite fluent in Chinese (see Bintang Soerabaja, 7 March 1887), one may assume that he was born in China. For a reproduction, see Franke, Salmon, and Siu (1997, p. 691). The name of this association occurs for the first time in the inscription dated 1906 that commemorates the foundation of the Wen miao (Franke, Salmon, and Siu 1997, p. 692, L 1.2.6[1]). It donated 200 guilders. In Japan the association was founded on the initiative of a brother of Emperor Meiji, to promote a renewal of Confucian thought and to react to the impact of Westernization (Morohashi Tetsuji
=
, Dai kanwa jiten
 !", vol. 5, p. 627). It was dissolved in 1918. Curiously enough, in Surabaya the Siwen hui apparently changed its name to that of Kongjiao hui
 (Confucian Association) around this date. It was run by a certain Go Khing Liang
 =(died 1925) who published a journal named Djip Tek Tji Boen
 ! / Pemimpin ka Djalan Kabedjikan that provided serialized Malay translations of Confucian classics. For information on Go Khing Liang, see Djip Tek Tji Boen, no. 34 (c1926), p. 2477. As early as the end of the nineteenth century, prominent Chinese merchants from Surabaya had appointed agents in Japan. One such merchant was Ong Tjien Hong
 , who donated 100 guilders for the enlargement of the Wen miao, but who invested even more in the presses of the revolutionaries; see Javasche Courant, 30 November 1909. Ong Tjien Hong was among the administrators of the Wen miao. The statutes of this association, Tong A Kiauw Siang Hiap Hwee

 !" (Commercial Association of East Asian Sojourners), were published in the Javasche Courant (1914, p. 1056). This firm, Go Hoo Swie, had been established as general exporters and importers in 1889. It exported coffee and sugar to China, the Straits Settlements, and British India, as well as importing mainly rice, matches, and flour. The firm also carried on extensive trade in native products in the interior of Java (Wright 1909, p. 550). One may nevertheless wonder if The Toan Ing knew Chinese, for he belonged to a peranakan family of very long standing in Java, which

144

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

CLAUDINE SALMON

by the beginning of the nineteenth century had forgotten the names of the first migrants. See the genealogy of the The family in my article on the Chinese of Surabaya (Salmon 1997, p. 148). Literally sipei shizhi
 !, “the four worthies — Yan Yuan
, Zi Si
, Zeng Can
 , and Meng Ke
 — and the ten first disciples” whose tablets, since the Tang dynasty, were placed next to those of Confucius. Ik Po
 (Journal of Translations) was published in Solo, Central Java. Qing shilu, chapter 566, 5ab under Guangxu 32, 11th moon bingwu

, 1906. For a reproduction of the panel, see Franke, Salmon, and Siu (1997, p. 698). For a reproduction of the parallel sentences, see Franke, Salmon, and Siu (1997, p. 699). The statutes of the Boen Bio were published in the Javasche Courant, 21 January 1910, pp. 108–9. The Toan Ing was also the director of the Hokkien Kong Tik Soe, a society which aimed to regulate Chinese observances and see that no Chinese, however poor, was buried without proper and respectful tribute. The Toan Ing was a Mandarin of the Chinese Empire, this title having been conferred on him by Emperor Guangxu. See Boekoeperingetan (1939, p. 3). An example is the firm of Kwong Sang Choy (Guangsheng cai

). Wright (1909, p. 549) describes the firm as follows: “The claim of the Kwong Sang Choy — a Cantonese firm established in Sourabaya a quarter of a century ago (that is, in the 1850s) — to be considered among the leading Chinese houses can hardly be disputed. It has branches in Singapore and Hong Kong. Originally the trade of the Sourabaya office was almost exclusively confined to imports, but all this has changed. The export trade was found more profitable …. Now very large quantities of sugar, ground-nuts and oil are sent out of the country each year by this firm.” However, the firm donated only 175 guilders. For more details on the various activities of the firm, which later erected its own sawmills, see Wright (1909, p. 546). See Javasche Courant, 30 November 1909. Its Dutch name was Drukkerij, Kantor- en Boekhandel Soe Swie Han Boen Sien Po. The announcement was followed by the list of the administrators, namely the president, Tan Hian Goan, and the commissioners, Ong Tjien Hong,

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 145

34

35

36

37 38

39

40 41

Lie Siong Hwie, Tio Siek Giok, and Tjio Poo Liauw. For details about the beginnings of the Zhonghe tang in Yokohama, see Feng (1953, pp. 44–45). Among the donors is a certain Jiang Baobing
 , owner of the firm Heji
, who contributed 20 guilders. Zhuang Weiji (1984, pp. 13–14) adds that in Surabaya all the treasurers of the Tongmeng hui were drawn from the Tjio family. See also Javasche Courant, no. 40 (20 May 1904). In 1902 when the big import-export firm Amsterdam decided to reduce the duration of the credit it granted to the Chinese wholesalers, the latter reacted with a boycott. This issue appeared before the colonial authorities and in 1904 the Dutch firm was obliged to contribute f25,000 to the school to bring the boycott to an end (Williams 1960, pp. 188–89). See Darmo Kondo, 2 March 1905: “Roemah sekolah Tjina Ho Tjiong Hak Tong dan Ik Joe Hak Kwan di Soerabaia nanti sedikit hari hendak di koempoelkan djadi satoe, dan di bri nama sekolahan ‘Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan’.” The name of the Ik Joe Hak Koan also appears in the 1906 list of donors as having given 120 guilders. The merging of the two schools was reported in the Javasche Courant, no. 13 (14 February 1908). Nishan was Confucius’ native place in Shandong
= province. Sishui is the Chinese name for Surabaya.

References

Albrecht, J.M.E. “L’Instruction Primaire des Chinois dans l’Ile de Java”. Annales d’Extrême-Orient (1881). Offprint. Translated into French by A. Marre. Bergère, Marie-Claire. Sun Yat Sen. Paris: Fayard, 1994. Bintang Soerabaja, 7 March 1887; 10 May 1887; 9 December 1887; 26 October 1891. Boekoe-peringetan Ing Yang Sie Tik The Sie Siauw Yang Tjohbiauw 1883– 1939. Soerabaia, 1939. Chen Jinghe (Chen Ching-ho)
 = and Chen Yusong

= (Tan Yeok Seong). Xinjiapo huawen beiming jilu
 !"#$%&=[A collection of Chinese inscriptions in Singapore]. Xianggang: Zhongwen daxue chubanshe, 1972? Chen Mong Hock. The Early Chinese Newspapers of Singapore 1881– 1912. Singapore: University of Malaya Press, 1967.

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Coppel, Charles. “The Origins of Confucianism as an Organised Religion in Java, 1900–1923”. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 12, no. 1 (March 1981): 179–95. Reprinted in Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 256–78. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002. Feng Ziyou
 . Huaqiao geming kaiguo shi
 !"#$ [History of the role of the Overseas Chinese in the revolution]. Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan, 3rd ed., Minguo 42 (1953): 44–45. Franke, Wolfgang and Chen Tieh Fan. Chinese Epigraphic Materials in Malaysia. Vol. 1. Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press, 1982–87. Franke, Wolfgang, C. Salmon, and Anthony Siu. Chinese Epigraphic Materials in Indonesia /
 !"#$%&'(. Vol. 2, no. 2. Singapore: The South Seas Society, 1997. Hummel, Arthur W. Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period (1644– 1912). Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1943. Ik Po, 30 October 1906. Kleeman, Terry F. A God’s Own Tale. The Book of Transformations of Wenchang, the Divine Lord of Zitong. New York City: State University of New York Press, 1994. Kwee Tek Hoay. “Merajaken Kalahiran Nabi Khong Hoe Tjoe menoeroet Itoengan Yang-Lek”. Moestika Dharma, no. 31 (October 1934a), pp. 1154–56. ———. “Pioneers dalam Gerakan Kong Kauw Soerabaja”. Moestika Dharma, no. 31 (October 1934b), pp. 1189–90. Liang Yuansheng
 . Xuanni fuhai dao nanzhou. Rujia sixiang yu zaoqi xinjiapo huaren shehui shiliao huibian
 !"#$%&'
 !"#$%&'()*+,-=[Confucius crosses the seas to the Southern Islands. Historical documents on Confucianism and early Singaporean Chinese society]. Xianggang: Zhongwen daxue chubanshe, 1995. Lie Kim Hok. Boekoe Tjerita Pembalasan Dendam Hati (Ong Djin Gi). Batavia: Hoa Siang In Kiok, 1907. Nio Joe Lan. Riwajat 40 Taon dari Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan — Batavia– (1900–1939). Batavia: Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan, 1940. Salmon, C. “Le Sjair de l’ ‘Association Chinoise’ de Batavia (1905)”. Archipel 2 (1971): 55–100. ———. “Ancestral Halls, Funeral Associations, and Attempts at Resinicisation in Nineteenth-Century Netherlands India”. In Sojourners and Settlers. Histories of Southeast Asia and the Chinese, edited

CONFUCIANISTS AND REVOLUTIONARIES IN SURABAYA 147

by Anthony Reid, pp. 195–200. St Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin and Asian Studies Association of Australia, 1996. ———. “La Communauté Chinoise de Surabaya. Essai d’Histoire, des Origines à la Crise de 1930”. Archipel 53 (1997): 121–206. Suryadinata, Leo. “Confucianism in Indonesia: Past and Present”. Southeast Asia: An International Quarterly 2, no 13 (1974): 881–903. ———. Prominent Indonesian Chinese, Biographical Sketches. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1995. Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan (THHK). Buku Peringetan Hari Ulang Tahun ke 50, 1903–1953 THHK. Surabaya. Surabaya: THHK, 1953. Williams, Lea. Overseas Chinese Nationalism. The Genesis of the PanChinese Movement in Indonesia, 1900–1916. Glencoe, Illinois: The Free Press, 1960. Wright, Arnold. Twentieth Century Impressions of Netherlands India, Its History, People, Commerce, Industries, and Resources. London: Lloyd’s Greater Britain Publishing Company Ltd, 1909. Yen Ching-hwang. “The Confucian Revival Movement in Singapore and Malaya, 1899–1911”. Journal of Southeast Asian History 7, no. 7 (1976a): 33. ———. The Overseas Chinese and the 1911 Revolution, With Special Reference to Singapore and Malaya. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1976b. Zhuang Qinyong
 . “Maliujia, Xinjiapo huawen jilu
 !"
 !"!#$” [Compilation of inscriptions from Malacca and Singapore]. Minzuxue yanjiusuo ziliao huibian
 !"#$%&
=/ Field Materials. Institute of Ethnology Academia Sinica 12, Minguo 87 (1998). Zhuang Weiji


. “Quanzhou lü yin(ni) fei qiaocun de diaocha yanjiu
 !(
)
 !"#$%”. In Quanzhou huaqiao shiliao
 !"#= [Historical documents on the Quanzhou overseas Chinese] Quanzhoushi guiqiao huaqiao lianhehui
 !"#
, Quanzhoushi qiaowu bangongshi
 !"#$%1 (1984): 13–14.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg >

148 JEAN GELMAN TAYLOR

7 The Chinese and the Early Centuries of Conversion to Islam in Indonesia Jean Gelman Taylor INTRODUCTION

The Chinese community in Indonesia has been the focus of Charles Coppel’s life of scholarship. He has examined the history of Chinese migration to Indonesia and focussed on the legal status of the Chinese, their relationship to minority communities of Christians and Arabs, and on the space Chinese occupy in independent Indonesia (Coppel 2002). The occasion of the celebration of Charles Coppel’s academic career has prompted me to tease out from the writings of a number of (mainly Western) specialists some connections between the Chinese and Islam in Indonesia. The survey suggests that an important function played by the Chinese in the history of Indonesian societies was to hook those societies into an Islamic network that exposed them to Muslim people, ideas, and knowledge. Linking the Chinese to Islam’s origins in the Malay–Indonesian world is a sensitive subject in Indonesia. And yet there is a persistent association between the Chinese and Islam, especially in traditions narrating Islam’s early beginnings in Java. In North Java, for example, from Banten to Kudus, Chinese cultural influences are discernible in the construction of old mosques with their characteristic tiered roofs with curving finials (Salmon 1980; Heuken 1982). Chinese cultural influences are evident in the ceramic plates embedded in the walls of the Cirebon palaces (Tjahjono 1999, p. 87) and in the colours and motifs of Cirebon batik cloths (Elliot 1984). Chinese metalworks and gun foundries and Chinese militias created the military importance of the sultanate of Gresik in the sixteenth century (Carey, P. 1984). According to Chinese tradition, the port had

THE CHINESE AND CONVERSION TO ISLAM IN INDONESIA 149

been founded by the Chinese in the fourteenth century (Ricklefs 2001, p. 45). Local traditions in the Surabaya region (Slametmuljana 1976, p. 242) give Chinese origins to Raden Rahmat (known as Bong Swee Ho in Chinese chronicles) who, as Sunan Ngempel Denta, is revered as one of the nine wali or bringers of Islam to Java. Raden Rahmat is remembered as founding a school whose students were Chinese as well as Javanese, and as teaching Raden Patah (himself of mixed Javanese– Chinese origin, according to Slametmuljana [1976, p. 224]), the founder of Java’s first Islamic state. In the reports of Chinese, Arab, and Portuguese visitors to harbour markets in northeast Sumatra and Java in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, there is a consistent mention of Muslims as a foreign minority and ethnic labelling of Muslims as Chinese and Arab (Ricklefs 2001, pp. 8–10, 40–41; Slametmuljana 1976, pp. 106, 188, 235). The fifteenth century chronicler of Zheng He’s visits to Java recorded his frequent attendance at Friday prayers in a Semarang mosque with a Chinese congregation (Slametmuljana 1976, p. 232). A century later Portuguese visitors described Java’s Muslims as Chinese and Arabs. Chinese chronicles produced in Java attribute Yunnan Muslim origins to men acting as representatives of Chinese trading communities in Java in the fifteenth century (Slametmuljana 1976, p. 188; Ricklefs 1984). Slametmuljana, an Indonesian historian, assembled a written record from Javanese chronicles and inscriptions on stone and metal, from Chinese chronicles composed in China for the imperial court, and from Chinese chronicles composed on Java, in order to compare events narrated, to establish names of kings and dates, and to identify major figures of the age from his diverse materials (Slametmuljana 1976). His research led him to conclude that the founder of Demak, which he argues was the first Islamic state on Java, had a Chinese Muslim mother. According to Slametmuljana, Raden Patah, known in Chinese records as Jin Bun, was the son of Brawijaya VII (whom Slametmuljana identifies as Bhre Kertabhumi from inscriptions) of Majapahit. His mother was given to Arya Damar (identified in Chinese chronicles as Swan Leong) while pregnant with the king’s son. This son later returned to Majapahit, was recognized by his royal father, and appointed lord of Demak. From there he planned the conquest of Majapahit because his father refused to convert to Islam and the son could not bear to serve as vassal to a non-Muslim. In this way, in Slametmuljana’s reading of the evidence, the origins of political Islam in Java lie in Java’s Chinese Muslim history.

