There was no preparation that could be carried out too early.
Yet it sounded like a fairy tale that Japan could force its way onto the soil of the Indies. Japan would first have to face the French in Indochina, then get past the English in that strongest of all Southeast Asian forts called Singapore. Indeed the Indies were guarded by layers of European forts, which could never be penetrated. But don’t forget, someone else added, that the distance between Europe and Southeast Asia is very great indeed, and Europe’s ships are spread throughout the waterways of its colonies: in the Americas, Africa, Asia, and Australia. The Japanese fleet is together, concentrated in one place, and its ground army even more so.
People should remember that all Japanese who have left their country—whether to become coolies in Hawaii’s pineapple plantations, or cooks on the ships of other races, or chefs in San Francisco mansions, or prostitutes in the big cities of the world—nevertheless they remain like the heart and lungs of the Japanese race, inseparable from their country, their ancestors, and their people. And more than that, even though they earn their living from us, they still look upon us as a race of barbarians, and come that day, they will try to prove that they are right about us.
We mustn’t laugh and think that it is all just the arrogance of an isolated people who have never had contact with the great nations of the world. Japan has opened its doors to Western influence for decades now, and its citizens are busily extracting what is best from the achievements of all peoples the world over. They are a thrifty people who know the purpose of their thrift: the greatness of the Japanese empire. They had practiced the principles of economy and thrift long before they learned it from us.
Some of those attending the seminar, so people said, still refused to acknowledge Japan as significant or to acknowledge the other speakers’ opinions as worth consideration.
Views were put forward regarding the appropriate defense strategy for the Indies, given its peculiar geographical situation. In 1811, during Governor-General Jansen’s time, the British navy was easily able to take the Indies. That must not happen again. Up until now the Indies army had stood as an autonomous force, a united force, the product of the power of the Netherlands Indies state. But at sea the Indies were still dependent on the Royal Netherlands Navy. Even the transport of supplies to Aceh and the Moluccas for the army, especially before the forming of the K.P.M., depended on private merchant fleets: Arab and Chinese, Madurese and Buginese.
I had never thought about the sea before, but now it began to arouse my interest. My mind conjured up pictures of the centuries during which the wooden ships of the V.O.C. had battled the ocean waves for months, even years on end, seeking out spices. They found them. The profits were huge. And to defend and expand those profits they founded an empire. Mostly, and first of all, upon the earth of my homeland. They created an empire and they kept watch over it across the seas. It was the sea that took them to their greatness. And they knew that every forward-moving nation could use those same seas to build other empires. They were not going to let that happen. They had been cursed with the necessity of always defending what they had founded and what they owned.
The Netherlands Indies needed its own navy for its sea defenses; we could never defend ourselves on the seas while the royal armadas and squadrons were sailing around in the Atlantic. The Indies must have its own navy, and as quickly as possible. The defense of the Indies must adjust itself as quickly as possible to the natural circumstances of the Indies. It must have its own maritime defense strategy. There must be surveys to find suitable spots for naval bases. The bases must be built. The situation cannot remain as it is now, with the visiting Royal Navy ships harboring wherever they like, as if they were on a honeymoon picnic.
The military people at the seminar were quite shaken by it all. And that admiral—people said he represented the concern in the Netherlands—was also shaken.
Reading the news about that seminar left me with the impression that war was going to break out the next day, or perhaps the day after. The Netherlands Indies fighting—I’m not sure whom. How many conflicts there are in this world! Everyone against everyone: people against people, group against group, individuals against their own group and vice versa; groups against their own broader class and the other way around too; women confronting men in Europe and men who didn’t confront women; governments fighting their own citizens. And now empires in confrontation. All were just manifestations of one thing: conflicting interests!
And if the Netherlands found itself confronted with a defense problem—which had happened already a number of times—the Indies must be able to defend itself using its own strength. But to try to defend yourself in this modern age without a navy: unimaginable! People reminded each other that there were the Germans in East Papua, the English to the north and to the southeast as well. The American navy was now playing around in the Pacific, playing grave-making with the Filipino rebels and finally throwing out the Spanish.
Changes in “the balance of power,” people said, (and how tremendously that idea loomed in my thoughts) had placed the Indies in a new situation.
It was a pity I had never seen that grand epic of conflict, the Bharatayuddha wayang story. I had never met a puppet-master who dared to put it on. It was too complicated, and the complexity left an impression of the supernatural. So too it was with this “balance of power.” In all these complications and this complexity, with all its supernaturalness, I had a vision of a child’s playpen, inside of which was a jumbled pile of question marks. And my mind was tormented like this as a result of thinking about other people’s concerns, such as the fate of the Indies without a navy of its own.
In the history of the Netherlands Indies (I did not need to learn this from a book or a teacher) the Dutch were not just proud, but almost arrogant about the strength of their army. But after seeing what happened in the Philippines people began to whisper: A strong land force is meaningless in an island country if there is no navy. The Spanish preferred to retreat from the Philippines rather than confront the American fleet. The Indies had to learn to look after itself, including its sea defenses.
