Chinese Indonesians and Regime Change

Chinese Indonesians and Regime Change

Chinese Overseas History, Literature, and Society

Chief Editor

Wang Gungwu Subject Editors

Evelyn Hu-DeHart, David Der-wei Wang, Wong Siu-lun Editorial Board

Ien Ang, Shirley Geok-lin Lim, Liu Hong, Frank Pieke, Elizabeth Sinn, Jing Tsu

VOLUME 4

Chinese Indonesians and Regime Change Edited by

Marleen Dieleman, Juliette Koning, and Peter Post

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2011

Cover Image: The Board of Directors of the Oei Tiong Ham Concern, 1952. This picture was taken on August 20, 1952, in the ballroom of Hotel des Indes ( Jakarta) during a cocktail party to celebrate Tan Tek Peng’s 35th anniversary with Kian Gwan Co. (Indonesia) Ltd. N.V. Standing from left to right: Yap Kie Ling, Mrs. Oei Ing Swie, Oei Ing Swie, Mrs. L. Tan Tek Peng-Souw, Tan Tek Peng, Mrs. M.L. Oei Tjong Tjay-Blanc, Oei Tjong Tjay, Tjoa Soe Tjong. Courtesy Mrs. Lieke Oei Tiang Han. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Dieleman, Marleen. Chinese Indonesians and regime change / by Marleen Dieleman, Juliette Koning, and Peter Post. p. cm. — (Chinese overseas ; v. 4) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-19121-1 (hardback) 1. Chinese—Indonesia—History. 2. Chinese—Indonesia—Politics and government. 3. Indonesia—Politics and government—20th century. 4. Regime change—Indonesia— History—20th century. 5. Indonesia—Ethnic relations. I. Koning, Juliette. II. Post, Peter, 1953– III. Title. IV. Series. DS632.3.C5D54 2010 959.8’004951—dc22

2010029370

ISSN 1876-3847 ISBN 978 90 04 19121 1 Copyright 2011 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.

CONTENTS Acknowledgements ..................................................................... Abbreviations .............................................................................. Glossary ....................................................................................... Contributors ................................................................................

vii ix xi xiii

PART I

INTRODUCTION Chapter One Chinese Indonesians and Regime Change: Alternative Perspectives ......................................................... Marleen Dieleman, Juliette Koning, and Peter Post

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PART II

POLICY AND DIGNITY: CHINESENESS DURING AND AFTER THE NEW ORDER Chapter Two Business, Belief, and Belonging: Small Business Owners and Conversion to Charismatic Christianity .......... Juliette Koning Chapter Three Assimilation, Differentiation, and Depoliticization: Chinese Indonesians and the Ministry of Home Affairs in Suharto’s Indonesia .................................... Nobuhiro Aizawa Chapter Four Diversity in Compliance: Yogyakarta Chinese and the New Order Assimilation Policy ............................... Andreas Susanto

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contents PART III

JUSTICE AND REPRESENTATION: THE CHINESE IN THE NETHERLANDS EAST INDIES Chapter Five The Chinese Connection: Rewriting Journalism and Social Categories in Indonesian History ....................... Nobuto Yamamoto Chapter Six The Loa Joe Djin-Case: A Trigger to Change ... Patricia Tjiook-Liem

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PART IV

SURVIVAL AND CREATIVITY: CHINESE BUSINESS RESPONSES TO REGIME CHANGE Chapter Seven Crisis Management and Creative Adjustment: Margo-Redjo in the 1930s .................................................... Alexander Claver

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Chapter Eight The Oei Tiong Ham Concern and the Change of Regimes in Indonesia, 1931–1950 ..................... Peter Post

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Chapter Nine Continuous and Discontinuous Change in Ethnic Chinese Business Networks: The Case of the Salim Group .......................................................................... Marleen Dieleman Index ...........................................................................................