150 JEAN GELMAN TAYLOR

Probes by historians in Indonesia into the origins of Islam in the archipelago enter the arena of belief, politics, and social experience. Academic inquiries do not float alone in university circles, detached from the concerns of the heirs of the religious traditions. Indonesia’s Ministry of Religion has squelched popular piety and traditions as well as academic research and rejected the proposition that the Chinese contributed to the Islamization of Indonesia. My intention is not to raise the question again: where did Indonesia’s Islam come from? This is the subject of babad and hikayat, those metrical chronicles composed in Javanese and Malay that narrate the history of the archipelago’s societies. The question has been exhaustively examined by scholars such as Drewes (1968), Johns (1961, 1995), and Ricklefs (2001). Regardless of how Islam reached Indonesia’s islands — whether from Gujerat, Persia, or Yunnan — the fact remains that Islam produced Chinese Muslims in Indonesia. The original meaning of peranakan — a person of mixed ancestry, where one ancestor was indigenous to the archipelago — identified a Muslim of Chinese and Javanese ancestry. There have always been Chinese within the Muslim community in Indonesia, and there have always been Muslims within the Chinese community in Indonesia. And the subject has always been controversial. CHINESE, ARAB, AND INDONESIAN COMMUNITIES

The Chinese in Indonesia exist within a scholarly literature of difference. They can be compared to another peranakan community, Arab Indonesians. The Dutch defined both communities as “Foreign Orientals”, and both were subject to residence and travel restrictions (de Jonge 2000, p. 144; Coppel 1983, p. 6). Both communities were more associated with trade and money-lending than with agriculture, although some members of both communities were landholders and employers of indigenous labour. Both communities were the products of male immigrants who formed domestic partnerships with indigenous women. The family law of both groups assimilated wives and children to the male line, so that locally born children were deemed Chinese or Arab under law and in popular appellation. Both peranakan communities stressed their difference: the Chinese saw themselves as heirs to an ancient civilization; the Arabs were proud to be descendants of the same ethnic group as Muhammad (Coppel 2002, p. 100). Both groups were divided internally, even though they bore the homogenizing labels of Chinese and Arab. The Chinese were divided among themselves by dialect, clan, and region, between

THE CHINESE AND CONVERSION TO ISLAM IN INDONESIA 151

those who spoke an ancestral dialect of Chinese and those whose mother tongue was an Indonesian language. The Chinese were further divided between recent arrivals and the descendants of earlier generations of migrants. The Arabs were divided between those claiming direct descent from Muhammad and Arabs of other lineages, as well as, again, between recent arrivals and old timers. In the twentieth century Chinese and Arab communities had to take a stance towards the nationalist movement. Indonesia’s nationalists rejected common homeland as a basis for unity and citizenship in favour of indigenous or “blood” rights (Cribb and Brown 1995, pp. 41–43; Coppel 1983, pp. 26–27). In both communities there were those whose political interests were focussed on the ancestral homeland of China or the Hadramaut, while others argued that they must join cause with the nationalists and secure a place for themselves in an independent Indonesia. The Bond van Vereenigingen van Jong-Chineezen in Indonesie (Union of Associations of Young Chinese in Indonesia) and the Persatuan Arab Indonesia (The Arab Union of Indonesia) were products of the 1920s and 1930s (Coppel 1997, p. 30; Mobini-Kesheh 1999, p. 136; de Jonge 2000, p. 154). Coppel (2002) has argued that the Chinese acculturated to Javanese culture. Chinese textile workers brought new colours and motifs to the design of batik and new production techniques, while Chinese artists contributed new characters to the wayang repertoire and new styles of performance. We can argue that the Arab Indonesians, on the contrary, have influenced Indonesians to abandon aspects of local cultures deemed un-Islamic or in conflict with Islamic principles and have brought Arab styles of domestic and mosque architecture into vogue. We can also compare the Chinese to “Indonesians”. In many ways the Chinese community mirrors the larger Indonesian society. Like Indonesians, the Chinese are very diverse. Both Indonesians and the Chinese are distributed across regions, speech groups, and lineages; they are divided by custom and folklore. The Chinese, like some Indonesian ethnic groups, are a mobile people. They move around the archipelago to jobs and opportunities and they use education as a means to change opportunities and lifestyle. People of Chinese origin also share the Indonesian experience in that they become targets for killings and arson when government authority weakens and local heroes marshal armed supporters. The Chinese are distinct and readily identifiable the way the Madurese in Kalimantan or the Ambonese in Java are. Those who have shed signs of Chineseness in dress, name, and diet do not escape mob attack.

152 JEAN GELMAN TAYLOR

CHINESE SEA NETWORKS IN THE INDONESIAN ARCHIPELAGO

In the scholarly literature (for example, Drakard 1989; Hooker 1988; Johns 1995; Jones 1979; Ricklefs 1979, 2001; Slametmuljana 1976) there is general agreement that both Muslims and the Chinese established themselves on Indonesia’s coasts and later extended their reach into the hinterlands. The first identifiable so-called Kota Cina (China Town) was in northeast Sumatra. It dates from the late eleventh century. The archaeologist John Miksic (1996) calls it Indonesia’s first commercial city, as opposed to a royal city, because of evidence of a wide range of occupations, active foreign trade, a multi-ethnic population, and a monetary economy. From at least the eighth century CE (Common Era) a regular sea trading route took Arab merchants to southern China with stops at ports along Sumatra’s northwest coast (Wolters 1970, p. 39). There they purchased local varieties of camphor, resins, and forest produce to supplement cargoes they were carrying to China. The Arabs supplying the Chinese market also sold their skills in navigation to the Chinese. As a result, from Song dynasty times, there were far more Chinese ships, crews, businessmen, and labourers in Indonesian ports. The Chinese came to the archipelago rather than wait in China for Indonesian ships to come to them. The archipelago’s communities anchored along the sea routes received an overpowering impression of China’s commercial power (Levathes 1994; Manguin 1993; Reid 1999). Perhaps the port dwellers also perceived that some Chinese merchants were part of the new world web of Islam. John Mills (1979) mines Chinese sailing manuals to discover routes to Southeast Asia and beyond followed by the Chinese navigators. The fifteenth century Shun Feng Hsiang Sung (Fair Winds for Escort) contains sailing instructions for one hundred voyages, with precise details for twenty-seven between China and the Indonesian archipelago, between other foreign places and the archipelago, and between ports within the archipelago. The seventeenth century Tung Hsi Yang K’ao (Study of Eastern and Western Oceans) contains notes on the history and geography of places visited by Chinese shippers, including Aceh, Banten, and Timor. The Chinese sailing manuals guided pilots on the western and eastern routes by giving steering directions, estimates of sailing time calculated in numbers of watches, the altitude of stars, and coastal features such as promontories, shoals, and water currents. The Chinese navigation built on the knowledge obtained by Zheng He’s voyages of the

THE CHINESE AND CONVERSION TO ISLAM IN INDONESIA 153

early fifteenth century that took in points on Java’s north coast, the east coast of Sumatra, and Malaya’s west coast, before crossing the Indian Ocean for ports on India’s coasts, on the southern Arabian peninsula, and on Africa’s east coast. The early interaction between the Chinese and inhabitants of the Indonesian archipelago focused on trading networks and relationships, on royal tribute trade that made sailors from the western Indonesian archipelago travel to southeast China, and private or freelance trade that sent Chinese from there to Southeast Asia (see, for example, Blussé 1979; Reid 1993, 1996; Wolters 1967). The Chinese freelancers ignored or evaded imperial edicts restraining overseas trade. Historical accounts follow the development in Southeast Asia of specialist communities of Chinese pepper and sugar growers, and miners of gold, tin, and coal. Carl Trocki (1997) has shown how the histories of southern China and Southeast Asia are bound together. He sees Southeast Asia as a zone of offshore production for Chinese industries and markets: Chinese growing sugar in West Java for export to southern China; growing pepper in Riau and Ha Tinh in South Vietnam; mining gold in West Kalimantan; or Chinese traders purchasing supplies of specialty foods in Java’s markets for medicines and banquets in China, such as birds’ nests and sea cucumbers. China’s language, its writing system, and its religious, philosophical, and governing systems spread over land, not water. The Koreans and Vietnamese received essentials of Chinese civilization by sharing a common land mass with the Chinese. The Koreans were mediators of Chinese civilization to the Japanese. Chinese civilization spread through refugees, exiles, military conquest, government, and colonization of neighbouring space by settlement. Today the process continues in Tibet. Keith Taylor (1983) suggests that Vietnam’s historical mission was to stem the spread of Chinese influence south overland and, indeed, that influence did not spread over the south seas, at least not the way it did in the north. The names of insular Southeast Asian people, places, and their customs and products live in Chinese records in China, but Chinesestyle states did not develop in maritime Southeast Asia, and Indonesian lives were not conducted in Chinese dialects. CHINESE AND MUSLIM NETWORKS

Muslims, like the Chinese, also arrived by sea and the archipelago’s first Islamic communities were fixtures along the coasts of Indonesia’s

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islands. There is the sequence of sultanates — Lamreh, Pasai, Melaka, Ternate, Aceh, Brunei, Demak, Tuban, Makasar. All these early Islamic kingdoms were anchored on ports on the coasts. Successor states to Demak moved south and inland, producing the sultanate of Mataram (Ricklefs 2001, p. 46). Aceh expanded south to convert interior peoples of northern Sumatra, while Banten exported Islam to its hinterland and to southern Sumatra. The early sultanates were port-cities, places put on the map by Chinese businesses, but now the non-Muslim Chinese lived outside the walls of Muslim cities, separated from the converts, assigned an inferior status, and considered polluting and alien (Guillot 1989; Taylor, J.G. 1983; Woodward 1989). How Islam spread is the subject of Indonesian text and performance traditions. The missions of the wali are conveyed through the wayang puppets and stories, as well as in the rhymed stanzas of the musical tradition. Ricklefs (1979) and Jones (1979) have analysed stories from the Malay–Indonesian world that recount the miracle of the first, royal conversion. They identify elements shared by these stories, such as the mysterious stranger from overseas who arrives on a treasure ship; the role of illness and healing in royal conversions; the identification of the first man to convert as the king. The mysterious stranger, the bringer of Islam, is sometimes from Egypt or Champa or is from a distant region of the archipelago. For example, Minangkabau religious men are remembered as bringing Islam to South Sulawesi and the son of the king of Pasai brought Islam to Tidore. The Islam brought to Indonesia was not the Islam of the seventhcentury Arabian desert. It was the Islam of the fifteenth century. By then Islam had developed folk ways, local saints, and heroes. It was a culture rooted in cities and a myriad of states. The single Muslim community of ideal no longer existed. Islam spread within the Indonesian archipelago during the period of three great Islamic empires in Eurasia — the Safavid, Mughal, and Ottoman. The Islam of the fifteenth century was associated with royalty, absolute monarchy, and centralizing government and not with a community of male equals guided by religious experts. Muslim kings in this world took the title of sultan, which means guardian and implementer of the shari’a. They directed their salaried ulama (religious teachers) in how to interpret Islam, so that the ulama praised the sultans as Shadow of Allah on Earth and preached the duty of obedience; and treason as the worst of crimes. So we find two parallel grids being laid down in the Indonesian archipelago — one Chinese and one Muslim. The Islamic grid was a product

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of the nomadic qualities of Islam. There was the built-in requirement for adult Muslims of journeying to Mecca and Medina on pilgrimage. (In practice, before modern transport services by railway, steamship, and aeroplane, most pilgrims were men.) For men there was the tradition of the journey for knowledge — the student who went from teacher to teacher and the teacher who travelled. For those who stayed put there was the duty of hospitality that made travel by others possible. This duty of hospitality obliged the pious to provide food and lodging, as well as reverence to travelling teachers. There was the expectation of kings that they would be generous, support the student and teacher, and provide jobs in madrasah (Islamic schools) and law courts for the travelling scholar. There was the belief that the Quran was God’s spoken words in Arabic, so that converts must learn Arabic. Arabic became a mobile language, replacing completely the original language of the Egyptians and Syrians. In other places, such as India and Indonesia, it became the language of religious scholarship as well as of mosque, the language of written communication, while the local vernacular continued to operate for domestic use. Trade routes — over land and over water — provided the means of travel. Religion provided the compulsion. So adventurers, the ambitious, the misfits, and the zealots travelled the world of Islamic communities, publicizing visions, teachings, legal rulings, and spinning a common web of Islamic consciousness across a vast arc of territories linked by land and sea routes (Southall 1998). The first Islamic communities in the Indonesian archipelago formed around traders who established a communal life in ports that were already markets specializing in archipelago produce for the Chinese trade. Over several centuries, archipelago ports that were put on international trade routes by the activities of the Chinese became host to communities of Muslim traders. Their residents acquired a knowledge of foreign Muslims and experienced them as a minority group in their cities. When a ship anchored, assistants of the harbour master would row out to it to inquire who owned and operated the ship and what they wanted to buy. Gifts presented by the ship’s captain and principal passengers to the harbour master (often Chinese) and ruler eased their way and advertised what they had to sell. If the foreign traders were admitted to the king’s presence, they were questioned about their origins and the politics and state of business in ports on their itinerary. Sometimes the local rajas called on the foreign Muslims to contribute their medical knowledge or debate their beliefs. The rajas licensed foreigners to rent work and living

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space on shore and to employ local agents to assemble cargoes of goods for export. They authorized Muslim foreigners to contract with local brokers who supplied male and female labourers to carry goods, construct market stalls and warehouses, as well as supply food and sex. The formal procession of merchants for an audience with the ruler allowed a port’s population to observe the foreigners’ appearance, costume, and customs. Over time, a community of foreign Muslims developed in the ward assigned to it, distinguished by the religion and the business methods of its members, and the styles of their housing and religious buildings. The foreign Muslims were all men, so the first converts were not kings, as Indonesian legends have it, but more probably wives, in-laws, children, and household staff. A nucleus of local converts formed around the foreign Muslims. The Muslim communities needed the services of specialists in order to pursue an Islamic lifestyle. They needed teachers, slaughterers of animals, purveyors of Islamic costume, and architects and masons to construct tombs. Members, including migrants, both temporary and permanent, came from many Islamic societies — Arab, Indian, Persian, and Chinese. Compare the Islamic grid to the Chinese. It originated in southern China, which was a single region, but where there was no single spoken version of the language. Inhabitants of southeast China’s provinces spoke Hokkien, Cantonese, Teochew, and Hakka dialects of the Chinese language. Southern China exported its specialists to many regions of the Indonesian archipelago: workers in metal and leather, farmers, accountants, weighers, carpenters, miners, and entrepreneurs who could put networks of workers on land or on sea as peddlers, porters, collectors, sailors, and traders (Pan 1999). In China merchants ranked low in the Confucian value system. Few scholars travelled overseas as freelancers. Scholars who travelled to Indonesia’s islands were sent as envoys of the imperial government to record useful information on Southeast Asia. Otherwise they were refugees, exiles, and rejects from China’s politics. China’s imperial envoys conferred titles on Southeast Asian kings. These titles were not glorious ones like “sultan” and “caliph”, but “vassal”, clearly signalling that Indonesian kings were inferior to China’s Son of Heaven. During many periods Chinese traders and workers in the archipelago were illegal from the point of view of the Chinese Government. They were regarded as refuse, forbidden to return to China, and subject to confiscation of property. Southern China was a long way from the imperial government in northern China, so there were always Chi-

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nese working and living and moving back and forth between Southeast Asia and China, but there was no equivalent in China of Mecca. There was no place of honour where the Chinese came from and to which Indonesians aspired to go. The Chinese were important in Southeast Asia’s history because they provided urban services, things that made an economy work. They functioned as clerks, weighers, record keepers, tax collectors, and controllers of shipping. The Chinese acted as entrepreneurs linked to other entrepreneurs in Southeast Asia and in southern China, organizing exports and production for southern China’s markets (Taylor, J.G. 2003, pp. 127–29; Wang 1996). The Chinese provided finance for ventures, and they supplied goods to be carried to inland markets in exchange for desired export products. So the Chinese made Indonesian ports into places where merchants from other networks came. The Chinese opened up Indonesian ports, made them attractive. The Chinese opened Indonesian societies to outside information and intellectual trends (Taylor, J.G. 2003, p. 130). Chinese entrepreneurship exposed Indonesian societies to Muslim knowledge, not to Chinese knowledge. They brought the services that made ports work and provided markets with regular, predictable supplies of goods, attracting traders operating in Islamic networks. The Chinese made Indonesia’s ports places where Muslim traders wanted to do business in, place agents in, and even settle in. Indigenous rulers who took the title “sultan” advertised along Muslim sea networks that they were open for business with Muslims. Their ancestors had joined another international set of rulers when they took the title “raja”. Then they had followed the activities of that club of rulers. They had built temples and lingga (Hindu statues in the shape of phalluses), and they had possessed the landscape visually with statues of themselves as gods. Now rajas added the titles “sultan” and “caliph” to their reign names. They built mosques with stones taken from Hindu temples, financed madrasah, supported artists working in Islamic styles, and gave the space a Muslim look. Both groups — Chinese and Islamic entrepreneurs — were male, so both intermarried with local women. The local female provided hotel services: lodging, food, laundry, and sex. She also came with a network of her own consisting of her male relatives. Local in-laws of the foreign trader provided links, contacts, agents, suppliers, and business partners. In conversion stories the Indonesian king gave his daughter to the foreign missionary for Islam (Jones 1979). Royalty incorporated the Muslim male outsider into the local supreme family. Compare this with the Chinese case: Indonesian royalty incorporated Chinese females within

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their system of ranked wives and concubines. We learn from Javanese chronicles of Chinese princesses entering the Majapahit royal family, but they do not record that Chinese merchants entered Javanese royalty as husbands to Javanese princesses. The Islamic male can marry a non-Islamic woman, a Jew or Christian, followers of a monotheistic religion, and he can have non-Muslim partners and slaves. The Islamic female is enjoined to marry only a Muslim male or a convert (Esposito 1991, p. 95). The non-Muslim Chinese male was thus outside the loop of marriages. He could only marry the leftovers — girls whose families were too poor to insist on conversion, or Balinese slaves. Chinese girls, that is, daughters of Chinese merchants and local women, provided a popular source of secondary wives and concubines for Indonesian aristocracies. Amangkurat I of Mataram, for instance, in flight during a civil war, demanded girls from the Chinese community of Tegal; Prince Diponegoro hated the Chinese, but took Chinese girls as concubines. But Chinese men could never fully enter the elite circle. For example, Chinese converts to Islam who wanted princesses for their brides or to confer on their wives the title of raden ayu were denied these symbols of belonging. The international Islamic network was represented in Indonesian ports by wealthy, turbaned men wearing costumes that covered the whole body (Reid 1993, figures 1, 6). They were participants of a world with its conventions of the Arabic alphabet, mosque, a concern for writing down business contracts, and reverence for interpreters of Islam (Taylor, J.G. 2003, pp. 82–87). Muslim foreigners could bestow better titles on Indonesian kings. They could confer the honour of “sultan” from the “king of Mecca” and were rewarded by kings with a girl from the royal household. For example, Sultan Ageng Tirtajasa of Banten gave a daughter in marriage to Shaikh Yusuf, who obligingly led an armed band against the Dutch and condemned them as the Occidental “Other” in 1682 (Taylor, J.G. 2003, pp. 169–70). Indonesian sultans brought the foreign Muslim man into the family. When dealing with the Chinese, they denied entrance to the male, but took the girl out of the Chinese family for a position amongst the secondary wives and concubines. Indonesians did not just receive missionaries and teachers from abroad — they also journeyed to Arabia. There is a tradition of lengthy study in Arabia or Egypt, with archipelago scholars based in Arabia sending back teachings and legal rulings to compatriots (Riddell 2001). There is the tradition in Islam of hijrah, withdrawal by Muhammad from Mecca, to build until the time was right to return. Indonesian scholars made their

