House of Glass

by Pramoedya Ananta Toer

  We could hear the Princess shouting abuse at the police and Piah groaning from being kicked. Then there was a scream of pain from the Princess. Everyone in the street was coming out of their houses to have a look. The children didn’t come back. They followed the police back to the station.

  “Why were you so hard on them, Jacques?” asked my wife.

  “They ruined the view, darling. I work hard all day and then my rest is ruined because of them.”

  She looked at me, completely amazed: “There are many women out of work like that in France, too. Would you call the police to get rid of them also?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? Everyone would curse and condemn you.”

  “Not here. No one will condemn me here,” I answered curtly.

  “Why have you become so hard these days?” she asked, unbelievingly, more to herself than to me.

  I didn’t hear what else she said, I didn’t listen. I vomited anger all over my insides. And I wasn’t angry at the Princess of Kasiruta, but at myself. How faithful was that young woman. She wanted to find a way to have it out with me. It was only Piah who tried to stop her. If she had possessed a gun, she would have come straight in after me. But she didn’t. Perhaps all she had was a knife. And so she hesitated.

  “Men beating up on a woman, police too, making her groan like that.”

  No! There was no newspaper that would defend them. Medan was dead and buried. No one would speak out for them. Those groans came from the throat of a corpse. Their ancestors had been treated worse by the Company. They were just slightly injured. The police who beat them were no doubt Ambonese or Eurasian. But you, a retired police commissioner, why did you look on silently? Indeed, it was you who ordered that they be arrested, detained, and searched.

  My wife’s nagging was getting worse. It was as if she was the one suffering. She didn’t realize that all that young woman’s bullets could come smashing into her head.

  Neither of us spoke to the other, as if we had become enemies. The children returned and told us how the two women had been tormented all the way back to the police station.

  “Nobody did anything?” asked my wife.

  “Everyone just watched,” said Mark.

  “And what about you, you stupid child?”

  “Shut up, everyone!” I shouted an order, suppressing the torment that was inside my heart . . . in my own heart . . .

  5

  The government had issued an order—Meester Hendrik Frischboten was to be deported from the Indies. The order was then executed. This lawyer much beloved by the Natives—the legal adviser to Medan’s legal column—shed tears as he walked up the gangway onto the ship. So did his wife, who was carrying their baby. A crowd of wharf laborers went aboard with them and showered them with thank-yous and presents.

  In a broken voice Frischboten told them: “There is nothing more precious than sincere friendship, my beloved friends. Thank you for all your kindness. There is no human being who can live without friendship and kindness, because anything else is not human. Good-bye to you all whom I love and care for so much.”

  Full of emotion, they all shook hands, as though they were all family. There were no color differences; they did not care where the others came from.

  And I descended from the ship with an empty heart. They did not even know each other, but they could be such friends to each other and truly love each other, more than their own families, bound together by shared kindnesses and good deeds. Frischboten had also said: “Permit me to leave behind a message: My greetings to Raden Mas Minke, whom I have been unable to defend in his difficulties, which have not been overcome. And I say to you all here too—do not forget him. It was your friend Raden Mas Minke who has been the pioneer, the one who began, because he was the first to light up the way and lead you all.”

  I knew that Frischboten was an honorable man, honest to himself as well as others. But the pronouncements and actions of honorable men no longer moved my soul as they once did. On the contrary, they irritated and annoyed me. And I knew the reason. My own ruination was not only more and more certain, I was becoming more and more contemptible and rotten. And the worst thing was that I was fully aware of this.

  People were still talking about Minke. And who wouldn’t be irritated and annoyed with that? The SDI did not fade away. My eyes, and of course the eyes of the government, were now focused on Solo. It was now Haji Samadi’s turn to ascend the stage. The organization’s membership exploded, unlike anything that had ever occurred before in history.

  At an emergency conference in Solo, the SDI branches changed their name to Sarekat Islam. And, yes, it was I who had to work overtime because of all this. Paid henchmen were gathered together and put under my control through connections that would protect the government’s good name. But all of them were of no better quality than Robert Suurhof.

  But I could not stem the rush of new members to the SI. I understood that the time had now come when organization had to be added to the list of the Natives’ real needs. It was my task to stop this. It wasn’t only I, but I think all the experts on colonial affairs, who were amazed to see how quickly the Sarekat Islam developed after the leadership shifted from Minke into the hands of Haji Samadi.

  Even so, my original report was still considered correct, because the governor-general had been able to take the decision to exile Minke in time. If he had been late in doing so, then this Modern Pitung might have caused as much trouble outside Java as well. The Sarekat was growing into something quite large, but it would not be able to do anything without Minke’s brains.

  When my boss, Monsieur R—, gave me urgent orders to come up with recommendations about how to deal with the continuing growth in the size of the Sarekat, I set out straightaway to study all the suggestions and recommendations that had come in from the local administrations, both brown and white. They were all worried about the attitude Sarekat members, especially new ones, were exhibiting toward government bodies and officials.