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This volume emerged out of a series of monthly seminars held at the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation (NIOD) in Amsterdam from 2006 to 2007, as well as the international workshop Indonesian Chinese Studies at the Crossroads? Challenges and Prospects—Dutch and Japanese Explorations, held in Amsterdam on February 12–13, 2007, and jointly organized by the Center for Southeast Asian Studies (CSEAS, Kyoto University), NIOD, ASiA (University of Amsterdam), and Leiden University. A selection of original papers presented at the seminars and the workshop have been included in the volume. They have been revised and edited for this publication. We wish to thank the hosting institutions as well as all participants of the seminars and workshops for their contributions and comments. Special thanks are due to Kosuke Mizuno (CSEAS) and Sikko Visscher (then at ASiA, University of Amsterdam) for their support in organizing these events. Marleen Dieleman Juliette Koning Peter Post

ABBREVIATIONS ABRI

Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia Armed Forces of the Republic of Indonesia BAKIN Badan Koordinasi Intelijen Negara National Intelligence Coordinating Agency BAKOM PKB Badan Komunikasi Penghayatan Kesatuan Bangsa Communication Body of Organizing National Unity BAPERKI Badan Permusyawaratan Kewarganegaraan Indonesia Consultative Body for Indonesian Citizenship (organization representing Chinese Indonesians in the 1950s) BCA Bank Central Asia BKMC Badan Koordinasi Masalah Cina Coordinating Agency on the Chinese Problem BPKB Badan Pembina Kesatuan Bangsa Body of Promoting National Unity CFB Chinese Family Business Term for ethnic Chinese family firms CHH Chung Hwa Hui Chinese Association DEPDAGRI Department Dalam Negeri Ministry of Home Affairs DEPDIKBUD Department Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan Department of Education and Culture Direktorat Directorat Kesatuan Bangsa Directorate of National KESBANG Unity Dirjen SOSPOL Directorat Jenderal Sosial dan Politik Directorate General of Social and Political Affairs DKI Jakarta Daerah Khusus Istimewah Jakarta Special Capital District of Jakarta FGBMFI Full Gospel Business Men Fellowship International G30S Gerakan 30 September 1965 September 30th Movement GBI Gereja Bethel Indonesia Indonesian Bethel Church Gerindo Gerakan Rakyat Indonesia Indonesian People’s Movement GPdI Gereja Pantekosta di Indonesia Pentecostal Church of Indonesia

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abbreviations

KOPKAMTIB Komando Pemulihan Keamanan dan Ketertibaan Operational Command for the Restoration of Security and Order KTP Kartu Tanda Penduduk National Identity Card LPKB Lembaga Pembina Kesatuan Bangsa Institute for the Promotion of National Unity MNC Multi-National Company Large firm operating in different countries NA Nationaal Archief National Archives, The Hague OTHC Oei Tiong Ham Concern PID Politieke Inlichtingen Dienst Political Intelligence Service PITI Perhimpunan Islam Tionghoa Indonesia Association of Indonesian Muslim Chinese PKI Partai Komunis Indonesia Indonesian Communist Party PRC People’s Republic of China PTI Partai Tionghoa Indonesia Indonesian Chinese Party RT Rukun Tetangga Neighborhood Association RW Rukun Warga Administrative Units consisting of several RT SARA Suku, Agama, Ras dan Antar Golongan Acronym for ethnic, religious, racial and group identities Sarpoci Sarikat Pegawai Oei Tiong Ham Concern Indonesia Union of Employees of the Oei Tiong Ham Concern Indonesia SBKRI Surat Bukti Kewarganegaraan Republik Indonesia Republic of Indonesia Citizenship Certificate SCUT Staf Chusus Urusan Tjina Special Staff for Chinese Affairs SESKOAD Sekolah Staf dan Komando Angkatan Darat Army Staff and Command College SNPC Sekolah Nasional Projek Chusus Special Project National Schools THKK Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan Chinese Association TVRI TV Republik Indonesia National Television of Republic of Indonesia WNA Warga Negara Asing Foreign Citizen WNI Warga Negara Indonesia Indonesian Citizen YSB Yokohama Speciebank