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hijrah to the Islamic heartland. Sometimes the centres were in Egypt or Iraq, for example, the Shiite city of Kerbala. There was no comparable missionary impulse from China to make Indonesians Buddhists in this same period. Indonesians did not travel to China to study or achieve stature in their home communities. When small-town rulers declared themselves to be Muslim and ordered their subjects to follow them, they had no big establishment to displace or displease. Instead, they had in their towns important commercial settlements of Muslim businessmen with their attendant religious leaders and busy contacts with counterparts in ports throughout the Indian Ocean. Over four centuries there developed a string of Muslim ports fringing Indonesian kingdoms of the plains and upland valleys. Familiarity with Islam and its representatives varied in the archipelago, according to a society’s geographic location and to historical time. Indonesia’s Islamic states were formed within a context of difference. Later, the Dutch had the same function as the Chinese in Indonesian history: they opened up Indonesia to the Islamic world. For example, the Dutch instituted regular steamship service between Batavia and Mecca. Reid (1993, p. 9) charts the rise in the numbers of archipelago inhabitants making the pilgrimage each year when travel became swift and safe. Steamship service also allowed more Indonesians to travel to study in the Middle East, and to import religious magazines from Egypt. The Dutch differed from the Chinese because they were rulers of Muslims. But they still acted as promoters of Islam. Usually the literature tells us that the Dutch hemmed in Islam, and tried to distinguish between good Muslims and fanatics. The Dutch exiled Indonesian kings and ulama who irritated them to South Africa, Sri Lanka, or Ambon (see, for example, Ricklefs 2001). But the Dutch were also patrons of Islam: for most of their colonial rule they allowed only Muslim missionaries to operate in the archipelago, so that the process of conversion proceeded — conversion to Islam, that is, not to Christianity. The Dutch, as rulers of Muslims, paid salaries to mosque officials and allocated government funds to build mosques. For example, money from the colonial government built Aceh’s Bait ur-Rahman mosque (Tjahjono 1999, pp. 82–83). Telegraph and steamship services connected the archipelago to the Middle East, as well as to Western Europe. The Dutch provided the tools of the modern world that connected Indonesians to world Islam. The Chinese and Dutch played the role of the “Other” for Indonesian Islam. The ban on eating pork makes a statement when there are pork-eaters in the midst of Muslims. Islamic clothing is a statement to

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non-believers as well as to the casual Muslim; it forces notice upon the other. The Muslim needs the other to observe the public performance of Islamic duties. The Chinese and Dutch are linked in Islamic rhetoric as foreign, polluting, and practitioners of sinful capitalism (Kumar 1997). The solution often preached by Islamic leaders and heads of armies was “leave or convert”. These were the choices Diponegoro offered to captives (Carey, B.P.R. 1981, p. 43); the solution is there today in the enthusiasm for “sweeping”. CONCLUSION

As Chinese Muslims, the Chinese did play a role in bringing Islam to Indonesia. But more importantly, they developed ports and city life and supply networks that attracted Muslim traders and so fostered the beginnings of Muslim communities inside today’s Indonesia. The Chinese opened up the Indonesian states to Islamic networks and knowledge and so facilitated the spread of Islam within the archipelago. For Indonesians expanding Muslim quarters in ports meant continual access to Islam, increasing familiarity with Muslim people, beliefs, business practices, and habits, a greater opportunity to gauge international trends, and an increased facility to think of the world in Islamic patterns and vocabulary. This is what Johns calls “Islamization”, as distinct from “conversion” (1995). Port residents most in contact with Muslims converted: wives, extended families of wives, children, and people who perceived Islam as denoting prosperity, urban status, and distance from manual labour. In these environments the management class of port cities became Muslim. In Javanese history ports were sites of miracles which were the work of wali (Ricklefs 1979, pp. 109–10; Guillot 1989). China was a single state during this period, with a single government, expanding over land by military assault and colonization, while restricting contact with Indonesian communities in the southern seas. Its view of the world made Indonesian states low-ranking vassals around a Chinese world centre. For much of the period actual contact of the Chinese with Indonesian communities was illegal, in China at least. By contrast, the Islamic world was fragmented and political power was apportioned amongst many states. It had mechanisms for getting scholars and missionaries on the move, a mechanism for drawing them back, a mechanism for conferring honour on the wanderer. Muslims became first-class Indonesians. The Chinese, who brought Islam to Indonesia, became Indonesians of the second rank.

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Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg >

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8 The Agony of Love A Study of Peranakan Chinese Courtship and Marriage Christine Pitt INTRODUCTION

In all societies, through the ages, people have married, had children, and formed families. In most societies, this has also involved falling in love. However, these feelings and desires become subject to the rules, constraints, and obligations of those societies and are therefore expressed in a variety of patterns of courtship and marriage. This chapter1 will provide a descriptive analysis of the nature of courtship and marriage in the Chinese community in Indonesia in 1939–42, and in particular the problems which arose for the young adults involved, as expressed through the “agony” columns of the Star Magazine. It is hoped that this would outline the values held by this community regarding courtship and marriage. Underlying the discussion of values in the magazine’s “agony” columns is a theme of changing values, and we see a society aware of the difference between traditional and modern values and beginning to move away — albeit to a small degree — from traditional attitudes and behaviour. Of course, caution must be taken with assuming that all letters in the Star Magazine’s “agony” columns were written by real people with real problems. Even if they were, it should not be assumed that the letters accurately display the problems of the broader society. Nevertheless these letters do provide a unique window into the attitudes of some peranakan2 Chinese of this period, even if the “dialogue” between those writing the letters (the younger generation) and the agony aunt (the older generation) is seen as a type of “constructed reality”. The Star Magazine was a peranakan monthly magazine which first

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appeared in January 1939 and continued publication until the 1960s. Due to the limited availability of the issues, this study is restricted to 1939– 42, when the publication was presumably suspended temporarily due to the Japanese Occupation. It was written in bahasa Melajoe (so-called Sino-Malay or low Malay), which was the language of daily use of the peranakan Chinese of Indonesia (Rafferty 1984, p. 249). The magazine included articles of fairly general interest, and seems designed to appeal to both men and women of a wide age range. The articles covered discussions of social issues, photos of China and other foreign countries, cooking, health, the war in Europe, films, sport, a women’s column, horoscope, graphology, cartoons, and short stories. The magazine also ran two columns which provide a fascinating insight into the personal lives of the readers and which form the basis of this study. These columns were Apa Saja Moesti Berboeat? (What Should I Do?) and Correspondentie Rubriek (Correspondence Column). Apa Saja Moesti Berboeat was an “agony column”, where readers’ descriptions of their personal problems were printed together with suggested solutions by the magazine’s adviser, “Njonja Seng”.3 (See Figure 8.1 for the masthead.) In the introduction she was described as a

FIGURE 8.1 The Masthead for the “Agony Column” — Apa Saja Moesti Berboeat?

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“woman of forty who is well-educated and has much experience in this bitter-sweet world”. The column was introduced as “an opportunity to discuss problems of love, family or household… for the many brokenhearted people who cannot turn to a friend for advice” (Star Magazine, no. 1, January 1939, p. 51).4 The correspondence column began in October 1939. It was started “at the request of many readers as an opportunity for young men and women to correspond, and it is hoped that many will find happiness”. Readers sent an outline of their education, work, character, and interests and specified the characteristics desired in the person with whom they would like to correspond. Nj Seng acted as an intermediary, forwarding letters from hopeful correspondents to the people who submitted the original request. The Apa Saja Moesti Berboeat advice column published a total of 219 letters in the three-year period studied. Of these, 27 were from women and 192 from men. In the Correspondentie Rubriek there were 371 letters, 106 from women and 265 from men. The big difference in the number of men and women using these columns can probably be attributed to the fact that, in this still-traditional society, men were expected to take the initiative in courtship and marriage, whereas women were more passive and accepting of their situation. CONTRIBUTORS’ BACKGROUND

To gain an understanding of the type of people writing to the magazine, details of the contributors will now be examined. These figures cannot be taken as completely accurate, because the writers did not provide full details about themselves. One writer might leave out his age and another her education; and the descriptions used were not always easy to categorize: for example, “normal school” or “good position” (sekolah biasa, kedudukan baek). However, the available information can give a general picture of the people involved. The average age in the correspondence column was 24.5 for men (ranging from 18 to 40) and 22 for women (16 to 31). Most of the people who wrote to either the advice or correspondence column were unmarried. Writers from Java constituted 85 per cent of all writers. People from Batavia sent 35 per cent of the problem letters but only 5 per cent of the correspondence requests. This was perhaps because it is easier to meet people in a big city, minimizing the need to correspond. This greater freedom does, however, often bring more problems. Twenty per cent of

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correspondence requests were from other islands compared to 10 per cent of advice requests — probably for the reverse reasons. With regard to education, 55 per cent of the writers attended or had attended Dutch schools; 25 per cent had received Chinese education; 12 per cent had attended technical or household schools (usually Dutch); 5 per cent had been to English schools; and only 2 per cent went to university. Male and female distribution was similar except that 5 per cent of the girls attended Christian schools. Suryadinata reported that in 1936 there were at least as many Chinese students in Dutch schools as in Chinese schools (Suryadinata 1978, p. 147), and the vast majority of Star Magazine readers were Dutch-educated. Given the peranakan preference for Dutch education, and the fact that Star Magazine was a peranakan publication, these readers would have had a greater Western orientation (including Western Europe, Northern America, and Australasia) than the general Chinese community. The occupational distribution of males was 45 per cent with their own businesses; 40 per cent white collar employees; 5 per cent professional; 5 per cent managers; and only 2 per cent unskilled.5 There was a lower proportion of small business owners, and a higher proportion of white collar employees than other studies have found (Willmott 1960, p. 37), possibly due to the younger age of the correspondents, who may have found clerical jobs until they could actually establish their own business. It confirms the general finding that the Chinese prefer to engage in trade, but also indicates that the peranakan Chinese also liked the security of salaried work. Ryan, in a study of peranakan and totok Chinese,6 commented that peranakan Chinese were more likely to be employees (Ryan 1961). In the correspondence column, their own descriptions of their economic position were 60 per cent “well off” (kedudukan baek), 20 per cent average income (sedeng), and 20 per cent poor (miskin or saderhana). This reflects the fact that the Chinese were in general well-off, but reminds us that a significant number of Chinese were just as poor as many Indonesians. As regards women, only 10 per cent worked, typically as dressmakers, clerks, etc., or in the family business. Many emphasized, however, that they were knowledgeable about business (mengerti dagang). The correspondents were asked to specify the languages in which they preferred to correspond. Seventy per cent naturally mentioned Malay, but only 12 per cent indicated Malay only. About 50 per cent requested Dutch (more females than males); 25 per cent mentioned Chinese (Kuo Yu or Tjeng Im); and 30 per cent included English (more males than females). Only two mentioned Javanese. These are not

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necessarily the languages of daily use. They simply represent the writers’ choices for correspondence — at least this is suggested by the standard of some letters in English. Since 55 per cent of the correspondents attended Dutch schools, it is natural they should say that they were able to correspond in Dutch. However, more chose English than Mandarin, yet only 4 per cent attended English schools. English was taught at Chinese schools but the liking for English seems to indicate a cultural orientation to the West and may result partly from exposure to American films. Many English and Dutch words were used in problem letters, such as “saja poenja sweetheart” and “zelfstandig” (independent). The overwhelming number of English-based names also seems to reflect an interest in Western culture again, in particular, American films. Donald Willmot also mentions the influence of U.S. movies a decade later: “Today [1954] western-type education, moving pictures [etc.] help perpetuate the prestige of western culture” (Willmott 1960, p. 243). Many correspondents listed going to the movies (nonton) as one of their interests and the influence of the movies may be seen in the fact that amongst the pseudonyms, there were five “Mr Tyrone Powers”, four “Deanne Durbins”, not to mention a “Mr Hollywood”. However, this may represent as much a fascination with the superficial aspects of Western culture, rather than a full adoption of its “modern” values. In summary, the people whose lives will be observed here were young adults, mainly from Java, a large number with Dutch education, somewhat fewer with Chinese education. Generally, the males worked in their own businesses or in white collar jobs, while most of the women stayed at home. Many of them seemed oriented towards Western culture. PROBLEMS OF COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE

What kind of problems in their personal lives concerned these young Chinese people? What can be seen of their lifestyle and values through the situations they confronted and the solutions offered by Njonja Seng? The various problems encountered by the writers can be categorized as follows: conflict between parents and children over the choice of spouse; choice of characteristics for a spouse; courting procedures; problems with concubines; insufficient income delaying marriage; pregnancies; inter-ethnic marriage; and divorce. Some of these problems are naturally perennial for young people in any society, including in Australia today. However most of the particular

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situations to be examined were determined by social factors in the prewar Indonesian peranakan Chinese society itself. Moreover, the social values can be seen to be in a state of flux, bringing a small shift along the continuum from traditional values towards more modern attitudes and behaviour. COURTING

A discussion of courting will show how young people became acquainted and the problems which arose. In general, courting followed much more traditional and circumspect patterns than we know today. Although most parents no longer took the role of choosing a prospective partner for their children, they often acted as intermediaries. “Toean Anak Desa” (Mr Village Child) said, “I know a girl, but I have not really spoken to her because I am hesitant. I love her, and her parents have told my parents that she likes me” (no. 14, February 1940, p. 63). Many couples got acquainted through letters, and only later met face to face. “Toean Abonne 3225” (Mr Subscriber 3225) was attracted to a girl, and planned to send a letter to her, through his friend who knew her at school (no. 10, October 1939, p. 57). “Miss Boenga Terate” (Miss Lotus Flower) wrote, “Through letters, I have got to know (berkenalan) a young Chinese man. Although I have never met him, and do not really know his character, in one letter he asked me to marry him” (no. 28, April 1941, p. 66). Nj Seng did advise against such an unfounded marriage but it illustrates how much faith the boy had in the correspondence. The Correspondentie Rubriek was part of this system. Although many of the writers did simply wish to correspond as friends (asking for both male and female correspondents), behind many entries was a desire to become acquainted with a view to marriage. A frequent quality mentioned by women was that they could run a household (bisa urus rumah tangga) and this was listed by many men as a desirable characteristic in women they were interested in writing to — hardly needed for casual letter-writing. Other couples did meet directly, but in a very reserved manner. The socially prescribed distance between men and women was a problem for several writers. “Toean Joy” asked, “I love a girl I have often seen, but I have not spoken to her! Our eyes often meet. How can I get to know her? What should I say if she has a Western education?” (no. 12, December 1939, p. 48). Nj Seng’s advice was to nod when they met again. If

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she nodded back, then it meant she wanted to know him. Next time he could say “hello” and introduce himself. The man must take the initiative; only “modern” girls would talk to a man first. “Eenzaam Meisje” (Lonely Girl) said, “I am an educated girl, not too modern, not too conservative. I love a boy I knew at school. I don’t know if he likes me. As a respectable girl, I cannot tell him my feelings. How can I know if he likes me?” (no. 30, June 1941, p. 60). Nj Seng advised her to take note of his behaviour towards her, his glances, whether he brought gifts. She could only subtly drop hints that she liked him, but he would understand. Some couples did meet in the “modern” way, through sport and social clubs, or in public places like the pasar malam (night market). However, as one writer lamented, only 10 per cent of girls joined the social clubs. Nj Seng in fact discouraged such meetings — it was better to be introduced by friends or family, because these modern “social” girls went out instead of staying at home and were attracted only by outward appearances and not the inner person (no. 4, April 1939 p. 56). Once they were acquainted, some couples went out alone, for walks, to the movies or to a restaurant. However, this was still considered too modern for most parents, and most couples seemed to follow the traditional pattern of the boy visiting the girl at her home. Allowing the boy to visit regularly was a sign of commitment, as illustrated by one girl’s problem. “Nona Satyr van ‘t Woud” (Miss Satyr from the Wood)7 wrote that a male friend, A, often visited her. He fell in love with another girl, B, who was also a friend of the writer, and they corresponded. She was worried that A’s regular visits would be misunderstood by B. People were saying that she and A were engaged, but they were really just friends. What should she do? Nj Seng confirmed that social rule, by advising that it was best if A did not visit her, as people would indeed think he was not just a friend, and B would be jealous (no. 9, September 1939, p. 52). A relationship would continue according to a proposal procedure, which was described to ‘Toean Khim’ who enquired about social etiquette (no. 4, April 1939, p. 54). Nj Seng explained that he should tell his parents which girl he liked and his parents should then make a proposal ( pertoendangan) to her parents if he could visit her at home. This is the time when he should really try to get to know the girl’s character. If they were happy with each other, the boy could ask his parents to officially propose marriage (melamar) to her parents. This arrangement is similar to the pattern described by Tan (1963, pp. 79–80).