  My boss’s orders showed that the colonial authorities were nervous and so was my boss.

  And there was no denying it, the organization’s growth was amazing. Rough estimates coming in put its membership at between 250 and 300 thousand people. No organization in Europe had ever grown as much in just four years! There was one document prepared by certain officials in Kasunanan that said that these two men—Minke and Haji Samadi—had agreed to transfer SDI headquarters to Solo because it was only in Solo that the Natives had retained their independence, as was reflected in the social and economic life of the town. It was also suggested that the princes of Solo, dreaming of the greatness of past times, were preparing to use their new power to further their own private ambitions. But another view was that the Solo nobility had lost all ambition and would never raise their faces against the Dutch again. This last document said that the Susuhunan of Solo would take a neutral stance toward the Sarekat.

  As I read these documents I began to wonder, was it true that there was no brain behind the Sarekat? I was locked in a game of chess against Minke. He was living peacefully in exile while I was running about madly like this. I was playing chess against the man whom I considered my teacher, whom I respected and honored. The game had not ended with his exile, but had only entered its first phase. At the same time, I knew for certain from our surveillance that there was no communication between Ternate and Solo, neither open nor underground.

  Then I received a report that I found no difficulty in believing—Haji Samadi was also in a state of confusion. He didn’t know what to do with such a large mass following—a mass following thirsty for leadership and action. If he were to work on that problem, his own business would fall into ruins. If he didn’t try to do something, he would lose all public credibility. And even if he wanted to give them the leadership they wanted, he didn’t know how.

  I worked for a week. Every day Monsieur R— came to see me, his nervous tension getting worse all the time. And all the time, more reports arr
ived, all on clean white paper, and all bearing their own story. In this hurried manner, I finally finished my paper, which recommended that the government let it be known that not only was Raden Mas Minke out of favor but so also were all the members of the Sarekat. And so a decree should be issued forbidding all State employees, from the top to the bottom, to join the Sarekat, and ordering them not to give the Sarekat any room to be active.

  “We’ve issued the instruction as you recommended,” said Monsieur R—, “but why so gentle?”

  “Taking action against an individual and against the masses are two different things, Monsieur, requiring different analysis and approaches. The masses are more or less easily mobilized depending on the quality of their leaders. Now with Minke gone, whose caliber we fully understood, they might start producing new leaders at the local level, about whom we know nothing as yet. We need time.” This new policy did not hit the target either. The government had no legal authority to interfere in the workings of public organizations. And there was no law under which a State employee could be forced to prove that he was not a Sarekat member.

  So my recommendations ran into obstacles before they could be fully implemented, even though in some places they eventually had the effect of controlling the activities of a few officials. On the other hand, they eventually caused other people in other places even more aggravation. These people, who basically had no love for colonial authority, were inflamed into even greater revolt. The undeniable result of the government’s new instruction was that the Sarekat began to recruit even more members. A European daily, not from the Netherlands, estimated that the membership had reached half a million, had become the biggest mass organization to emerge this century and was active over an area the size of Europe. Another English-language paper from outside the Indies estimated 300,000. Haji Samadi himself never responded. He probably never even knew that these foreigners were commenting on his organization. Perhaps he himself didn’t know what the membership was anymore. And my own estimate, based on the official reports of government officers, was between 300,000 and 350,000. But no one knew exactly how many there were.

  But what was the point of making such a fuss over numbers? Both from the point of view of the quality of its membership as well as its leadership, it was clear that the organization was unable to raise itself up onto a higher level. The Sarekat would never be anything more than a heap of rocks cemented together by nothing more than private daydreams, not by the shared dreams of all its membership, and so it would not be able to carry out any united action.

  This became the basis of my thinking on what needed to be done.

  Haji Samadi himself seemed to be affected by the prevailing colonial opinion that he would never be capable of leading half a million members. He was going crazy with confusion. Then another report came in that he was rushing around Java, going from town to town, trying to meet as many educated Natives as possible, hoping that he would find someone whom he could ask to help organize and lead the Sarekat. Our surveillance soon gave us additional information—the type of person he wanted to meet was not only educated but also Moslem with a knowledge of religion, one who had real experience, and not just an indirect knowledge, of modern commerce.

  Poor Samadi—if you didn’t have an ambition to be a leader, you could be living a nice, peaceful life looking after your business. Now you’ve become a workhorse climbing up and down mountains, carting things about which don’t even belong to you, and are not for your use either.

  Sitting at my desk in my office in Buitenzorg, I was able to follow this batik trader everywhere he went, to Betawi, Semarang, and Surabaya, checking out all the addresses he had obtained. It became widely known in all three of these towns that he wished to meet educated Natives who were working for the import-export companies Borsumij and Geo Wehry. It was not difficult to guess what he was doing. The most important thing for him was to find someone who could help him save his batik business in Solo, which could no longer obtain dyes directly from Europe, from ruin. He was really after someone who could help him get his business out of trouble. The Sarekat was second priority.

  Then something unexpected happened that was rather unnerving.

