by Rory Marron
Eventually they entered what had been the hotel’s banquet room. It was crammed; every chair was taken and people were sitting on tables. Around the sides of the room people stood four deep. Ceiling fans were struggling to cope with the thick clouds of cigarette smoke. Several raucous discussions were going on simultaneously and crude, anti-Japanese and anti-Dutch slogans were being bantered across the room. The mood of the students was excited and expectant.
Sarel exchanged casual waves with several others as he and Lamban threaded their way to stand halfway along one wall. Sarel pointed out people to Lamban. ‘The one in the red shirt is Isa,’ he said warmly. ‘That’s Surubo speaking now. He’s the general-secretary. We get on, even though he’s a headstrong Marxist. The thin one next to him is Kabuno, another Marxist. Somehow both of them work for the Japanese propaganda office!’
The thick set and animated Surubo was working his audience into a rage. ‘All along our leaders have been too cautious. They prefer to compromise and submit rather than demanding what is ours by right!’
Loud cheers drowned his voice. He raised his hands for silence. ‘We will not kow-tow to the Japanese any more than we would to the Dutch. We must be ready to fight!’ He sat down to chants of ‘Merdeka!’.
Kabuno jumped up on to a table. He was tall with narrow features and piercing, dark eyes bright with emotion. The crowd clearly wanted more of the same and he did not disappoint. ‘My fellow Indonesians!’ Kabuno bellowed. A roar of approval rippled round the room. ‘There is no Indonesian state. Why? Because of our own weakness and fear! We must take our freedom. Seize our own independence!’
Again the chanting began. ‘In-do-ne-sia!’—‘Merdeka!’
Just as the chorus began to falter, Sarel moved forward purposefully, hand raised, chanting ‘Free Djakarta! Free Djakarta!’ The new cry gathered volume. When he reached the centre the other student leaders embraced him.
Quickly Sarel climbed up next to Kabuno and began to pump the air with his fists, changing the chant to ‘Freedom or Death!’ It was quickly taken up, becoming more strident, the rhythm pounding. Soon the enraged students and pemuda were little more than a mob in waiting. Sarel drew a knife and held it high over his head. ‘Free Djakarta now!’ he roared. Dozens of almost berserk youths spilled out of the room heading for the streets.
Sarel jumped down from the table and worked his way back to Lamban. ‘This is good,’ his voice was hoarse. ‘Look at them! Ready to die!’
Lamban could see Sarel was right.
‘Come on, let’s go!’ Sarel was already pushing his way through the mêlée, still encouraging people to take action. Once outside the emotion left him immediately, as though he had taken off a mask. ‘We’ll go and see Wadana at the Asrama Merdeka. The Navy might have information about the Americans’ arrival,’ he said calmly.
Lamban had seen Sarel play the dalang, the puppet master, before. Around them gangs of rowdy students were heading menacingly towards the city centre. Many carried staves or stones.
Their becak was still waiting. ‘To 80 Kebon Sirih,’ Sarel said to the driver, settling back contentedly. ‘Lamban, we arrived at just the right time. Some of them might even challenge the Japanese tonight.’
Once again Lamban recognised the calculating tone. He gave Sarel a quizzical look. ‘But they stand no chance against armed soldiers. Why encourage them?’
Sarel looked at him patiently. ‘Angry students are one thing; dead ones—nationalist, socialist, communist—are martyrs. And every revolution needs its martyrs!’
Parapatan, Djakarta
Just before dawn the slow-moving convoy of three large cars, driving without lights, turned quietly off the Kramat Boulevard and drew up outside 56 Parapatan Timur. Four men stepped up to the veranda, forced the door and darted inside. Other men armed with pistols and swords took positions at the front and rear cars.
Lights flashed on in the house and then went out. Minutes later, a man and a woman clutching a sleeping baby were led down the path and ushered into the middle car, a Mercedes saloon. Its single other passenger watched nervously as he moved over to make room for the family on the rear bench-seat.
The cars pulled away. In the Mercedes, Sukarno put his arm around his wife’s shoulders to comfort her. He glanced worriedly at Hatta. Neither spoke as they sped west out of the city.
Kebon Sirih, Djakarta
In sharp contrast to 31 Menteng, the mood at the Asrama Merdeka was gloomy. The half-dozen students there were sitting in miserable silence.