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CHOICE OF CHARACTERISTICS IN SPOUSE

Many of the problem letters concerned which person the writer could choose as a partner. Through their dilemmas we can see which characteristics they considered important. “Toean ABC” had three girls to choose from: A has a sweet golden character, pleasant but she lacks education and good looks — my mother prefers this girl. B is pretty, a flower, but arrogant, with average education — my choice. C is educated, good character, and her parents are wealthy — my father likes this girl because she can help in business. It seems I have a choice between character, looks or education. (no. 8, August 1939, p. 64)

Nj Seng’s solution was the first girl, as a good personality is important for fortune and happiness in a household. In one of the general articles on social issues in Star Magazine entitled “Finding a Partner” (Mencari Pasangan), the author advised that a wife should not be older, more educated, or more wealthy than the husband — based on the traditional view that the husband should be superior to the wife in all ways (no. 1, January 1939, p. 20). This concern is borne out in a letter from “Toean Yen” who was doubtful about a girl he was thinking of marrying, because she was more educated, wore fancy clothes, was older, and did not like housework (no. 7, July 1939, p. 53). Nj Seng acknowledged this as a problem (handicap besar) and suggested he look for a simpler girl (gadis saderhana). However, in other cases the couples were not influenced by this social tradition, wishing to marry even though the girl was older or more wealthy. In the correspondence column one important characteristic that was specified was “good family” (keluarga baek-baek, toeroenan baek). This reflects the traditional value placed on the inter-related concerns and social standing. According to the characteristics requested in the correspondence column, women should be patient, cheerful, with good character and sweet personality (sabar, gembira, prangi aloes, manis boedi). They should also be good housewives (huiselijk, bisa urus rumah tangga). According to the women, men should be polite, economically independent, and honest (sopan, berdiri sendiri, djudjur). These are expressions of the traditional male/female stereotypes and emphasize “reserved” characteristics such as politeness and patience.

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“KOENO/MODERN”

Very significant descriptions used in the correspondence column were “old-fashioned” (koeno) and “modern”, either of which many girls used to describe themselves and men specified in the women they wanted. Most girls described themselves as “not too old-fashioned, not too modern” (tidak terlalu koeno, tidak terlaloe modern); half as many said they were “not modern” and very few said they were “modern”. However, most boys said they wanted a girl “not too modern”. Women were perhaps beginning to break out of the social rules which bound them, but most men still wanted traditional women. The women’s emancipation movement was growing slowly and “modern” women were a threat to men’s traditional position. Western education and the fact that girls were staying longer at school would have been major factors in this change. However, very few of either men or women found a “modern” character desirable. It is interesting to note that the whole issue of being “modern” only related to women — the label was not used for men. In an article entitled “Modern Girl” (Gadis Modern) the image was depicted of a girl who “likes to dance, wears lipstick and jokes with men” (no. 6, June 1939, p. 6). Other descriptions of modern girls are that “they flirt, are too free, dress up and go out, are aggressive and talk to boys”. The ultimate symbol of being “modern” was to like dancing; several men stated that they did not like to dance (tidak soeka dansa) and asked to correspond with girls who had similar reserve. On the other hand, a traditional girl is gentle (lemah lemboet), stays at home, is simple (saderhana), does not argue against her parents’ wishes, and is shy with men. The article goes on to say that the term “modern girl” should actually mean a woman who is no longer satisfied with an inferior position; they do not wish to be equal with men (this is impossible because of their different psychological make-up and their different roles in life), but want the freedom to determine their own lives. However, many correspondents still seemed to see a “modern girl” negatively in the first sense and rejected this model, despite the fact that even the first concept of “modern” is quite innocent to the twentyfirst century reader. The roles of men and women were still traditionally defined. Men were the providers and women the nurturers. In reply to “Toean ABC”, Nj Seng said that he must not expect his wife to work, as her most important job is to look after the home and children (no. 8, August 1939, p. 64). She likewise advised “Toean SOS” to have a good income before

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he married, otherwise how would his children be educated? (no. 5, May 1939, p. 50). The traditional view of marriage as right and natural is expressed in several letters. “Toean David” wrote: “I have a desire to live as is proper (secara lajiknja), that is, to marry and have my own household” (no. 3, March 1939, p. 54). Nj Seng commented to “Toean P.S. George”: “Man is not perfect [complete] until he marries and has children, because that is the natural thing” (no. 22, October 1940, p. 59).8 CONFLICTS BETWEEN PARENTS AND CHILDREN OVER CHOICE OF SPOUSE

In the traditional pattern of courtship and marriage, the parents chose a partner for their son or daughter. They made the arrangements with the other parents, often without the couple meeting before the engagement. Marriage was seen as a contract between two families, rather than a relationship between two individuals (Tan 1963, p. 81). This type of arrangement was rare by the 1950s but was still evident in the pre-war years. “Toean T” wrote: I am 23 and love a Chinese girl9 but my parents will not allow me to marry her. In fact, without my knowledge they have got a girl from our family in China. I do not like it at all, and I have never seen her. I have promised my sweetheart [sic] I will not marry anyone else. Should I follow my parents’ request or refuse it? (no. 2, February 1939, p. 79)

Nj Seng’s reply was: Examine the reasons for your parents’ refusal for you to marry your sweetheart, perhaps she has faults. If there is no good reason, then you should insist you be allowed to marry her, but do not treat your parents rudely (djangan berlakoe kasar atawa loepahken iapoenja boedi). If you are firm, they will agree in the end.

In this and other cases, the initial advice supports the parents, as traditionally wise in their choice. However, ultimately the children have the right to choose their own partner. Even by this time, the truly traditional pattern of unquestioned authority of the parents was diminished. Some parents still felt that they had the right to choose their children’s spouses, but the young people were be-

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ginning to question whether they should adhere to these traditional rules or insist on their right to choose their own partners. The more common pattern of marriage arrangement was “children choose, parents approve” (Tan 1963, p. 79). Willmott reported that 70 per cent of young Chinese believed that they should choose their own partners, with parental consent (Willmott 1960, p. 291). A decade earlier, the problem letters show that the idea of children choosing their own partners was only beginning to take hold. The younger generation often initiated the relationship but the parents still often felt that they had the right to have the final say in their children’s marriages. The largest number of letters in the “What Should I Do?” column related to this situation, where the couple wanted to marry, but the parents opposed the marriage — that is, children choose, parents disapprove. In many families, of course, parents and children would have been in harmony in the choice of partner, but in these letters we see the other side, where there is a conflict of values between the generations. However, the solution always sought was to gain one’s happiness with the parents’ approval. Only in three cases were people advised to seek dispensation from the Governor General to marry without the parents’ consent. The conflict was essentially between the modern belief that marriage should be based on mutual love and the traditional view that practical or social considerations were more important. “Toean Anak Kampoengan” (Mr Village Child) summed up the dilemma in a sjair (song): Auntie Seng, I want to ask, How do you choose between two things: PM (Parents + Material goods) and Love? If I choose parents and material goods, I will be in material heaven, But my soul will be wounded. If it is love I follow, I will be miserable because of poverty, While my parents’ souls will be wounded. (no. 6, June 1939, p. 53)10 Wealth

As this poem suggests, a major area of conflict between parents and children was financial: several proposals by young men were refused

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by the girl’s parents, or he hesitated to propose, because he did not have sufficient income. “Toean Abonne 1560” (Mr Subscriber 1560) wrote: Between a young Chinese boy and girl, aged 23 and 21 years, there is an eternal love. The girl has promised to marry only him. But there are some obstacles: her family are wealthy traders (golongan dagang jang sanget hartawan) and his family are poor labourers (kaoem boeroeh jang miskin). His parents have proposed twice, but her parents have refused. (no. 5, May 1939 p. 48)

Nj Seng’s reply was: “If she really loves you and refuses other proposals for two years, you have a chance. However, my real advice is that you should marry a girl from the same level as yourself as this rich girl may not be able to adjust to a poor and simple life.” Often the men themselves were very concerned about whether their low income could allow them to marry. “Toean IOU” asked: “I have permanent work with a salary of f40 a month. Would any girl marry a man who only earns f40? I know and like a girl who works on a stall, should I tell her my intentions and my livelihood?” (no. 13, January 1940, p. 50). Nj Seng replied: “It depends on the girl herself, whether she wants a hard or easy life. If she is used to a comfortable life, she cannot live on your salary. When she marries it would be difficult for her to keep working, as she will have children to look after.” In the correspondence column, several male correspondents who were poor (miskin, kaoem boeroeh) specified that they wanted to correspond with girls of a similar background (miskin, saderhana). In other words, they recognized that, as the husband should be at a higher socioeconomic level than the wife, their only chance was to marry girls of a lower level. In the first example, the parents adhered to the traditional value of wealth and social standing as a very important consideration in choosing a marriage partner. Ryan described the Chinese community as regarding wealth as of “undisputed saliency”: wealth is respected and is the basis of achieving a wide range of things which are the goals of the good life (Ryan 1961). The fact that “Toean IOU” was worried that his chance of marrying depended on his income shows the value the Chinese held for wealth. Obviously an adequate income can also be a concern relevant to marriage in contemporary Western society, but there was a much greater emphasis on money in these problem letters. There is also evidence of a

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move away from the traditional value placed on wealth by the first couple, as the girl was willing to marry the poorer boy — for them love was more important as a basis for marriage. Traditional Customs

The parents refused to consent to marriage with the person of the child’s choice in several cases because it contravened traditional Chinese customs, such as preferences for the same dialect group (Willmott 1960, p. 100) or precedence of older siblings (Tan 1963, p. 83). “Toean Moy en Nio” wrote: “I am of Khe descent and the girl I love is of Hokkien descent. People say they cannot marry. Her parents have already refused proposals from men of my speech group. Should I make a proposal?” Nj Seng’s answer was: “For peranakan Chinese this is all nonsense [sic], so explain politely (secara aloes) to her parents to discard this superstitious belief” (no. 22, October 1940, p. 59). “Toean K” asked: “I am 24 and have been engaged to a girl for a year, but my parents forbid me to marry yet, as my older sister is not married. I am worried that a long engagement will annoy my fiancée and how can a man withstand his desire for so long?” Nj Seng’s reply: You are still young and can wait two or three years. You must try and find a partner for your older sister. There is indeed this old Chinese tradition that if an older child is preceded by a younger one, the marriage will be unhappy. This is just a superstition and is not found amongst other peoples (laen bangsa). (no. 11, November 1939, p. 46)

In her answer, Nj Seng both supports and contradicts this tradition: it is a superstition but he must abide by it. This is an example of being pulled both ways by tradition and change. However, in another answer she advised the couple to ignore the tradition — a step towards people leaving a tradition behind and moving towards more modern attitudes. Later studies reported that these traditions were even less strong by the 1950s (Tan 1963, p. 83; Willmott 1960, p. 100). Intermarriage

There were several cases where the parents objected to the marriage because the prospective partner was Indonesier (a non-ethnic Chinese). “Toean Liang” described his situation:

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I have a good job and I know a girl who has a good character and is not too modern. We suit each other (cocok) and have promised to marry officially as soon as possible. However, when I told my parents, they refused, because she is the child of a Chinese father and his Indonesian concubine (piarahan Indonesier). Her father later legally married a Chinese woman and this girl was brought up one hundred percent Chinese. But my parents object, because she has her mother’s blood and Indonesian women are said to be unfaithful. Are my parents right? We love each other and cannot bear to break up.

Nj Seng replied: There is no reason for you to break up, although her mother was Indonesian. Many Indonesian women are more faithful than Chinese. Moreover, she has been raised with Chinese customs (adat istiadat Tionghoa). Furthermore, most peranakan have Indonesian blood. You must encourage (boedjak) your parents to agree and if you are determined, they will agree (mengalah) (no. 7, July 1939, p. 54)

Another example comes from a boy who met the daughter of a Wedana (indigenous district chief), and he was pondering whether he should marry her. Nj Seng advised that, although she was Indonesian, she was well-educated and came from a good family. They could marry, as long as the children were raised the Chinese way (no. 6, June 1939, p. 56). In another case, the writer said he was too poor to marry another Chinese and thought instead of marrying an Indonesian (laen bangsa, bangsa Islam). Nj Seng advised him instead to find a poor girl who can live simply. “There is no need for an expensive ceremony (sembajang di depan medja samkay dan abis perkara). This is better than marrying a person from another group (laen bangsa)” (no. 6, June 1939, p. 55). In general it seems marriage with Indonesians was not common. There was an attitude of “marrying down” to Indonesians and the children must become Chinese. This confirms the fact that the peranakan community was a self-contained group, not needing, and not wanting, to go outside the group for marriage. To some extent the younger generation was now willing to move away from the traditional boundaries, as with the first two examples. In the correspondence column, several writers specified that they wanted to correspond with all groups (segala bangsa). However, even by 1954, although 70 per cent of young people approved of

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mixed marriages, compared to 20 per cent of parents, still only 3 per cent of marriages were between Chinese and Indonesians (Willmott 1960, pp. 89–92). OTHER PROBLEMS Concubines

Several writers raise the matter of concubines. “Toean Cupido” wanted to marry, but could not afford it yet. In the meantime he considered either going to a prostitute, as this cost only f5 a month, or taking an Indonesian concubine (piara orang Indonesier) which cost f15. Nj Seng advised him against both actions. He might contract an illness from a prostitute, and a concubine carried too many ties in the future. He should just try to improve his income so he can marry. In the meantime he should solve his problem by playing sport, and not eating too much meat or spicy foods (no. 6, June 1939, p. 53). “Toean Khim” took a prostitute as a piara and lived with her for a year, but his parents found out and forced him to marry a proper girl (no. 4, April 1939, p. 52). “Mrs Hoots” discovered that her husband had an Indonesian piara and used his wife’s inheritance to pay for her. Should she accept her fate or divorce? Nj Seng advised her to insist that her husband choose between her and his piara (no. 11, November 1939, p. 45). Compared to the previous century when the Chinese tradition of keeping a concubine was quite socially accepted, especially amongst the wealthy (Willmott 1960, pp. 297–99), it is evident that, although it was still practised, concubinage was much less common by the 1940s and much more disapproved of. It was now the poorer men who took concubines. The concubines were usually Indonesian and taken as cheaper, temporary wives until the men could afford to marry legally. “Mrs Hoots” illustrates the fact that many women did not now accept their husband having a concubine. This change in attitude could have been a result of increased education for women (Suryadinata 1978, p. 87), especially Western education. Divorce

The matter of divorce appears in a few letters. “Toean M” wanted to divorce his wife, because she was modern and he was conservative and this caused many quarrels. Nj Seng advised

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them not to separate, as his life would be even more difficult. They should try to compromise: he must learn to dance and she must not receive male friends at home and she should read the Chinese classics (no. 1, January 1939, p. 51). Njonja Nio wrote: “My husband has a low income and he gambles. I have never known happiness because we are always poor. Must I accept my fate?” Nj Seng replied: “Yes, you must accept your fate, because it is difficult to change a gambler. However if your family can support you, you should threaten to leave him” (no. 5, May 1939, p. 50). “Toean Unfortunate One” was advised that if he and his wife really were incompatible (tidak cocok) they should have a trial separation, and if they still felt they could not get on, they should divorce (no. 15, March 1939, p. 54). From these examples, it is evident that divorce was considered undesirable, and every effort should be made to solve the problems. However, if there was no solution, it was possible and acceptable to divorce. It is interesting to note that both wives as well as husbands could consider divorce. Willmott also found in the mid-1950s that, although divorce was disapproved by public opinion, it was becoming more frequent in practice (Willmott 1960, p. 296). Cousin Marriages

Marriage between cousins was a common preference in traditional China (Tan 1963, p. 82). In the problem pages, however, there were only a few cases where cousins wanted to marry. Usually the parents opposed the marriage, mostly on other grounds such as insufficient income. In each case, Nj Seng strongly advised against the marriage because of the danger to the children from inbreeding, but in the end she allowed the possibility, “if you really love each other”. Sexual Relations

The traditional prohibition on sexual relations before or outside marriage was very strong. Only a few letters were published on sexual matters, but they all involved pregnancies following a breach of this social rule. “Toean T. Tjisaat” wrote: “I have had a relationship with a girl for three years. We love each other and plan to marry. I promised her I would not have sex with her (ganggoe kehormatan) before we married, but I

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have done so (langgar itoe kesopanan). Now she is pregnant. I have sinned and cannot keep a promise. What should I do?” Nj Seng said: “You must tell her parents and accept all the contempt (tjatjian) which you will get. The only thing to do is to marry as quickly as possible. Once her parents know the situation, they will eventually agree” (no. 6, June 1939, p. 56). Another case involved a married man, “Toean Silly Fool”, who had sex with a friend’s sixteen-year-old daughter, who was in love with him. She became pregnant. He claimed “her parents gave her too much opportunity”. They now insisted that he marry her, but he could not divorce his wife. Nj Seng laid 60 per cent of the blame on him and 40 per cent on the parents — the girl was young and weak. The man could not be taken to court because she was of legal age and she acted of her own volition. He could not divorce his wife — she had suffered enough. He must pay the girl’s costs and quickly find her a husband who had a broad outlook and would forgive this wrongdoing (no. 5, May 1939, p. 46). The contempt expected and the fact that “regularizing” marriages must be quickly arranged reflect the traditional opposition to sex outside marriage and, in particular, to children born outside marriage. The euphemistic terms used — “to disturb her respectfulness” and “overstep politeness” — reflect a general reserve regarding sexual matters. Even the article on “Modern Girls”, which encouraged women to be strong and independent, discouraged them from “going over the boundaries” regarding sexual behaviour. However, Nj Seng added a surprising statement to her advice to “Toean T. Tjisaat”: “Don’t give up hope. This is normal these days — 50 per cent of girls have sex before marriage (serahken diri).” There may have been a wide divergence between the ideal and the reality. CONCLUSION

The picture of courtship and marriage among pre-war peranakan Chinese which emerges from the pages of Star Magazine shows a society which was still traditional in many ways. These traditional features could be seen in the fact that marriages were often still arranged by parents, and that wealth and social standing were often important considerations in a marriage. Another feature was that most girls stayed at home and did not work. Also traditional was the reserved manner of social activity and communication between young men and women.