GLOSSARY Ahli Asimilasi Arisan Asimilasi Baba Cap Go Meh Cina Crisisinvoerordonnantie Djaksa Doenia pers Dwi fungsi Gerakan 30 September Gotong royong Guanxi Imlek Integrasi Kampung Kakyo Sokai ( Jap.) Kasno (bekas Cino) Kenpeitai Kirno (mungkir Cino) Masalah Cina Non-Pribumi Orde Baru Pamrih Pancasila Pecinan

assimilation expert neighborhood savings club, rotating credit association assimilation see peranakan celebration of the 15th night of the New Year festival Official term for Chinese and China under the New Order, considered insulting by Chinese Indonesians Crisis Import Ordinance native prosecutor journalistic world dual function, double role of the armed forces in the military and in politics September 30th movement community self-help, mutual cooperation Chinese concept denoting networks or connections Hokkien term for Chinese New Year integration village or small urban area Chinese Association “former Chinese” Japanese military police “deny Chinese” “the Chinese problem” non-native, non-indigenous (until the late 1990s including Chinese Indonesians) New Order (regime president Suharto 1965– 1998) reward five basic principles of the Indonesian state (state ideology) Chinese quarter

xii Pelindung Pembauran Peranakan Pers delict Pribumi ronda or siskamling Ronda Suku Tionghoa Totok Wijkenstelsel

glossary protector assimilation person of mixed ancestry press offense native, indigenous, sons of the soil communal neighborhood guard duty at night guard control ethnic group Hokkien term for Chinese “full blooded” zoning system

CONTRIBUTORS

Nobuhiro Aizawa is researcher in the Institute of Developing Economies-JETRO Japan and a Visiting Fellow in Cornell University. He holds a Ph.D. in Area Studies from Kyoto University. His current research interests focus on Chinese Indonesians, Indonesian politics and Thai politics. Books and chapters in edited volumes include Ethnic Chinese and the State—Masalah Cina in Indonesia (2010, in Japanese), By Accident or By Design?—the 2010 Indonesian Election Turmoil (2010, in Japanese), Political Turmoil and the Economic Crisis—Thailand 2008 (2009, in Japanese). Alexander Claver is senior political and strategic analyst at the Dutch Ministry of Defense. He studied history at Utrecht University where he specialized in Dutch economic history and holds a Ph.D. in social sciences from the VU University Amsterdam. His doctoral research focused on trade finance and commercial relations between Europeans and Chinese in colonial Indonesia. (Capital and Commerce in Colonial Java 2006). His research interests include the legal profession in Indonesia and the history of the Armenians in Indonesia. Recent publications include Struggling for justice. Chinese commerce and Dutch law in the Netherlands Indies 1800–1942 (2008), A colonial debt crisis. Surabaya in the late 1890s and contributions to Economics and Finance in Indonesia (2007, no. 55 and 2009, no. 57). Marleen Dieleman is visiting fellow at NUS Business School in Singapore. She holds a Ph.D. from Leiden University in The Netherlands. Her current research aims at doing in-depth and longitudinal case studies of large family business groups in Southeast Asia, with a focus on corporate strategy. She published a book entitled The Rhythm of Strategy: A Corporate Biography of The Salim Group of Indonesia (Amsterdam University Press 2007); a range of academic articles in journals such as the Journal of Management Studies (2008) and Asia Pacific Journal of Management (2006, 2010), as well as various book chapters and teaching cases.