  Monsieur R— came to see me several times in one day, and Meneer G— too, although never together. It seemed that Governor-General Idenburg was in a rotten temper because of an article in an English newspaper that insultingly stated that, compared with India, the Indies was hell. The Moslems of Java, said the article, had organized themselves. All the actions taken by the Netherlands Indies government had failed to yield results. There would soon be outbreaks of unrest if the Netherlands Indies government did not undertake radical reform and leave behind its outdated ways.

  There would be no reforms of the government system, said Idenburg. The Indies government would not give up the time-honored ways of doing things that had always guided the Indies authorities.

  But I, Pangemanann, who was groaning under this mountain of work, would have no choice but to try new ways.

  Monsieur R—, in his usual nervous manner, said: “There is no way the government will bend just because there is something going on among the Natives. The government is strong, and will always be stronger than the Natives. Otherwise, there will be no place for the government here in the Indies.”

  So I had to order some more severe acts of repression. The game of chess against Raden Mas Minke was entering its final stages. But how could I take such action when there were no legal grounds or means for doing so?

  “From what I can tell from your reports,” said Monsieur R—, “you’ve approached this problem of the Sarekat from the outside. What about if you study how it works internally?”

  “Is that an order, Monsieur R—?”

  “Yes, that is an order.”

  “Could you put it in writing?”

  He promised he would do so and then left.

  “Meneer Pangemanann,” Meneer G— began as soon as he sat down in front of me, “there was once a governor-general who lost his position because of an incident involving the Chinese community. Do you remember what happened?”

  I could not remember the name of that governor-general. I had heard about the incident, but did not know much about its background.

  “What a pity you have forgotten his name,” he said, “but of course it is not your field. But you remember the year, of course?”

  “The Chinese Massacre, 1740,” I answered.

  “The important thing is the background to what happened. If you have no objection, perhaps I could explain what happened?” And I had no objection even though the task of finding a way out for His Excellency Idenburg’s fury still lay before me.

  “During the ten years before the incident many Chinese came and settled in the area around Betawi. Restlessness spread like wildfire among them when the Company threatened to evict them. The Chinese who worked in the city, mainly peddlers, craftsmen, building workers, had achieved a high level of solidarity in their struggle against the European businesses that were supported by the Company. The Native bourgeoisie were bankrupt and there was no sign of them rising again. You could count the occupations of the Natives on one hand—farmer, laborer, fisherman, and salaried employee in the service of the government or the local Native rulers, and finally—criminals. All large-scale commercial activity, including inter-island trade, was in the hands of the Company or other Europeans. The Chinese had not moved into wholesale trade like they have now, but they controlled small-scale retail trade and provisions for all public works. The Europeans were just beginning to feel the competition from the enterprise of the Chinese, but the Natives had felt it severely for a long time. There was social envy, agitation—you know the rest.”

  “The Chinese Massacre,” I answered in reply.

  “So, what do you think about all this?”

  “Well, it’s clear from the fall of the governor-general of the time that the incident was generally condemned.”

  “Things were har
der in those days,” he continued. “The idea behind the massacre was to prevent the social and economic advance of the Chinese. But they were not stopped. They soon had complete control over all petty and medium-level trade. Then they started to press even further upward, starting to compete with the Europeans and Arabs. The Europeans were able to hold their own, but the Arabs all succumbed. And that is the situation that we find today. And at the beginning of this century they have entered a period of national awakening. If it were confined to China itself, there would be no need for us to trouble ourselves. But this is the Indies, Meneer Pangemanann. Can you imagine what might happen in ten years’ time if they continue to progress the way they have?”

  And so it was that he placed before me, on my desk for me to analyze, the problem of the races in the Indies—European, Arab, Chinese, and Native—and the relations among them.

  “What about the Indians?” I asked.

  “They have never played an important role. They have always been in a more sensitive situation. Why, what about them?”

  Equipped with rather indirect instructions, and a letter authorizing me to use the documents at the State archives, I ordered a car and driver which took me to Betawi. There was nothing that I needed from them, I just wanted to get away from my office, from the never-ending stream of orders. I needed a more peaceful atmosphere.

  Meneer L— was very happy to see me. Once again he quickly served up another lecture about the Javanese. God, it felt as though my brain became swollen every time I listened to his endless lectures. He repeated everything he had said before, adding here and there some additional facts to strengthen his case.

  “So it all began during the glorious days of the Majapahit Empire, as told by Tantular. All religions are the same. And as a result religion and all principles themselves disappeared. The Javanese were left without any guide in life. Foreign merchants introduced Islam to them. These merchants were at heart people who needed to gain the friendship and trust of the Javanese so they naturally tended toward making compromises. If some other religion had been introduced to the Javanese at that time, using the same methods, then the Javanese would have adopted it just as easily, along with the friendship of whoever brought it, so as to accommodate to the new situation. They had lost the principles that they had been taught by the religion of their ancestors. They received no new principles from their new religion. This was the period of the spiritual and philosophical decline of the Javanese and this is why they were not able to resist the Europeans.”