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Nevertheless, social changes were occurring and young people were very conscious of these changes. An important change was that young people increasingly made the initial choice in their marriage partner. Also, old Chinese customs were being weakened. Indeed, some couples took quite new steps when they went out alone. The state of flux of the community’s values was evident in cases of conflict between the generations. In several cases, the younger generation felt that they had the right to choose their marriage partner but many parents wanted to maintain their traditional right to determine their child’s spouse. In other cases, the parents’ considerations in the choice of their child’s spouse were wealth and social standing, while the children often felt that mutual love was equally important. The reason for the change in values in the younger generation was arguably due to increased education, particularly for women and particularly Western education. The majority of Star Magazine readers had attended Dutch schools. The effect of Western education was to convey “modern” concepts: equality, bringing improved status for women; rationality, leading to the discarding of old traditions; and individuality, allowing the individual the right to choose. Other influences from the West, such as American movies, reinforced these values and showed attractive new ways of living. The young people were keenly aware of the new “modern” influence. People were described in terms of “old-fashioned” or “modern” and the latter word was not even translated out of English or Dutch11 in the Star Magazine columns. Nevertheless, although they were influenced by, aware of, and attracted to Western ways, and felt they were increasingly modern, in reality the peranakan young people in Star Magazine were still relatively traditional when compared to the West. For instance, parents had a large influence in marriages, relations between girls and boys were very reserved by Western attitudes of the time, and their concept of being modern was liking to dance. Ultimately, however, the small changes that were occurring in the everyday lives of the peranakan Chinese were, in fact, significant, as they hinted at transformations that would become obvious after the war. Both subjectively and objectively, that is, in the eyes of the peranakan young people themselves, and also by comparison to traditional Chinese marriage patterns, the changes experienced in the pages of Star Magazine represented an important and notable departure from past values and practices of the Chinese in Indonesia.

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Notes 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9 10

11

This chapter is based on the author’s 1984 Bachelor of Arts Honours thesis for the Department of Indonesian and Malayan Studies, University of Melbourne, supervised by Charles A. Coppel. Peranakan Chinese are born in Indonesia and speak either Indonesian or often the local regional language as their first language. Chinese born in China who speak Chinese at home are referred to as totok. Njonja is a term of address for married or older women, particularly Chinese or Western women, or it can also mean “lady”. Seng means “zinc” or “iron sheeting” in Indonesian. Whilst it has proved more difficult to verify the meaning of seng in Hakka, one informant suggested that the word meant “iron” in Chinese; thus one possible interpretation of her name is “Iron Lady”. The male equivalent of njonja is toean, which means either “Mr” or “gentleman”, likewise usually being used for Chinese or Western men. In references below, where only the number, date, and page number appear, this is a reference to Star Magazine. This information comes from only half the correspondents; the others gave no information, probably because they were unemployed, or gave vague descriptions, such as “good position”. Totok Chinese are those who were born outside Indonesia and who do not speak either Indonesian or an Indonesian regional language as their first language. This is perhaps one of the strangest names, given that a satyr is a lascivious half-man, half-goat! “Manusia poenja pengidoepan belon sempoerna [belon lengkep] sebelonnja ia beristri dan mempoenjai anak, kerna ini memang maoenja alam.” “[K]ita poenja bangsa”, or we have [the same] ethnicity. “Tante Seng ‘koe maoe tanja, / Pilih jang mana di antara doea: / OH (Orang toea + Harta) dan Tjinta? // Kaloe ‘koe pilih orang toea dan harta, / Di lahir boeat akoe satoe sorga, / Tapi batinkoe satoe loeka. // Djikaloe maoenja tjinta ‘koe toeroetin, / ‘Koe idoep sengsara kerna roedin, / Sementara orang toeakoe loeka di batin.” “Modern” is both an English and a Dutch word. As has been noted above, both English and Dutch words were borrowed by the educated young people.

184 CHRISTINE PITT

References

Rafferty, Ellen. “Languages of the Chinese of Java: An Historical Review”. Journal of Asian Studies 43, no. 2 (February 1984). Ryan, Edward J. “The Value System of a Chinese Community in Java”. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Department of Social Relations, Harvard University, 1961. Suryadinata, Leo. Pribumi Indonesians: The Chinese Minority and China. Kuala Lumpur: Heinemann, 1978. Tan Giok-Lan. The Chinese of Sukabumi: A Study in Social and Cultural Accommodation. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1963. Willmott, Donald Earl. The Chinese of Semarang: A Changing Minority Community in Indonesia. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1960.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sg >

PERANAKAN CHINESE AND WAYANG IN JAVA 185

9

Peranakan Chinese and Wayang in Java Helen Pausacker INTRODUCTION

The Chinese in Indonesia have frequently been characterized with the racial stereotype of being “exclusive”, mixing mainly within their own community, and being solely business-oriented. Some indigenous Indonesians perceive the Chinese as busy working in trade and industry and having little time for normal social relations.1 Differences in religion and culture with their surrounding community are also seen to add to the “cultural differences” between them and the surrounding community (Noegroho and Irawan, 1998, p. 8). Nowadays, the Chinese in Java — even the peranakan Chinese, born in Indonesia and speaking Indonesian and often the regional language as their first languages2 — are not seen as patrons of, and participants in, the formation of culture generally, much less wayang purwa,3 seen by many as the pinnacle of Javanese culture. Charles Coppel has argued that scholars in the 1930s and 1940s, such as J.S. Furnivall in his book Netherlands Indies (1939), who argued that the Dutch Indies consisted of “separate communities” who met in the marketplace, may well have contributed to such stereotypes and given rise to the idea of there being a “Chinese problem” in Indonesia (Coppel 2002a, pp. 136, 150). Furnivall argued that in the Netherlands Indies, “[e]ach group holds by its own religion, its own culture and its own ideas and ways of life: the members of each group mix with those of other groups only in the market place, in buying and selling” (Furnivall 1945, pp. 167–68, as quoted in Coppel 2002a, p. 137). Charles Coppel, however, describes a society at the turn of the twentieth century that could be better termed a “mestizo society”, with a joint social life and culture, both low Malay literature and theatre — particularly the komedi stambul,

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a theatre form in late colonial times, known for its racial mix. According to Coppel, the inter-racial boundaries of this mestizo culture sharpened through the first forty years of the century as a result of governmentsponsored racial segregation. This included the legal division of the population into three population groups (Europeans, Foreign Orientals, and Natives) and the provision that the Chinese must reside in designated districts, known as wijk (Coppel 2002a). Yet even in the middle of the twentieth century, there was still strong evidence of syncretism in the life and culture of peranakan Chinese in Java (Coppel 2002a, p. 143). This chapter builds on this argument, looking at both historical and current involvement of the Chinese in wayang and the possible influence that government policies may have had on this involvement. This chapter focuses on wayang kulit, both wayang purwa and derivative forms, which often relate tales other than the Mahabharata and Ramayana. In particular, it examines the Chinese role in the sponsorship of wayang, as Chinese dhalang (puppeteers) involved with the creation of different forms of wayang, and the portrayal of Chinese within wayang purwa. SPONSORSHIP

Although Chinese sponsorship of wayang performances has not, to my knowledge, been written about in a consolidated fashion, there is ample evidence to indicate that, until the 1960s, the Chinese frequently sponsored wayang purwa performances. This sponsorship was both at an individual level and for communal celebrations. An anonymous author, A.S.J., for example, speaks of individual Chinese sponsorship almost as a foregone conclusion in the 1940s: “in Central Java, if there is a sufficiently wealthy Chinese person, who happens to be marrying off their child, they will of course hold one of these wayang [purwa] performances” (A.S.J., 1941).4 Nyi Njatatjarita, also known as Sudiyem, Kenjawursita, and Kenjatjarita, was a woman dhalang5 (puppeteer), whose career was at its peak from 1921 to 1933 (when she was aged from 12 to 24 years) in the area around Solo. She made her greatest income at Chinese New Year, when there were six days of festivities, often with wayang performances. The festivities were on a grand scale with six dhalang being hired each night (Suratno 1993, p. 30). Relationships between dhalang and sponsor could, however, be fraught on occasions. Kenjatjarita’s father was approached one day with an invitation for her to perform at the anniversary celebration of a Chinese

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association, Kong Sing, in Ambarukma. Her father did not want her to perform, because she had not returned home to her village in Ngadirejo for a long time but the committee pressured him into taking an advance on her performance fee. On the night of the anniversary, there was chaos because Kenjatjarita did not turn up, and the organization was forced to substitute another dhalang. Members of the Kong Sing searched for her and, when they could not find her, they took her brother, Sutoyo, as hostage. Angered, they submitted a case to the royal court (pengadilan keraton). The judge, Bupati Kring Mangunnagara, found Kenjatjarita not guilty, but her brother was only released after a member of the Javanese nobility intervened and demanded that the Kong Sing release him (Suratno 1993, pp. 45–47). Whilst this story may not indicate completely smooth interactions between the racial groups, it does indicate the enthusiasm of Chinese groups for wayang performances — one of the most popular dhalang was needed for their celebrations, rather than just any local dhalang. It is interesting, too, that in trying to settle their case, the group of Chinese deferred to royal intervention. Sumarsam states that there was a two-way cultural interaction between Chinese merchants and the Javanese royalty. On the one hand, he mentions wayang kulit being performed at klenteng
 (Guanyin ting)6 on religious occasions; the Chinese love of gamelan music;7 their knowledge of the Javanese language; and the multiracial nature of wayang wong8 troupes. On the other hand, he mentions a poem, published in 1927, which describes Javanese royalty hiring Chinese puppets and jenggi
 (zhuangyi, a Chinese theatrical procession) at the wedding of the son of Mangkunegara IV, who reigned from 1853 to 18819 (Sumarsam 1995, pp. 83–89). At the beginning of the twentieth century, Lie Jing Kiem, the grandson of Lie Toen, was active in organizing gamelan concerts and wayang kulit performances. He also was involved with the production of high-quality puppets and gamelan instruments, using craftspeople of the keraton (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 6). Tjoa’s descriptions of Chinese festivals in the nineteenth century provide a colourful picture of a blend of Chinese and Javanese culture. He mentioned wayang as being an integral part of five Chinese festivals within Indonesia. These were: 1. Goan Tan
 (Yuandan), the first day of the Chinese New Year, when people visited each other and gave offerings to their parents or ancestors with greetings and paper flowers. On this day children were

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given ang pao E
 hongbao) (money in red envelopes). Fireworks were let off and both Javanese and Chinese performances were held, including wayang klitik10 (Tjoa 1887, p. 14). 2. Giok Hong Siang Tee Siu Tan
 !"# (Yuhuang shangdi shoudan, birthday of the Emperor of Jade), the ninth day of the Chinese New Year. On this day people cleaned rooms and implements (pekakas). After dusk they lit lamps and burned incense. They made offerings, including one or two candles, incense, tea, and sweets in the shape of serpents, elephants, and phoenixes. People prayed and from dusk, leading towards the next day, there was “much noise” (kerameian, modern spelling keramaian, or “liveliness; busyness”), including gamelan music, wayang kulit, and other entertainment (Tjoa 1887, pp. 20, 167). 3. Cap Go Me
 (Shiwu ye), fifteenth day of the Chinese New Year, when children made coloured paper animals, which they attached to houses. Two red pieces of paper were also attached to the left and right of the front door. Interestingly, Tjoa is possibly referring to these coloured paper animals as wayang in his comment: “people who enjoyed pleasure, made wayang …”11 He further commented: That night … many people make loud, joyful noise, playing gamelan, with dances, wayang purwa, klitik and so on, and people hire a lot of entertainment as well. In front of (over the road from) the Kwan Im Ting (klenteng) there is a lively performance of wayang potehi (golek) or wayang purwa … (Tjoa 1887, p. 22)12

4. Khit Khau Ciat or Cit Sik E
 Qiqiaojie), the seventh day of the seventh month, the day on which students asked for cleverness. Tjoa described this as follows: … on that day, all the teachers of our race in the school, prepare a meal for their students, together with day and night performances of wayang kulit as entertainment. They will pray to the star Kwee Sing or Boen Tjiang,13 who are the forefathers of the teachers in the school and of all students. (Tjoa 1887, p. 74)14

5. Tiong Ciu Ciat (
 Zhongqiu jie), the moon festival, the fifteenth day of the eighth month. Tjoa (1887, p. 93) described people in Solo putting on wayang performances at the klenteng (Chinese temple), Koan Im Ting, and husbands and wives out walking at night. Willmott

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in 1960 described the situation in Semarang as follows: “public worship is performed at various temples, and entertainment provided in temple courtyards includes Chinese, Indonesian or modern orchestras and Chinese or Indonesian puppet shows” (Willmott 1960, p. 219). Performances for religious ceremonies were not only performed at klenteng. Siauw Giok Tjhan (1914–81), who claimed to have been influenced by Dutch, Chinese, and wayang purwa heroes in his youth, commented that on King Thie Kong, the seventh day after the prayers celebrating the lunar New Year, Tahun Baru Imlek (
 yinli):15 [his] father held for the benefit of his neighbours a wayang kulit performance, a traditional Javanese entertainment which attracted a lot of the common people. The language of these performances was Javanese, but apparently they would be understood by the Peranakan Chinese. This then is a significant example of acculturation, a religious ritual performed according to the precepts of Confucianism and celebrated by the performance of a wayang kulit. At the time this was looked upon as in no way extraordinary. (Siauw 1982, p. 8)

What emerges from the above descriptions is that the festivals where wayang was performed were those which required keramaian, a state which requires large amounts of both people and noise. The performances could be Chinese, indigenous, or even occasionally Western. This indicates a high degree of integration of the two cultures at the point when these accounts were written, a span from 1887 to 1963, just prior to the end of Soekarno’s Old Order. Klenteng performances were, of course, in public, and we can therefore assume that the audience consisted of both Chinese and Javanese. A performance in front of the house of a wealthy Chinese family or a klenteng would, at an unconscious level, have reinforced the idea of the Chinese as patrons of Javanese wayang. In turn, the frequency of Chinese watching Javanese wayang at their klenteng would have stimulated a love for the art. In 1967 the then Acting President Soeharto, in his August Independence Day speech, called on the Chinese to abandon exclusiveness, to change their names and integrate and assimilate with the indigenous community. This policy was then formulated as Presidential Decision No. 240 of 1967 and Decision of the Cabinet Presidium No. 127 of 1966 (Coppel 2002b, pp. 21–22, 30–34; Purdey, Lindsey, Suryadinata, this