For several minutes, Sarel had sat huddled in muted conversation with Wadana, a dour-looking, thin youth with wiry, unkempt hair, who worked for the Navy Liaison Office as a translator. From where Lamban sat, Wadana’s part in the conversation consisted solely of shaking his head.
After a while Wadana got up dejectedly and left the room. Sarel, looking pensive, moved over to sit with Lamban. ‘It’s all true. Wadana heard it himself. It’s unconditional surrender. The Allies ordered the Japs to maintain law and order until they come.’
Lamban leant forward. ‘When will that be?’
‘No-one has any idea. There’s more bad news.’
‘The Dutch?’
‘No, but bad enough.’ Sarel paused. ‘It looks as though the British are coming to Java, not the Americans.’
‘Does it make a difference?’
‘Anti-colonial Yanks would have been better. The British want to hold on to their empire, so do the Dutch. After the fighting in Europe the British and the Dutch are very close allies. We must assume the British will be pro-Dutch.’
‘But that’s disastrous…’ Lamban suggested.
Sarel shrugged. ‘As God wills….’
Late next morning Wadana and another student woke them noisily, their eyes wide with excitement. ‘Surubo plans to seize the Radio Station tonight!’
Lamban glanced at Sarel and saw the glint of satisfaction.
‘It’s true! The other student could hardly contain himself. ‘They’re going to broadcast a declaration of independence at midnight!’
Sarel snorted. ‘Surubo and a few students? Meaningless!’
The student shook his head. ‘No! Sukarno will make the announcement.’
‘Sukarno?’ Sarel asked quizzically.
‘Yes!’ Wadana gushed. ‘A pemuda delegation went to see Sukarno and Hatta to demand a declaration! Now Kabuno has taken them to write it! We must be ready to fight!’
‘Wait!’ Sarel demanded, fixing him with an icy stare. ‘What do you mean by “taken”, and where?’
Wadana’s enthusiasm wilted. ‘They—they were taken out of the city early this morning,’ he muttered weakly. ‘It was for their own safety….’
‘What?’ Sarel threw up his hands. ‘You mean they’ve been abducted!’
Wadana stared at the floor. The others looked on in astonishment.
‘Surubo’s a moron!’ Sarel started pacing about the room. ‘Doesn’t he know he’s putting Sukarno’s life in danger? And Hatta’s too? May God help us all! An independence declaration will bring tens of thousands of people on to the streets. It’ll be chaos! You can bet the kenpei already know about the broadcast and will try to arrest him at the radio station. If Surubo and Kabuno resist, Sukarno could end up dead! Don’t you understand? Nothing must happen to Sukarno. Nothing!’
Wadana was ashen. ‘But we had to do something!’
‘Surubo’s mad!’ one of the students wailed. ‘The Japs will mow them down if they attack the Radio Station!’
They were all watching Sarel. He stopped pacing suddenly. ‘The Japanese Army will shoot,’ he said calmly. ‘But what about the Japanese Navy?’
Wadana looked puzzled. ‘Why should the Navy help us now?’
Sarel pursed his lips. ‘They founded this asrama. Admiral Ishida’s sympathetic to our cause. Also, Sukarno and Hatta are his friends; he won’t want them dead or in a kenpei cell. If they were under the Navy’s protection, they’d be safe from the students and the Army coul
dn’t arrest them.’
‘Then what shall we do?’ Wadana asked uneasily.
Sarel’s eyes flashed. ‘Tell the Navy interpreter, Nishioka, what’s happened. They’ll need to get someone with authority to Sukarno and Hatta as soon as possible. Where’s Kabuno holding them?’
Wadana hesitated. ‘I promised not to—’
‘Where?’ Sarel glared menacingly.
‘Rengasdenglok,’ mumbled Wadana. ‘At the militia HQ.’
Admiral Ishida’s Residence, Nassau Boulevard, Djakarta
‘Well?’ Ishida looked up from his desk, glancing impatiently at his watch. It was nearly five in the evening. His frustration was beginning to show.
Nishioka was in the doorway. ‘Nothing yet, Admiral, I expect to hear very soon.’