And the seminar itself produced a warning (and I will never be able to forget it): Watch out, gentlemen! In a modern war, if the forts in the countries to the north are penetrated, and we do not have a strong navy, this country will fall in a matter of days.
Not long after the seminar the ship H.M.S. Sumatra was sent to the Indies to survey the best places to build a base for the Royal Netherlands Indies Navy of the future. On one of its trips it surveyed the waters around Jepara, on the southern coast of Java. (Later on I found out that three Native girls, one of them with a name famed through all Java, R. A. Kartini, along with their father, had boarded the ship to make an inspection. They were welcomed with full honors. The ship’s crew knew them as Native girls who thought like Europeans and they called them the princesses of Jepara.)
As I was writing these notes a question arose in my mind: Did they know what the earlier tasks of H.M.S. Sumatra had been?
Why South Africa? Because indeed there is a connection. After the H.M.S. Sumatra arrived, another ship followed from that southern corner of the world: The H.M.S. Borneo. One of its passengers was a war hero from South Africa: Engineer Maurits Mellema. That warship made its way to where I lived: Surabaya. He was commanding a team of marine engineers.
Now allow me to fantasize a bit about this particular character:
He was still commanding his troops in South Africa when he was summoned by the Royal Netherlands Navy. He had already gone through battle after battle under the command of General Christaan de Wet—victories and defeats. (Indeed there were more defeats than victories and the Dutch were becoming more and more pressed.) But in any case people need heroes to worship. And if there aren’t any, they’ll scrape up anything. In short, Mellema was made a hero; he was honored and praised by all. He had defended the honor of the House of Orange as well as the veins of gold running thro
ugh the southern tip of the African continent.
Perhaps I have the right to picture him, sometimes, as an officer whose chest could be covered with medals. I don’t know how many Englishmen he had sent to the grave, how many square miles of land he had lost, how many of his men had been killed or taken prisoner or had disappeared or gone mad or deserted. There were no other names along with his. And I don’t think I’d be wrong in presenting the picture that from his mouth came a never-ending stream of curses, directed especially at the English general, French.
Probably Holland was proud to have such a great son as Maurits Mellema. Probably he was famous throughout the land…and a pile of other probablys as well. My imagination can be squeezed no further.
The surveys to find a suitable place for the Royal Netherlands Indies Navy base was finally successful: the Surabaya peninsula. The docks were designed. Remembering Engineer Maurits Mellema’s previous experience at Surabaya harbor, when, seven years before, he had helped design new sugar- and oil-loading docks, the Royal Navy summoned him. He was chosen to build the new naval base at the tip of Surabaya harbor.
A telegram was sent to South Africa summoning him. He was seen off by his friends and the soldiers who had served under him. He left Africa with glorious memories.…
And if I keep drawing upon my imagination, I can come up with some more ideas.
Every member of the ship’s crew taking him home to Holland shared with him the happiness of his return. The journey was a refreshing outing for him, far from death and the spilling of blood, from groans and cries. And if I let my imagination get out of control altogether, this would be the next part of the story:
That morning at the Sumatra docks in Amsterdam harbor, a crowd of people had already gathered. There were many girls there and veterans of the Boer War too. A number of senior officers from the Royal Navy were there, and also a navy band. At exactly ten o’clock the ship from South Africa entered the harbor.
I could see Minister Kuyper, who was so involved with the Boer War, also there to greet the ship.
A woman, dressed all in black, quickly attracted attention. She too was a welcomer, standing in the crowd: the widow Amelia Mellema-Hammers. In one hand she carried a black bag. In the other was an umbrella, also black. And she was ready to shed tears of welcome too.
The ship began to dock. The passengers stood along the deck rail. Slowly the navy band began to play.
The first person to disembark from the ship was none other than Engineer Mellema himself, accompanied by the ship’s captain. People shouted and cheered to welcome their hero. The music blared, trying to make itself heard over the cheering. Things became merrier and merrier. Engineer Maurits Mellema smiled calmly. He waved his hand. As soon as he stepped ashore a crowd of people, who knows from where, charged forward and placed a garland of flowers around his neck. The officials and officers from the Royal Navy took turns in shaking his hand. The Royal Navy music corps kept up their playing. Kuyper was forgotten by everybody.
Now, not a single medal decorated Mellema’s chest, yet through his veins ran the heroism of his ancestors who had defeated enemies from both land and sea. This great son of the nation was very friendly. He faced the world with a smile that reflected the great experiences now behind him. People said: Whoever returned home from war as victor would see all the difficulties before him become as nothing.
His mother, having longed to see her son for so long now, ran forward to embrace and kiss him. And the hero Mellema loved his mother. There were kisses in return to her cheeks, left and right. This scene of a mother’s love continued as she held her son’s body. There must not be some irreplaceable part of the hero’s body buried back in that unknown land. Amelia Mellema-Hammers suddenly burst into uncontrolled weeping—an expression of gratitude to her God. The body of the child she had given birth to was still whole; the English had not succeeded in breaking it.