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volume). His Presidential Instruction No. 14 of 1967 further stated that if Chinese religious practice displayed elements of “Chineseness”, it must take place privately within the family or individually. The Instruction stated that “[c]elebration of Chinese religious festivals and traditional customs should be done in a way which is not conspicuous (menyolok) in public …” (Coppel 2002b, pp. 22–23, 34–35). This was followed in 1980 by a joint decree of the Ministers of Religious Affairs and Home Affairs and the Attorney General, which identified Chinese processions, celebrations of religious festivals, the dragon (liong=
, long) dance, and the lion (barongsai=
, shizi or, in Indonesian, singa) dance as some of the prohibited public activities. It further stated that “[c]elebrations of Chinese religious festivals … should not take place in the streets, public buildings or other places open to the public” (Coppel 2002b, pp. 22–23, 37–39). These laws were supposedly designed to promote the integration (pembauran) of the Chinese into Indonesian society. Apart from being in themselves repressive, they also had the effect of cutting down much of the Chinese sponsorship of Javanese wayang which, as we have seen, was often performed outside klenteng on Chinese festive days. Many klenteng are quite small, and while it would be possible to follow the Javanese custom of erecting a temporary stage and awning at the front of the building, facing onto the street, it would have been impossible to fit a set of gamelan instruments and a kelir (screen), to say nothing of the spectators, inside many klenteng. A popular dhalang can draw a crowd of thousands and, indeed, the key aim of sponsoring a wayang performance was to create keramaian, the very thing that the laws were seeking to prevent. The effect of these regulations was that the sponsorship of wayang purwa performances outside klenteng — which had always drawn mixed crowds of Javanese and peranakan Chinese — was brought to a halt. If the laws were designed to encourage the integration of the Chinese into society, rather than simply ending public displays of “Chineseness”, they were counter-productive in the former aim, as they stopped a long-standing social and cultural exchange. Nevertheless, this tradition seems to have continued in some Chinese temples, albeit within the grounds of the temple, rather than outside as previously. There is, for example, a picture of a wayang purwa performance at the Gedung Batu Chinese temple in Semarang, in the 1994 Periplus guide to Java (Oey 1994, p. 82). This particular temple commemorates the imperial eunuch, Zheng He (Cheng Ho), who is reputed to have arrived in Semarang in 1406 and meditated for the night in a cave

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on the spot where the temple is now built. What makes this temple different is that Zheng He was a Muslim, and the site is considered sacred by both the Javanese Muslims and Chinese. The site is also believed to contain the grave of Kyai Juru Mudi Dampoawang, his Muslim helmsman. Both Chinese and Javanese sleep beside this grave on the eves of Jumat Kliwon and Selasa Kliwon, days which are considered sacred in the Javanese thirty-five day cycle.16 Yet even at this temple, performances had to take place within the compound, rather than outside. Onghokham and Miksic (1994, p. 241) comment that on the temple’s anniversary in … former times a colorful procession of deities was borne aloft in palanquins through the city streets … Today the participants travel here by bus and truck, and the ceremonies and entertainments are confined to the temple grounds. Thousands come from far and wide on this day to present offerings and incense to obtain the admiral’s blessings. (Onghokham and Miksic 1994, p. 241)

Whilst potehi E
 , budai xi), the Chinese glove puppets, are not the main subject of this chapter, it should be noted that changes were also made to this art form as a result of the New Order (1966–98) policy. Prior to the New Order potehi performances were in Chinese dialects. Tan Giok-Lan (1963, pp. 152–53), for example, mentions a potehi performance in Sukabumi in a Hokkien dialect. This performance was attended by totok (Chinese not born in Indonesia, who do not have Indonesian or an Indonesian regional language as their first language) and peranakan Chinese of both sexes and also pribumi men. During the New Order a regulation was brought in which required all potehi performances to be in the Indonesian language. The move, presumably to integrate potehi performances into a state-approved version of an “Indonesian” culture, was not only discriminatory (Javanese, Sundanese, and Balinese wayang were permitted to be performed in their regional languages), but also ironic, because it coincided with performances being taken off the street and moved into the compound of the klenteng, which presumably meant fewer Javanese would be watching the performances. The peranakan Chinese whom I spoke to in 1978 said, however, that they appreciated the new government ruling, as they could not speak Chinese and therefore did not understand potehi performances until they were presented in the Indonesian language. Despite being within the grounds of the klenteng, a few Javanese still attended these performances. At a performance I attended at a klenteng

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on 6 July 1978 in Kediri, there were about thirty people, mainly peranakan Chinese boys, but there were also some Javanese children and women. I noticed no Javanese men.17 Chinese businesspeople continued to sponsor wayang purwa during the New Order period. However, their sponsorship was rarely connected to their “Chineseness”, but rather to the names of their businesses. Large, government-sponsored wayang performances often carried advertisements in their programmes or on banners for businesses, which included those owned by Chinese. Gudang Garam, the Chinese-owned cigarette company in Kediri, has, for example, frequently sponsored such events, with the sponsorship sometimes including handing out free cigarettes to spectators.18 The main programme of Festival Greget Dalang ‘95 in Solo included an advertisement for Sin Sin International Restaurant (see Figure 9.1), with the name being written in a slightly Chinese fashion and a drawing of a small Chinese lantern beside it. The use of business names and the fact that sponsorship was connected to the government resulted, however, in less obvious Chinese support for culture than when perforFIGURE 9.1 Advertisement for Sin Sin Restaurant in Festival Greget Dalang ’95 Programme

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mances were outside klenteng. Nevertheless, in the same year as the Festival Greget Dalang ‘95, Soeharto appeared in the company of the konglomerat (business tycoons), when attending the first performance in Jakarta of the newly created lakon (wayang story) in his honour, “Semar mBabar Wahyu Jatidhiri” (Dwitri Waluyo 1995).19 The konglomerat were a group of Chinese tycoons, whom Soeharto had gathered around him (Eklöf 1999, p. 11). The story of “Semar mBabar Wahyu Jatidhiri” relates how, after the Brathayuda War, the new king Parikesit has inherited the throne but he is unable to rule until Semar, a figure frequently associated with Soeharto, is brought back to the kingdom.20 This story was also performed on the final night as the grand finale of the Festival Greget Dalang ’95. Soeharto’s decision to appear with the konglomerat is curious. It may have indicated his desire to associate his power with their wealth, or simply that they had provided the funds for the project. Alternatively, it may have been Soeharto’s desire to show the Chinese as interested in wayang, thus as “successes” in his pembauran policy. One of these konglomerat, for example, was Soeharto’s crony, Bob Hassan (now jailed for corruption), who was very public about his conversion to Islam.21 CHINESE WRITING ABOUT WAYANG PURWA

In addition to being sponsors of wayang purwa, peranakan Chinese have also contributed to both scholarly and popular works about wayang. One of the most famous academic writers was Tjan Tjoe Siem, who wrote during the late 1930s until the late 1950s (see Tjan 1938, 1952, 1959). On the more popular end, whilst most of the comic artists of wayang comics were Javanese (such as Kosasih and Jan Mintaraga), Johnlo (also known as Djoni Lukman) was a peranakan Chinese who contributed to the wayang comics published by Melodi. He created the wayang comics, Raden Palasara and Astina Pura under the guidance of a dhalang. Only when wayang comics decreased in popularity did he turn to other types, such as silat (martial arts) comics (Bonneff 1998, p. 203). CHINESE DHALANG

Even today there are a number of Chinese dhalang of wayang purwa in Java, including Harsono from Magelang, Sabdho Sutedjo from Surabaya, and Robbie from Malang. The (now deceased) Chinese dhalang, Tjun, came from Nganjuk.22

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At the end of 2001 the Javanese cultural magazine, Jaya Baya, featured an article about one of these dhalang, Ki Sabdho Sutedjo, whose Chinese name is Tee Buen Liong. Whilst Tee Buen Liong’s parents were not involved in the arts, his grandfather, Prawiro Kandar (Djie Sek Po), was a well-known musician in the 1950s, who owned a full set of wayang and played gamelan. In the violence that followed the failed coup attempt in September 1965 Prawiro Kandar’s wayang and gamelan were seized by the army. Despite this, Sutedjo began to play with wayang in 1968 at the age of three. He also performed in a children’s wayang wong group and in a wayang festival in the 1970s.23 Tee Buen Liong became a pupil of the famous dhalang from Semarang, Ki Narto Sabdho, hence the “Sabdho” now in Ki Sabdho Sutedjo’s name. His style is still influenced by Ki Narto Sabdho, remaining very classical. Since his group of musicians, Manunggal, disbanded around 1995, Ki Sabdho Sutedjo has rarely performed, and he sold his gamelan instruments to an American. Ki Sabdho Sutedjo holds a Bachelor of Economics degree from Universitas Wijaya Kusuma, Surabaya. Lacking income from wayang performances, Ki Sabdho Sutedjo now runs a business hiring out Javanese, business, and wedding garments (Kicuk Parta 2001, pp. 22–23). OTHER FORMS OF WAYANG KULIT

There has been a tradition of new genres of wayang puppets derived from the wayang purwa tradition, in terms of both the style of puppets as well as the gamelan accompaniment. A couple of these have been created by peranakan Chinese. Wayang Kancil

One form of wayang kulit created by a Chinese is, for example, the wayang kancil (mouse deer), which figures animal folk tales. This was created by a Chinese man, Bo Liem, in about 1925.24 The stories were performed in Javanese and accompanied by gamelan music and were created largely for audiences of children. Raden Mas Sajid studied under Bo Liem in 1927 and later developed this form further in 1943. Bo Liem died in about the 1970s.25 Wayang Thithi

The wayang thithi26 is a very interesting style of wayang, a crossfertilization between Javanese and Chinese cultures. The stories told were

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Chinese traditional tales. The figures were made of buffalo hide in the same manner as wayang purwa. Some puppets, such as the Chinese-style kayon (also known as gunungan)27 and the rampogan (an oblong puppet, representing an army), were clearly modelled on their Javanese counterparts, but were given a Chinese flavour (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 7). The puppets also included mythological Chinese animals, such as the liong (see Figure 9.2) and kilin (
, qi lin) (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 8) and a rickshaw (see Figure 9.3). As with wayang kancil, the performances of wayang thithi were in the Javanese language and accompanied by Javanese gamelan. Wayang purwa conventions such as ada-ada (atmosphere songs) were adopted and equipment similar to wayang purwa performances was used, including a kelir, keprak (metal sheets hit to accentuate puppet movements), and a cempala (wooden mallet to tap on the puppet storage chest to call for particular musical pieces) (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 7). An article in Sin Po (1940) suggests that wayang thithi was conceived by Oei See Toan in Yogyakarta, and that he created this wayang with the help of a number of Javanese artisans. However, Oei See Toan (also known as Oey See Toan), a wealthy merchant who loved traditional drama, was in fact simply the financial sponsor of this form (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 11). As more material has come to light on this form of wayang, it is clear that it was created by Gan Dhwan Sing (also known as Gan Thoan Sing and Gan Thwan Sing), the son of Gan Ing Kwat. He was born in Jatinom28 in 1885 (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 9). Gan Dhwan Sing lived with his grandparents, who were totok, and learned Chinese stories from them. He studied the pictures of Chinese legendary figures from storybooks. In his childhood, he also became familiar with wayang purwa performances. He moved to Yogya at the beginning of the twentieth century, where he was an active member of a peranakan Chinese theatrical group and he also studied pedhalangan (the study of wayang). From 1925, 29 his performances were increasingly popular, with both Javanese and Chinese audiences (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, pp. 9–12). Unlike Javanese dhalang, who wear Javanese dress when performing, Gan Dhwan Sing wore Western clothes (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 30). Wayang thithi, like wayang purwa, was performed for six or seven hours. As was the custom previously for wayang purwa, there were also afternoon performances. Originally there was no “joking” section. There was simply an interval in the middle of the performance, when an official would hold up a sign saying “ten-minute

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FIGURE 9.2 Wayang Thithi Liong

FIGURE 9.3 Wayang Thithi Rickshaw

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break”. However, Gan Dhwan Sing became aware that the Javanese liked clown scenes, so he made puppets modelled on the female clown servants, Limbuk and Cangik (see Seltmann 1976, p. 72); and the male punakawan, Gareng, Petruk, and Bagong, and filled an interlude with jokes in a mixture of Javanese, Malay, and Hokkien (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, pp. 7, 35–36). It is interesting that he chose not to use a Semar figure — probably because he was aware that Semar, as well as being a clown, is a god descended to earth and is considered the protector of Java. As such, he probably felt that it would have been inappropriate to include him in a Chinese story. Gan Dhwan Sing actively performed until about 1945. Kwee (1936, p. 87), for example, mentions a performance by Gan Thoan Sing at the Museum Sono Boedojo in Yogya as does another report in the Mededeeling van het China Instituut (Report of the China Institute) in the same year (Mededeeling 1936, p. 39). Around the 1940s, as he became more advanced in years, Gan Dhwan Sing took on both Javanese and Chinese pupils. They were Raden Mas Pardon (also known as Mas Gondomastuti), who was an artist (seniman) from the kraton, Megarsemu, Prawiro Buwang, and Kho Thian Sing (who was given the nickname Bah30 Menang — Mr Winner — because he was so popular) (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, pp. 16–17, 30). As he grew older, Gan Dhwan Sing performed rarely. He would, however, sit behind his pupils during their performances and help them. Gan Dhwan Sing’s original puppets did not have a palemahan or siten-siten (strip at the bottom, on which the feet of a wayang purwa puppet stands). (See Figures 9.4 and 9.5 for examples.) Around 1944 he created a set of 200 new puppets, presumably so that there would be adequate puppets for two of his pupils to perform on the same night. The feet of these new puppets were joined by siten-siten, making them more like Javanese wayang puppets (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, pp. 7, 18).31 Of the two sets of puppets, Seltmann refers to a set of puppets being bought by the Museum Sono Budaya, whereas Nio (1941, p. 17) refers to a set of Chinese wayang kulit, “which can perform a number of ancient Chinese tales” (dengen mana bisa dipertoendjoeken roepa-roepa tjerita Tionghoa koeno), having been bought by the China Institute in Batavia in 1940. The president of the China Institute at the time, Dr Sie Boen Lian, had connections with Yogya, having lived there for a period of time.32 Gan Dhwan Sing gave his last performance in 1960, when he was already old and ill. Unfortunately his pupils had died before him and he

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FIGURE 9.4 Wayang Thithi Female Warrior

FIGURE 9.5 Wayang Thithi Male Warrior

PERANAKAN CHINESE AND WAYANG IN JAVA 199

was no longer well enough to teach new ones (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 17). The wayang thithi form then died out. Despite having achieved a period of great popularity in his time, Gan Dhwan Sing died in poverty in 1966 (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, pp. 9–12).33 BEGAWAN LIE CENG SWIE IN WAYANG PURWA

In addition to the Chinese being sponsors and dhalang, there is also a Chinese puppet which still appears in wayang purwa performances. Wayang purwa has commonly included changes in society — both technological (such as motorbikes or mobile phones) and newcomers to indigenous Javanese society. A number of buta (demons), for example, introduced in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, are said to have been modelled on the Dutch. These figures have big, bulbous notes, huge teeth and, in the case of buta Rambut Geni, flaming red hair (Pausacker 1996, p. 19; Ras 1976, p. 67; Sajid 1958, pp. 65–69). The Chinese character, Begawan Lie Ceng Swie (Figure 9.6), typically appears as a comic character in the perang gagal, often fighting

FIGURE 9.6 Dhalang Ki Purba Asmara with the Puppet Lie Ceng Swie (left)

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against Baladewa. Perang gagal is the battle in the first section (Pathet Nem) of the wayang purwa, during which no one is killed. Begawan Lie Ceng Swie is a Chinese sinshe
 (xiansheng, practitioner of Chinese medicine), the title Begawan indicating a spiritual master (often hermit, priest, or ascetic). His appearance, accent, interests, and characteristics conform to racial stereotypes. His voice varies between thin and thick (tipis and kandel), in imitation of the tonal nature of the Chinese language and accent. It is the stereotyping that is the source of much of the humour.34 The exact origins of the character Lie Ceng Swie are unknown. Ki Blacius Subono remembers his grandfather (Gandadihardja) having used the character and comments that his appearance has not changed dramatically since then. However, it was Ki Darman (the son of Gandapuspita, also known as Gandadarsana)35 who made the character of Lie Ceng Swie popular.36 The following description of an appearance of Lie Ceng Swie in the performance of Wahyu Tohjali by Ki Purba Asmara on 20 August 1997 is quite a typical one.37 Lie Ceng Swie appears just prior to the end of the perang gagal, when a comic character, Saiman, and the white monkey Anoman fight. During the battle, Saiman is punched in the mouth. He runs to the sinshe Lie Ceng Swie for help. Lie Ceng Swie cooks up herbs and chants a mantra to heal Saiman. He then asks for a fee of Rp25,000, and after receiving this, demands an additional sum of money. This, of course, plays on the stereotype of Chinese business people as always being interested in money. The two advance to fight Anoman together, but Saiman complains that he is tired and tries to hide behind Lie Ceng Swie and go to sleep. Lie Ceng Swie says, “If you’re tired, you should go home, not go to sleep behind me!” This is a joke aimed at the audience — particularly those sitting on the stage with the musicians!38 Lie Ceng Swie then advances in a comic battle, which he loses. Now it is his turn to complain that he is hurting all over. It is interesting that although Lie Ceng Swie is a racial stereotype, he is not the “hated” stereotype of a prosperous businessman or konglomerat, but a rather endearing — if a bit hopeless — version of a traditional medical practitioner of the sort many Javanese will consult as one of their alternative medical systems. Lie Ceng Swie is somewhat moneygrubbing but so too are other Javanese comical figures. In performances by Ki Gandabana from Ponorogo, Lie Ceng Swie would always call out, “Wassalamualaikum” or “peace be with you”, a