Ishida’s initial fear was that Sukarno and Hatta had been seized by the army at the request of the Allies. He had telephoned the kenpeitai HQ who told him they had not heard that the two Indonesian leaders were missing but that they would start a search. Ishida had not been convinced until Wadana arrived later with more details.
‘It’s taking too long,’ Ishida said half to himself. He was appalled by the prospect of mass demonstration and the bloodbath that would ensue. ‘Rengasdenglok is only thirty miles away.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to see Yamagami. If the kenpei find out about the Radio Station they will deploy in force. I must prevent it.’
The phone rang in the outer office. Both men tensed. Tashiro spoke briefly then put the call through. Ishida grabbed the phone from its cradle.
‘Ishida!’ He relaxed a little as he listened, nodding at Nishioka. ‘Good. Bring them here as soon as you can. Give the details to Nishioka.’ Ishida handed over the phone and waited as Nishioka conversed for several minutes in Javanese.
Nishioka hung up, relief showing on his face. ‘Kabuno told Sukarno and Hatta there had been a coup d’état and they were being taken out of Djakarta for their own protection. When they were asked to write and sign a declaration of independence they called Kabuno’s bluff and refused. It wasn’t long before the students started arguing among themselves. That’s when our messenger arrived with your offer. He had a hard time persuading them, even with your guarantee of immunity. They’ll be here in an hour. I’ve promised Kabuno there will be a declaration by noon tomorrow or he can shoot me!’
Ishida gave a hollow laugh. ‘They’ll have their declaration but Yamagami might well end up shooting me—and you!’ The phone rang again in the outer office.
‘Admiral,’ Tashiro called through the doorway. ‘That was the duty officer at kenpei HQ. They have no news of the Indonesian leaders but they have arrested a group of armed students near the Radio Station.’
‘Hell! Any shooting?’
‘No, just a few broken bones.’
‘Good. I’ll try and help them later. Warn the kitchen staff we’re going to have visitors. It will be a long night!’ He stood up, buttoning his tunic. ‘I still need to talk with Yamagami. If the army would only agree to turn a blind eye. Just for a few hours.’
Ishida’s offer of a meeting room for the Independence Preparation Committee had been gratefully received. Word had spread quickly. Throughout the evening Committee members had been arriving from their homes or hotels in Djakarta.
Not all had come alone. Tashiro had been watching from a window. ‘Admiral,’ he had warned, ‘I think the Committee members must be under surveillance.’ Ishida had looked out down the long drive to see a group of loitering men. ‘Kenpei lackeys looking to earn their last few yen,’ he said dismissively.
A moment later, a maroon Packard 120 convertible flying Ishida’s personal pennant swept into the drive, hood up to hide its passengers. He greeted Sukarno and Hatta with genuine concern but thought they looked none the worse for their ordeal. After offering them the use of the guest mandi rooms to wash and shave, he sent Sukarno’s wife and baby home in the Packard. It was six thirty. At the end of the drive he noticed the number of informants had reduced. Probably on their way to report, he thought. Time for him to talk with Yamagami!
As he turned away, a flash of headlights announced more visitors. This pemuda delegation was arriving. Ishida could not hide his amusement when a surly Kabuno and four other youths refused to sit with the Committee. Instead, they were shown to a separate lounge already stocked with refreshments by the ever-efficient Tashiro.
Ishida picked up the phone. An echo on the line made him wonder who else was listening. ‘General Yamagami? Ishida here. Good evening. It is late, I know, but as I am sure you are aware—’
‘I know Sukarno and Hatta are at your house,’ Yamagami interrupted.
Ishida was impressed but remained composed. ‘That’s correct. They wish to meet with you to discuss—’
‘Listen to me, Ishida,’ Yamagami thundered, ‘I know what you’re up to! It’s too late—I’ve just had formal notification from General Itagaki in Singapore that the terms of surrender require the army to maintain the status quo in all occupied territories. Specifically, all political activity is to be frozen as at August fifteenth.’
‘But General, this is not just politics—’ Ishida grimaced as Yamagami cut him off again.
‘Hear me out! Now that I have been informed, I am personally responsible for any infraction. Therefore, it is out of the question for me to talk about Indonesian political aspirations with anyone.’ Yamagami paused then continued in a conciliatory tone. ‘I accept, however, that the Army needs to be briefed about the abduction, so I suggest you see Major-General Honda in General Affairs as soon as you can.’