The Royal Navy carriage took hero and mother to headquarters to the accompaniment of the crowd’s shouts and cheers. In the background the ship and its crew stood along the deck watching this great event.
I don’t think I could tell my imagination it was wrong if I said that the papers also reported this event. But there was nothing in the papers about the deaths of Herman Mellema, Annelies Mellema, and Robert Mellema, nor was there any mention that the great hero was about to receive some free booty from Wonokromo, Surabaya.
There was no other news about the hero for a while. Then, later, a small report about a banquet held by Engineer Maurits Mellema and his mother—a banquet with speeches, ringing with cheers. Beneath that report was another about the sacking of an English journalist in South Africa who wasn’t doing his job properly but was making up news stories in his bedroom, while in that same room he was composing adventure stories about a white baby who grew up to be the king of the South African jungle.…
I’m afraid I must end my fantasy here.
Dulrakim from Kedungrukem, whom I visited to get the address of Khouw Ah Soe’s friend, well, he was the kind of person who liked to collect stories—I don’t know if just for himself or to broadcast to others. He had a treasury of adventure stories that seemed unlimited. Because he doesn’t have an important place at all in my story, I don’t think I need say much about him. But he did have something to say about Engineer Maurits Mellema. Only short tales—just some things he had picked up hanging around the harbor.
He reckoned the young marine engineer was quite a friendly person. He said he heard someone say once that heroes were usually like that; great experiences made such people more humble and sensitive to other people. Mellema liked music and was a hero of the dance floor as well.
His favorite topic of conversation was the slowness with which the Netherlands Indies came to realize the need for its own navy. Didn’t that great son of the Indies, Daendels, almost a century ago, realize the same thing? Hadn’t he even recognized and indeed used Surabaya as a naval base? How quickly the Europeans in the Indies forgot! The lack of an international war for almost a century seemed to have turned them all senile.
According to another story, a Dutch seaman once asked the engineer: When the Surabaya project is finished, where will the engineer go? His answer was simple and strong: to wherever the Netherlands calls me.
Once he had to give a public talk. He talked about how the Dutch first entered South Africa. They had to face the resistance of the inhabitants, the black people who fought with spear and arrow. Do you all know how those black people fought? he asked. They crawled, wriggling along the ground, not standing, but like snakes, moving forward by using their elbows. The Europeans stood straight, rifles ready. The blacks crept forward with spear and arrow—a symbol, and not one of our own making, that the black-skinned people will always crawl beneath our feet. In war and in peace, the white-skinned peoples will always be on top, superior, always standing tall above the crawling coloreds.
Dulrakim never told me if he himself attended that lecture. He couldn’t tell me if the people there agreed with the engineer’s opinions or not. What he did know was that Engineer Maurits Mellema had been entrusted with the job of building the base for the Royal Netherlands Indies Navy on Perak peninsula, Surabaya, and had been given the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.
Yes, he is a capable man, Dulrakim commented. He had shown this while leading his men in South Africa, people were saying; and now as a marine engineer he was equally capable at managing the construction of the base. Hundreds of men—perhaps thousands, if you count those not directly involved with the project—obediently carried out his orders. All to bring into being the Netherlands Indies Navy base!
Almost a hundred years ago Daendels knew what had to be done, Mellema was always growling.
Whether these stories are true or not, only Dulrakim knows. I was amazed at the number of stories he had stored away.
It seemed the relationship between Maurits and Herman Mellema would never again weigh on people’s minds. Except for mine and Mama’s. A
nd it was as though Mellema’s way to us, both in my imaginings and in reality, had been swept clean and clear for him. Neither he himself nor his clothes need be dirtied or torn by walking some narrow pathway. He came as a god, the god of the Netherlands Indies Navy base project. It was the pet project of the Netherlands Indies government. It was as though all the power and facilities of the colonial state were being mobilized to ensure the project’s success. And Engineer Maurits Mellema was promoted from god of building to god of success.
In Wonokromo a woman would have to confront this double god alone. This woman had been robbed, with the aid of the law, of her child and property, the products of her sweat. She had no legal ground to stand on. She had never traveled anywhere because the Netherlands had needed her. She had at her side only a youth named Minke and a man named Darsam who could no longer swing his machete. What other strength was still stored away in these three people that could help them confront Engineer Maurits Mellema, now so triumphant in all things?
This lone woman wished only for two more friends to be with her. Just two: Jean Marais—painter, one-legged invalid, introvert; and one Kommer—a reporter from a Malay-Dutch newspaper whose writings had never been able to topple the mountainous combined power of the Indies and the Netherlands.
Mama had said Engineer Mellema was coming to kick her out. I thought the word kick was too strong. That engineer would never have to raise his foot. He would not have to expend the slightest energy. With just one puff, Mama would be exiled forever from her kingdom and her throne. But Mama still felt she had value and worth. Engineer Mellema would come. He would give a little puff, and all humankind living upon the company’s land would be blown off, to flutter away like goose feathers.