PERANAKAN CHINESE AND WAYANG IN JAVA 201

greeting used by Muslims, although Ki Gandabana did not portray Lie Ceng Swie as a Muslim.39 The juxtaposition of the Muslim greeting with the Chinese character was a source of humour. One performance in 1998 took the Islamization of Lie Ceng Swie one step further. Lie Ceng Swie was used not just as a comic figure but also to raise debate about assimilation (pembauran). This performance by Ki Sugron Suwondo from Purworejo (Blitar) occurred on 28 June 1998, at Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia (STSI, the arts college in Solo), when a syukuran (thanksgiving) performance of the lakon, Gareng Dadi Dewa (Gareng becomes a God) was performed, to mark Habibie’s ascension to the presidency following Soeharto’s resignation. In the performance the misshapen clown, Gareng, represented Habibie. The performance was presently shortly after the riots in Solo on 14–15 May 1998, during which shops and houses of Solo residents of Chinese descent were looted and burned. As mentioned above, after the riots the issue of the supposed exclusivity of the Chinese had been raised. In this performance Limbuk, one of the female clown servants, was married to Begawan Lie Ceng Swie and the couple had four children.40 Lie Ceng Swie also had a Javanese name, Prawira, and had converted to Islam. He was versed in Javanese culture, and he danced to gamelan music (Murtana 1999; Pausacker 2002). This portrayal derived its humour precisely from the element of surprise, that is, it went against both the conventional portrayal of Lie Ceng Swie, and also against the audience’s stereotypical views of the Chinese not marrying people of other ethnic groups and not being interested in local culture. It did, however, mirror the reality that large numbers of Chinese have been pressured to change their names, and that many Chinese, including prominent figures such as Bob Hassan and H. Junus Jahja, have converted to Islam.41 What the performance did not touch on, however, was a debate about a “multi-cultural option”, that is, that Chinese, like other ethnic groups, could maintain their culture and still be good Indonesian citizens. CONCLUSION

As demonstrated in this chapter, the peranakan Chinese have had a long involvement with Javanese culture, and with wayang kulit in particular, as both sponsors and performers. In addition, there have been Chinese wayang figures portrayed within the performances. However, particularly over the period of the New Order, this involvement appears to have been lost from the collective memory, with the

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Chinese being portrayed as exclusive, involved only in business and having no interest in the arts. We have seen that the New Order policies of banning festivals in klenteng — which had frequently been the sites for wayang purwa performances — contributed to the public perception that the Chinese did not wish to involve themselves with Javanese culture. Changes of policy in the reformasi (reformation, or post-Soeharto) era, which grant new freedoms for the Chinese to express Chinese culture are a positive step, as are developments such as the new interpretations of the character Begawan Lie Ceng Swie and the publication of an article about a Chinese dhalang in a Javanese magazine. It would be ideal if over time, the stereotypes can be worn away and that the rich cultural exchange that existed previously can be re-established. Unfortunately, however, it is difficult to turn the clock back. It is more likely that the New Order policies have irreparably damaged the natural syncretism of the Javanese and Chinese cultures that existed in the past, at least so far as the wayang tradition is concerned. Notes

Thank you to Diana Muljanto for photographing the wayang puppets on pages 196 and 198 (Figures 9.2, 9.3, 9.4, and 9.5) and to the Wayang Museum, Jakarta, for permission to photograph the puppets. 1 See, for example, Arifin (1998). 2 There are two meanings of peranakan, the second being Chinese with mixed (indigenous Indonesian and Chinese) ancestry. See Coppel (2002d, pp. 106–12) for a further discussion of this term. 3 Wayang purwa are puppet shows, the stories of which are based on the Indian Mahabharata and Ramayana epics. These are a type of wayang kulit (puppets are made from buffalo hide and commonly known in English as “shadow puppets”). 4 “Boeat di daerah Djawa-Tengah, kaloe sadja ada bangsa Tionghoa jang mampoe kabetoelan kawinken lapoenja anak, tentoe tanggap wajang sematjem ini.” 5 This chapter uses the New Spelling introduced during the 1970s, except for names, quotes, and titles which are left in the original spelling. Some words can be spelled two ways, such as dhalang (Javanese) or dalang (Indonesian). I have chosen the former, although the latter also appears in quotes and titles. Chinese words are written with the spelling

PERANAKAN CHINESE AND WAYANG IN JAVA 203

6

7

8 9 10 11

12

13 14

15 16

17

18

19 20

common in Indonesia, and the standard Chinese spelling (Hanyu Pinyun) in brackets, together with the Chinese characters where possible. Temple dedicated to Guanyin and by extension any kind of Chinese temple (in Indonesia). Gamelan is a type of percussion music found particularly in Java and Bali. Wayang wong is a dance drama, based on wayang stories. The exact date of the wedding is not stated. Wayang klitik are puppets made of wood. “… orang jang soeka kaplesiran iapoen sama bikin wajang …”. It is interesting to speculate whether the idea of wayang kancil (discussed further) may have developed from these paper animals. “Itoe malem … banjak djoega jang bikin kerameian poekoel gamelan pakei tandak, wajang poerwo, klitik dan lain-lain, dan lagi orang barangken tontonan ia banjak djoega. Di moeka (sebrang) Kwan Im Ting (Klenteng) ada kerameian wajang Potehi (golek) atau wajang poerwo ….” Potehi puppets are glove puppets, originating from China. Golek puppets are also three dimensional, but operated by sticks from below.
 Kwee Sing;
=Boen Tjiang. “… pada itoe hari, sekalian goeroe midras [schola] bangsa kita, sama bikin perdjamoen bagei anak-anak moeridnja, dengan pakei rerameian wajang koelit terbikin sahari samalem, aken sembahjang pada bintang Kwee Sing atau Boen Tjiang iaitoe pepoendennja goeroe midras dan sekalian anak-anak moerid itoe.” Imlek means “Chinese lunar calendar”. The Javanese cycle of thirty-five days is composed of the combination of two different weeks: a seven-day week (wuku), with Arabic and Portuguese names, including Selasa and Jumat, and a five-day week (pasaran) with Javanese names: Kliwon, Legi, Paing, Pon, and Wage (Perlmann and Suyenaga 1994, p. 70). Fieldnotes, 6 July 1978. For further details about potehi, see Clara van Groenendael (1993). For example, Gudang Garam (presumably the main sponsor) is listed first in the acknowledgment of sponsors (not alphabetically arranged) in the Buku Acara/Program Book of the Pekan Wayang Indonesia 1999. For further details about this see Pausacker (2004). This association also contained a reference to “Supersemar” (Surat Perintah Sebelas Maret or Letter of Instruction of 11 March), by which power was effectively handed from Soekarno to Soeharto (Resink 1975,

204

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30 31 32

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p. 222). Summary of the story is taken from the programme of Festival Greget Dalang ’95, 3 September 1995. For a further discussion of this lakon, see Pausacker (2004). Current Javanese perceptions of the Chinese, as shown in wayang purwa performances, will be discussed later in this chapter. Interviews with Ki Blacius Subono, 8 October 2002, and Nyi Suharni Sabdhowati, 9 October 2002. The names of the Chinese dhalang may not be their full names. The programme for the 1978 Pekan Wayang lists a Ki Sutedjo performing an all-night wayang in Yogya-style, on 24 July. This is unlikely to be Tee Buen Liong, both because the area does not match, and also because he would only have been thirteen at the time. It is likely that he took part in the Pekan Dalang Bocah (Children’s Wayang Week), the winner of which, Darmadi, performed at the Pekan Wayang for two hours on 23 July 1978. Little is known about the creator, and the fact that R.M. Sajid does not provide his full name makes further research difficult. Ki Blacius Subono commented that Bo Liem was interested in kebatinan (Javanese mysticism). He also mentioned that Bo Liem wrote a book about wayang kancil, but I have been unable to trace this. Sajid 1958, p. 56; Séno-Sastroamidjojo 1964, p. 52; Mulyono 1975, p. 122; Pausacker 1996, p. 28; interview with Ki Blacius Subono, 8 October 2002. Also spelled (for Indonesian language) wayang titi. Soelarto and Albiladiyah reject the term wayang thithi, preferring to call it wayang Cina or Chinese wayang (Soelarto and Albiladiyah 1980/81, p. 8). A kayon or gunungan is a tree- or mountain-shaped wayang puppet prop, which marks the end of a scene, or which represents an object, such as a forest, mountain, or door. See Seltmann (1976, p. 67) for a photograph of a wayang thithi kayon. Jatinom is a small town northeast of Yogyakarta, near Delanggu (situated on the road between Solo and Yogyakarta). Seltmann (1976, p. 59) comments that Gan Dhwan Sing’s kelir was inscribed with the words, “Terbikin oleh [made by] Gan Dhwan Sing — Djocja. 27. Nov. 1924”. This would presumably be the date that he started performing actively. Bah is a term of address for a Chinese man. These puppets ended up in the collection of Seltmann (1976). Sie Boen Lian was born in Madiun and educated at HCS in Madiun, at Nias in Surabaya, and attended university in Germany, where he

PERANAKAN CHINESE AND WAYANG IN JAVA 205

33 34

35

36 37

38

39 40

41

specialized in eye diseases. On his return he originally lived in Yogyakarta, then moved to Jakarta, where he became the president of the China Institute (Tan Hong Boen 1935, p. 205). Seltmann (1976, p. 54) states the date of his death to be 1967. Interview with Nyi Suharni Sabdhowati, 9 October 2002, and with Ki Blacius Subono, 8 October 2002. Begawan Lie Ceng Swie is also mentioned in Mrázek (1999, p. 123, with a picture, figure 17, on page 122). See Feinstein et al. (1986), volume 1, Appendix 3, Tables 5 and 6 for details of dhalangs’ genealogy. Interview with Ki Blacius Subono, 8 October 2002. Personal observation, notes written during the performance. A wahyu is a divine gift, inspiration, or spiritual power sent by the gods. It is often visible as a source of light. Wayang purwa performances last from about 9.00 p.m. to 4.00 a.m., hence sleepiness is commonplace. Interview with Ki Blacius Subono, 8 October 2002. In itself, this was a shock for the audience, used to family planning propaganda of “two children is enough” being portrayed through both state- and privately sponsored wayang performances. See Pausacker (2001) for further discussion of this aspect of the performance. For further details on the views about the assimilation and integration debate, see Jahja (1999). Jahja is a strong proponent of integration through conversion to Islam (Coppel 1983, p. 165).

References

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Oxford University Press for Asian Studies Association of Australia, 1983. ———. “Revisiting Furnivall’s ‘Plural Society’: Colonial Java as a Mestizo Society?”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 136–56. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002a. Originally published in Ethnic and Racial Studies 20, no. 3 (July 1997): 562–79. ———. “Chinese Indonesians in Crisis: 1960s and 1990s”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 14–47. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002b. Originally published in Perspectives on the Chinese Indonesians, edited by Michael R. Godley and Grayson J. Lloyd, pp. 20–40, 302–29. Hindmarsh, South Australia: Crawford House Publishing, 2001. ———. “From Christian Mission to Confucian Religion: The Nederlandsch Zendingsvereeniging and the Chinese of West Java, 1870– 1910”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 291–312. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002c. Originally published in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Indonesia: Essays in Honour of Professor J.D. Legge, edited by D.P. Chandler and M.C. Ricklefs. Clayton: Monash Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Monash Papers on Southeast Asia no. 14, 1986. ———. “Mapping the Peranakan Chinese in Indonesia”. In Charles A. Coppel, Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia, pp. 106–23. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies, 2002d. Originally published in Papers on Far Eastern History 8 (1973). Dwitri Waluyo. “Dalang Belajar Demokrasi ala Semar”. Gatra 1, no. 19 (25 March 1995): 36. Eklöf, Stephan. Indonesian Politics in Crisis: The Long Fall of Suharto, 1996–98. Copenhagen: NIAS, 1999. Feinstein, Alan, Bambang Murtiyoso, Kuwato, Sudarko, and Sumanto. Lakon Carangan. 3 vols. Surakarta: Akademi Seni Karawitan Indonesia, 1986. Furnivall, John S. Netherlands India: A Study of Plural Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1939. ———. “Some Problems of Tropical Economy”. In Fabian Colonial Essays, edited by Rita Hinden, pp. 161–84. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1945. Jahja, H. Junus. Masalah Tionghoa di Indonesia: Asimilasi vs Integrasi. Jakarta: Lembaga Pengkajian Masalah Pembauran, 1999. Kicuk Parta. “Ki Sabdho Sutedjo: nglarakake ati, pangrawite entek

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dibajak”. Jaya Baya 56, no. 18 (30 December 2001): 22–23. Kwee Kek Beng. “Het Cultureele Leven der Chineezen in NederlandschIndie”. Koloniale Studien 20, nos. 5–6 (1936): 78–96. Mededeeling van het China Instituut. “Korte Mededeeling: Wayang Koelit met Chineesche Dalang”. 2274, nos. 1–3 (1936–39): 139–43. Mrázek, Jan. “Javanese Wayang Kulit in the Times of Comedy: Clown Scenes, Innovation, and the Performance’s Being in the Present World”. Pt 1. Indonesia 68 (October 1999): 38–128. Mulyono, Ir Sri. Wayang: Asal, Usul, Filsafat dan Masa Depannya. Jakarta: BP Aida, 1975. Murtana, I. Nyoman. Lakon Gareng Dadi Dewa: Sebuah Tinjauan Sosiologis. Surakarta: Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia, 1999. Nio Joe Lan. “Tjerita-tjerita Tionghoa Koena Hidoep Poela”. Star Magazine 3, no. 25 (20 January 1941): 15–17. Noegroho, Anggit and Bambang Harsri Irawan. Rekaman Lensa Peristiwa Mei 1998. Solo: Aksara Solopos, 1998. Oey, Eric, ed. Java: Garden of the East. Singapore: Periplus Editions, 1994. Onghokham and John Miksic. “Semarang and Vicinity: Commercial Capital of Java”. In Java: Garden of the East, edited by Eric Oey, pp. 238– 43. Singapore: Periplus Editions, 1994. Pausacker, Helen. Behind the Shadows: Understanding a Wayang Performance. Melbourne: Indonesian Arts Society, 1996. ———. “Dalangs and Family Planning Propaganda in Indonesia”. In Love, Sex and Power: Women in Southeast Asia, edited by Susan Blackburn, pp. 89–114. Clayton: Monash Asia Institute, 2001. ———. “Limbuk Breaks Out: Changes in the Portrayal of Women Clown Servants and the Inner Court Scene over the Twentieth Century”. In Puppet Theater in Contemporary Indonesia: New Approaches to Performance-Events, edited by Jan Mrázek, pp. 284–95. Michigan: Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan, 2002. ———. “Presidents as Punakawan: Portrayal of National Leaders as Clown-Servants in Central Javanese Wayang”. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 35, no. 2 (June 2004): 213–33. Perlmann, Marc and Joan Suyenaga. “The Javanese Calendar: Traditional Ritual and Market Cycle”. In Java: Garden of the East, edited by Eric Oey, pp. 70–71. Singapore: Periplus Editions, 1994. Ras, J.J. “The Historical Development of the Javanese Shadow Theatre”. RIMA 10, no. 2 (July–December 1976): 50–76.