Yamagami’s meaning finally registered with Ishida. Silently he cursed his slowness.
‘I quite understand, General. Excuse me.’ Ishida slammed the phone down and twisted to face Tashiro. ‘Quick, get another car! I’m taking Sukarno and Hatta into the city.’
The walls of Major-General Kazuo Honda’s office, which had once belonged to the Chairman of the Royal Indies Bank, were lined with white marble. In contrast, the furniture was dark leather and polished teak. Art-Deco clocks, glassware and bronze figurines decorated the room.
Honda, his shaven-head glistening with perspiration, sat stiffly at a long table. He was flanked by four of his officers and an interpreter. Across from them were Sukarno, back in neat collar and tie, and Hatta in his trademark crumpled jacket. Ishida sat over to one side on a luxurious padded Chesterfield that would let him observe Honda.
Sukarno and Hatta knew Honda well enough, so the formal pleasantries had been completed very quickly.
‘My commiserations, Gentlemen, on your defeat.’ Hatta stressed the last word and much of the haughtiness left the four men facing him. ‘First, General Honda, I wonder if you can tell me when Allied forces will arrive in Java?’
Honda looked at his minions for confirmation. They remained impassive. ‘We have no information at all,’ Honda said quietly.
‘I see,’ Hatta said exasperatedly. ‘Well then, have the Allies made any comment about an independent Indonesian Government?’
Surprise showed on Honda’s face. Again he turned to his officers. They mumbled among themselves briefly then Honda looked back at Hatta. ‘There has been no comment. Since Indonesia is not independent there is no Indonesian Government…’
Hatta leaned forward, changing tack. He did not mince his words.
‘General, we need to be frank. We request a full explanation of the Japanese position regarding the independence of Indonesia. In particular, we are asking for confirmation that independence will go ahead as planned.’
Honda made to speak but Hatta stalled him with a raised finger. ‘If not, will the Japanese Government permit an immediate declaration of independence, backdated to August 11th, the date Marshall Terauchi gave formal approval?’ Hatta put his hands together and waited.
Ishida heard Honda swallow.
Honda’s face was a mask and his lips bloodless as he replied. ‘Any move to declare independence is unacceptable to the Allies. Japanese
military authorities have been given responsibility for maintaining the status quo. If we allow the Independence Preparation Committee to continue we would be liable to severe penalties. The Japanese set up the Committee; as such it falls under the terms of the surrender agreement. We cannot allow….’
Ishida listened carefully, intrigued, by the prepared speech. A secretary was taking detailed minutes of the meeting. Honda was merely going through the motions. He was leading—or hoping to be led—to something. Hatta would see it too, he thought, even through an interpreter.
Hatta did not disappoint. ‘But if something were to happen outside the Committee?’
Honda shifted in his seat, suddenly much happier. ‘Outside?’
Hatta leant forward again. ‘Yes, for example, what if there were civilian disturbances.’
Honda shrugged, staring at Hatta. ‘Well, I suppose….’
Finally, Sukarno saw the ruse too. ‘What if an independence declaration was made outside Japanese control? Would that be acceptable political process?’
‘Absolutely not,’ replied Honda. He looked at the colonel sitting to his left and then firmly at the secretary who stopped writing. ‘Of course, if it were done without our knowledge we probably could not prevent it.’
Ishida took a deep breath. There it was: tacit agreement that the army would not intervene! All they wanted was an alibi.
Hatta and Sukarno looked at each other, then over to Ishida. It was more than enough.
Ishida’s study was choked with cigarette smoke. Sukarno, Hatta, Nishioka and a man called Matoba from the Army Propaganda Office sat with Ishida around a small table. Ishida was presiding as Chairman.
Bleary-eyed, Hatta stretched. ‘Is there any word of Dr Sjahrir and Dr Jarisha? Really, they should be here.’
Sukarno’s irritation was clear. ‘We cannot delay. Now, are we agreed on “administrative”?’
There were tired nods around the table. The single paragraph had taken them nearly two hours to compose. Each time they presented a draft to the religious, civic and pemuda representatives waiting in the adjoining room the pemuda objected that it was too tame and made changes. Ishida was striving to avoid the use of any language implying a formal transfer of sovereignty. At the same time, he was desperate to prevent violence against the Japanese.