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Resink, G.J. “From the Old Mahabharata to the New Ramayana-Order”. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 131 (1975): 214–35. Sajid, R.M. Bauwarna Wajang (Wewaton Kawruh bab Wajang): kaklempakanipun Warni-Warni Wajang mawi Katrangan saha Rinengga ing Gambar-Gambar. Jogjakarta: PT Pertjetakan Republik Indonesia, 1958. Seltmann, F. “Wayang titi — Chinesisches Schattenspiel in Jogjakarta”. RIMA 10, no. 1 (January–June 1976): 51–73. Séno-Sastroamidjojo, Dr A. Renungan tentang Pertunjukan Wajang Kulit. Jakarta: Kinta, 1964. Siauw Giok Tjhan. Siauw Giok Tjhan Remembers: Peranakan-Chinese and the Quest for Indonesian Nation-hood, edited by Bob Hering. Townsville: James Cook University of North Queensland, 1982. Sin Po. “Wajang Koelit Tionghoa”. No. 885 (16 March 1940), pp. 20–24. Soelarto, B. and S. Ilmi Albiladiyah. Wayang Cina-Jawa di Yogyakarta. Jakarta: Proyek Media Kebudayaan Jakarta, Directorat Jenderal Kebudayaan, Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1980/81. Sumarsam. Gamelan: Cultural Interaction and Musical Development in Central Java. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. Revision of the author’s Ph.D. thesis, Cornell University, 1992, originally presented under the title “Historical Contexts and Theories of Javanese Music”. Suratno, in association with Harijadi Tri Putranto, Sukardi Samihardjo, and Sudarko. Penulisan Biografi Nyi Njatatjarita. Surakarta: Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia, 1993. Tan Giok-Lan. The Chinese of Sukabumi: A Study in Social and Cultural Accommodation. Ithaca: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program, 1963. Tan Hong Boen. Orang-Orang Tionghoa jang Terkemoeka di Java (Who’s Who). Solo: The Biographical Publishing Centre, 1935. Tjan Tjoe Siem. Hoe Koeroepati zich zijn Vrouw Verwerft: Javaansche lakon in het Nederlandsch Vertaald en van Aanteekening Voorzien. Leiden: Luctor et Emergo, 1938. ———. “Sedikit tentang Arti Wajang dan Gunanja untuk Pembangunan Negara Kita”. Bahasa dan Budaja 1, no. 11 (October 1952): 17–24. ———. “Anoman — Trigangga”. In Tari dan Kesusasteraan di Indonesia, edited by Koentjaraningrat, pp. 30–35. Jogjakarta, 1959. Tjoa Tjoe Koan. Hari Raja orang Tjina. Batavia: Albrecht & Co., 1887. Willmott, Donald Earl. The Chinese of Semarang: A Changing Minority Community in Indonesia. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1960.

Reproduced from Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, edited by Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005). This version was obtained electronically direct from the publisher on condition that copyright is not infringed. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Individual articles are available at < http://bookshop.iseas.edu.sgINDEX > 209

Index

Abdurrahman “Gus Dur” Wahid, 59, 82, 96, 100, 102 Aceh, 154 aliens, 48–49 Arab Indonesians, 150–51 influence, 151 Arabic, 155 Arabs intermarriages, 157–58 merchants, 152 Artha Graha Group, 95 Arya Damar, 149 asli, 2, 50 assimilation policies, 2, 77, 78–79, 83, 98, 189–90 Association of Three Religions, The, 79 Aswin, H.A., 119 Australia in Borneo, 109 Bali, 23, 36 Bandung, 28, 29, 30 riots, 102 bangsa, 50 Banten, 154 Banteng Muda Indonesia, 95 Baperki, 2, 97, 98 Bhikkhu Ashin Jinarakkhita, 85, 86 Bill of Rights, 22, 61–62 birth registration, 46, 47 Borneo, 107 Buddhism, 77–90 adherents, 89 Chinese, 78, 84 development, 87–88 Indonesianized, 85 Mahayana, 78 Maitreya, 86–87, 88, 91

temple, 87 promotion of, 85–87 Representatives of the Indonesian Buddhist Community, 86 schism, 86 Buddhist empires, 83 Bulog (Badan Urusan Logistik), 26 Central Bank of Indonesia, 56 Centre for the Study of the Southern Chinese Diaspora, 6 Chen Boling, 88 China, 48, 98, 120, 125, 160 imperial envoys, 156 influence, 153 language, 156 merchants, 156 returned overseas Chinese, 4 treatment in, 1 scholars, 156 specialists, export of, 156 traders, 156 vassal, 156 See also Tionghoa; Tiongkok; Tjina Chinese Indonesians alienated, 1 antisentiments, 14, 34 and Arab Indonesians, 150–51, 152 assimilation, 54, 55, 77, 78–79, 83, 97, 98, 189–90 “bring home”, 20–21 “Chineseness” celebrating, 100 repudiating, 54 Christians, 89 civil registration, 53–54 cultural pillars, 77

210 INDEX cultural, social, religious activities, 59, 60 culture, 97, 98 customs, 59 diaspora, 6, 7 on discrimination, 99 discrimination against coded identity, 55 colonial legal, 42–47 constitutional, 58 economic, 56 institutionalized, 41, 42 legislation, 100 state-sponsored, 57 diversity of community, 150–51 economic domination, 18, 21, 23 education, 51, 77 quotas, 56 entrepreneurs, 157 equality, 21, 22 expulsion Aceh, 14 West Kalimantan, 14, 121 hatred of, 18 identity, 100 identity cards, 51, 55 indigenization, 78 and Indonesians, 151 integration, 2, 97, 98, 189–90 intermarriages, 157–58 killed communist purges, 14 language, 98 limiting public use of, 55–56 leaving Indonesia, 21 marginalized, 1, 2 massacred by Japanese, 106, 108, 111, 112, 118, 119, 120 names limiting use of, 55 networks, 156–60 in politics, 99 portrait, 95–101 religions, 78–79 decline, 89 re-registration, 51–52 revolutionary movement, 136, 137,

138, 139, 140 rights asserting, 65 claiming back, 100 scapegoat, 14 sea networks in Indonesia, 152–53 security, 18, 19 self-confidence, 99, 100 self-perception, 97–101 self-worth, 99 services, 157 stateless, 48, 49 “sympathy” for, 18 trading, 153 wealth, perception of, 54, 58 of West Kalimantan, 105–22 Chinese Indonesians, peranakan, 1, 4, 5, 7, 183 concubines, 179 courting, 170–71 courtship and marriage, 165–82 customs, old, 182 modern, 182 problems, 169–70 social changes, 182 traditional, 181 marriage cousin marriage, 180 divorce, 179–80 intermarriage, 177–79 parents’ role, 174–79 social standing, 176 traditional customs, 177 view of, 174 wealth, 175–77 sexual relations, 180–81 spouses choice of characteristics, 172–73 conflicts over choice, 174–79 voices, 2 See also peranakan Chinese Affair, 109, 112, 118 Chinese Association. See Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan (THHK) Chinese Council, 84 Chinese Overseas Databank, 6 Chinese Problem Co-ordinating Body, 84

INDEX Cilacap violence, 24 Cina, 57, 98 Cirebon Chinese cultural influences, 148 citizenship, 22, 47–53 Civil Registration, 53–54 Civil Registration Offices, 45, 46 communist, antipurges, 14 communities separate, 185 community justice acts, 17 Confucian Association. See Khong Kauw Hwee Confucian calendar origins, 130–32 Confucianism, 77–90 adherents, 89 Agama Khonghucu, 79 ban, 60 as formal religion, 79–81 Holy Books, 80 institutionalized, 80 marriage, 81–83, 89 priests, 81, 91 recognized, 60 derecognition, 81 re-recognition, 59–61, 88 revival, 139, 140 temple, 81 Confucianists, 4 in Surabaya, 130–41 Confucius birth date, 130, 131, 141, 142 native place, 145 temple in honour of, 130 conglomerates cukong relationships, 19 wayang purwa Chinese sponsorship, 192–93 Constitution judicial review, 63–64 Constitution, 1945, 66–71 amendments, 57 Article 6, 57–58

211

Article 18, 65, 66 Article 24, 64, 66–67 Article 26, 67 Article 27, 61, 68 Article 28, 61, 68–71 Article 32, 65, 71 Chapter XA, 61–62, 68–71 citizenship, 50 Preamble, 43–44 rights, 61 Transitional Provisions, 43–45 Constitutional Court, 62, 64 Coordinating Body for Chinese Matters, 56 corruption citizenship, 49 crime, 36 Demak, 149 Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR), 53, 64 dhalang, Chinese, 193–94 Dharmasagara, 87 discrimination antilaw, 62–63 coded identity, 55 constitutional, 58 definition, 63 economic, 56 by economic status, 54 institutionalized, 23, 54 justification, 2, 33 legal, 53–57 regulations, 63 state-sponsored, 57 subordinate regulations, 53–54 Dutch. See Netherlands economic crisis, 15 stresses, 19–20 ekonomi rakyat, 22 ethnicity, 62 festivals, 84, 88, 98, 187–89 celebration, 190 Chinese New Year, 90

212 INDEX Cap Go Me, 188 celebration, 6, 84, 98, 100 Giok Hong Siang Tee Siu Tan, 188 Goan Tan, 187–88 Khit Khau Ciat, 188 Tiong Ciu Ciat, 188–89 “Foreign Orientals”, 1, 5, 42, 43, 150 Gan Dhwan Sing, 196–97 Gedung Batu temple, Semarang, 190–91 Go Hoo Swie, 134, 143 Gresik Chinese connections, 148 Guangfu hui, 137 Guangxu, Emperor, 130, 131, 135 Guided Democracy Period, 44, 77 Habibie, 21, 22, 52, 59, 88, 201 economic policy, 21 “reforms”, 17–19, 21, 22 Haga, B.J. “plot”, 107–8 Hassan, Bob, 193 Hezhong xuetang, 138, 139 Ho Kim Tong, 28, 29 Hokkien Kong Tik Soe, 139 Holis violence, 27–32 Huaren website, 7 human rights law, 63 income, 49 indigenous, 2 Indonesian Communist Party. See Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI) Indonesia’s Great Buddhist Clergy, 85 International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination Ratification, 62 International Monetary Fund (IMF) loans, 19–20 International Society for the Study of the Chinese Overseas (ISSCO) conference, 6 INTI, 100 Islam

early conversion, 148–60 hijrah, 158 marriages female, 158 male, 158 spread, 154, 156 Islamic states, 159 world, 160 Islamization, 160 Japan massacres, 106–7, 108, 110, 111, 112, 115, 119, 120, 121 Occupation, 106–12, 115–18 surrender, 109 war crime, 106–7 Java, 20 culture Chinese influence, 151 Islam origins of political, 149, 150 Islamic states, 149 killings, 31 price increases, 36 Jusuf, Ester Indahyani, 102 Kadarusno, 118, 119 Kang Youwei, 130 Karawang, 23 violence, 37 Kebumen violence, 24–27, 32 conditions for, 25–26 Kenjatjarita. See Njatatjarita, Nji Khong Kauw Hwee, 79, 80, 84 General Organization of, 79, 80 congress, 80 klenteng activities, 83 converting to vihara, 83–85 performances, 189, 190, 191 Klenteng Kim Tek Jie, 84 komedi stambul, 185 Korea, 153 Kota Cina first, 152

INDEX Kwik Kian Gee, 55, 73 Kwong Sang Choy, 144 Lanfang Kongsi, 105, 106, 122 leadership void, 19 legal system, 45 reform, 44 state of, 64 legislation, 64 Elucidation, 73 Lembaga Pembinaan Kesatuan Bangsa (LPKB), 97 Liberal Democracy Period, 77 Lie Siong Hwie, 136 Liem Sioe Tien, 138, 139 Lo Fong Pak, 105, 106, 122 Madura price increases, 36 Maha Vihara Duta Maitreya Temple, 87 Maitreya Buddhist Temple, 85 Majapahit, 149 Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (MPR), 53, 57 hierarchy of laws, 73 Makam Juang Mandor monument, 112– 15 Malang killings, 17 Mandor, 105, 106 massacres, 106–7, 111, 119–20 Matakin congress, 80, 88 Mataram, 154 Megawati Soekarnoputri, 52, 101 Ministry of Internal Affairs, 45, 46, 47, 60 Ministry of Justice, 45, 51 Ministry of Religious Affairs, 84 monuments historical, 121 Murdaya, Hartati, 86 Muslim networks, 153–60 Muslims hospitality, 155 pilgrimage, 155

213

traders, 155–56 Nasution, Abdul Haris, 80, 90 National Commission on Human Rights (Komnas HAM), 62, 63 National Education System, 56 nationalism economic, 2 nationalists, 151 Netherlands, 106–7, 109, 111, 121 and Islam, 159–60 promoters, 159 Netherlands Indies, 185 Chinese legal discrimination, 42–47 legal position, 5 residence, 186 internal passport system, 51 mestizo society, 185, 186 population groups, 5, 186 racial segregation government-sponsored, 186 racial system, 43, 44 New Order, 2, 15, 54, 59, 60, 77, 78 arbitration, 45 discrimination, 14 institutionalized, 41 end, 15 “homogeneous nation”, 78 hostile rhetoric, 17 hostility, 33 integralism, 61 prejudices, 14 regulations, 64 Nisshinkai, 115, 116, 117, 126 Njatatjarita, Nji, 186–87 njonja, 183 Oka Diputhera, 84 Pancasila, 78, 79, 85, 90 Partai Bhinneka Ika (PBI), 99 Partai Demokrasi Indonesia — Perjuangan (PDI–P), 95, 101 Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI), 80, 98 Pekalongan, 23 Pemangkat, 111

214 INDEX peranakan original meaning, 150 Perhimpunan Indonesia Keturunan Tionghoa (INTI), 100 Pontianak, 106, 107, 109, 111 Pontianak Affair, 108–9, 112, 115, 123 prelude, 107–8 ports, 152, 154, 155, 157, 158 Muslim, 159, 160 potehi, 191 poverty, 20, 23 President, 57 Presidential Decision, 72, 73 Presidential Decree, 73 Presidential Instruction (InPres), 73 pribumi, 2, 50, 58–59 perception of Chinese, 96–97, 99, 100, 185 Purba Asmara, Ki, 200 Quran, 155 race, 62 Raden Patah, 149 Raden Rahmat, 149 reformasi, 16–19, 41, 42, 99 interpretation, 31 reforms, 57–63 forked tongue, 45–47 religions, 73 recognized, 78, 79–80, 81, 87, 88 religious identities, 78 Rengasdengklok, 30 resinicization, 139, 140 rights enforcing, 63–65 Sabah uprising against Japanese, 124 Sabdho Sutedjo, Ki, 193–94 sailing manuals, 152 Sam Kauw, 83 Sam Kauw Hwee, 79 Sasono, Adi, 22, 23 SBKRI (Indonesian Citizenship Certificate), 22, 42, 49–53 abolition, purported, 52

regulation, 50–52 Semarang, 23, 190 sembako, 36–37 Severino, Jean-Michael, 20 Singkawang, 111 Situbondo, 26, 30 Siwen hui, 133, 143 social safety net, 20 Social Welfare Forum (FKS), 26 Soeharto, 52, 54, 64, 77, 80, 192, 193 fall, 2, 41 reforms, 59 resignation, 6 Soekarno, 2, 54, 79, 80, 98 See also Guided Democracy Period Soepomo, Raden, 61 Solidaritas Nusa Bangsa (SNB), 100, 102 Solo, 36 riots 102, 201 Sugron Suwondo, Ki, 201 Sukisman, W.D., 83 sultanates, 153–54 Sumatra, 152 Sun Yat Sen, 136, 137, 138 Sunarso, 84 Supreme Buddhist Clergy Conference (KASI), 86 Surabaya, 23 Tan Hian Goan, 136, 139 Tan Ping An, 136 Tanjung Priok exports from, 36 Tanri Abeng, 22 Tasikmalaya, 26, 30 Tee Buen Liong. See Sabdho Sutedjo Tiong Hoa Hak Tong, 139 Tionghoa, 2, 57, 98 Tiongkok, 2, 57 Tjina, 2 Tjio family, 137, 142 Tjio Poo Liauw, 137, 138, 140 toean, 183 Tongmeng hui, 137 totok, 4, 183 trade routes, 155 Tri Dharma, 79, 84

INDEX Vietnam, 153 vihara. See klenteng Vihara Dhamma Cakka Jaya, 85 Vihara Mahavira Graha Pusat, 87 violence, 15, 102, 201 1998, 58–59 May, 15, 20, 96 acceptable by locals, 16 against Chinese, 6, 7, 14–35, 58–59, 96, 98, 102 impunity, 33, 34 perpetrators, 34, 41 political tool, 31 reasons for, 34 retribution, 31 seeking justice, 32–33 themes and patterns, 32–34 culture of, 16, 17, 35 discourse, 33–34 normality, 33–34 sites of, 16, 24, 27, 30, 31, 33, 37 state-orchestrated, 15 See also Bandung; Cilacap; Kebumen; Mandor; Pontianak; Solo wahyu, 204 Walubi, 84, 86

wayang in Java, 185–202 sponsorship, 186–93 wayang kancil, 194 wayang potehi. See potehi wayang purwa, 185, 202 Lie Ceng Swie, Begawan, 199–201 performances, 205 wayang thithi, 194–99 Wen miao initiation of, 132–36 political forces, 136–40 supporters, 136–40, 142 Wenchang ci, 133, 134 Wihara Dharma Bakti, 84 Winata, Tomy, 95 World War II, 106 Xingzhong hui, 138 You Lie, 138 Zheng He in Semarang, 190 visits to Java, 149 voyages, 152 Zheng Taixing, 134, 136, 143, 144 Zhonghe tang, 137, 138

215