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Juliette Koning is senior lecturer in organisational anthropology at the Management and Organisational Studies Department, Business School, Oxford Brookes University. She holds a PhD in social anthropology from the University of Amsterdam. Her current research interests focus on Chinese Indonesians and religion, ethnicity and entrepreneurship in Southeast Asia. Books and edited volumes include Women and Households in Indonesia, Cultural Notions and Social Practices (2000), Natural Resources and Social Security (2001), Generations of Change (2004) and Rope Walking and Safety Nets: Local Ways of Managing Insecurity in Indonesia (2006). Her recent publications are contributions to East Asia; An International Quarterly (2007, 24), Copenhagen Journal of Asian Studies (2009, 27), Inside Indonesia (2009, 95) and an edited volume on Christianity in Asia (Routledge 2009). Peter Post is senior-researcher at the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation (NIOD) and until recently program director of the Historical Research Program Japan and The Netherlands. He holds a Ph.D. in social sciences from the VU University in Amsterdam. His major research interest is in the changing interaction between Japanese and Chinese business networks in Asia since the late 19th century and on this topic he has published widely. His most recent publications include Indonesian Economic Decolonization in Regional and International Perspective (KITLV Press 2009, co-editor with J. Thomas Lindblad) and as general editor The Encyclopedia of Indonesia in the Pacific War (Brill 2010). Andreas A. Susanto is head of the Department of Sociology at the Atma Jaya Yogyakarta University, Indonesia. He holds a Ph.D. in Social Sciences from the Radboud Nijmegen University, The Netherlands. His academic interests include Chinese Indonesians, sociology of business, female entrepreneurship, and postmodernism. Published articles: “Chinese Indonesians and ‘the Rise of China’: From Business Opportunities to Questions of Identity” (with Juliette Koning), in E. Kok-Kheng Yeoh and J. Hoi-Lee Loh (eds), China in the World: Contemporary Issues and Perspectives (Institute of China Studies, 2008); “Safety First: Strategies of Managing Insecurity among Chinese Indonesian in Yogyakarta” in J. Koning and F. Husken (eds), Ropewalking and Safety Nets: Local Ways of Managing Insecurities in Indonesia (Brill 2006).

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Patricia Tjiook-Liem acquired her Master of Law at the University of Amsterdam and defended her PhD thesis on ‘The legal position of the Chinese in the Dutch East Indies 1848–1942’ at Leiden University in 2009. Her dissertation covers the important fields of colonial law where the special position of the Chinese comes to the fore and at the same time gives a thorough insight in Dutch and Dutch-Indies legislative policy. Her article on the amendment of the Indies Constitution, the Japanese law in 1899 (RM Themis, 2005/4) is also based on extensive archival work. At present the focus of her research interest lies in the legal history of the Netherlands East Indies/Indonesia. Nobuto Yamamoto is professor of Southeast Asian Politics in the Department of Political Science at Keio University, Tokyo. He is the editor of Questions from Southeast Asia (2009, in Japanese) and Comparative Civil Consciousness in Multicultural World (2005, in Japanese), and co-edited among others Keio’s Political Science (2008, in Japanese), Civil Society (2008, in Japanese), Japan’s Image (2008, in Japanese), and Media Nationalism (2006, in Japanese). His most recent articles have appeared in Hougaku Kenkyu (2008, 2009, 2010, in Japanese), Keio Journal of Politics (2009), Bridging Strategic Asia (2008), Chinese Identities and Inter-Ethnic Coexistence and Cooperation in Southeast Asia (2008), and Journal of Political Science and Sociology (2008). His current research projects include print power and censorship in colonial Indonesia, contentious politics in post-Suharto Indonesia, human trafficking in Asia, and the social history of journalism in late colonial Indonesia.

PART I

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

CHINESE INDONESIANS AND REGIME CHANGE: ALTERNATIVE PERSPECTIVES Marleen Dieleman, Juliette Koning, and Peter Post Introduction When President Suharto stepped down in May 1998, a fundamental regime change occurred that would change the lives of most Indonesians. The fall of the Suharto regime was, however, particularly significant for Chinese Indonesian population groups. After more than thirty years of restrictions, Chinese Indonesians were now allowed to publicly display their religions, beliefs and customs and to start civil rights groups to reassess their position in society. The study of Mandarin has become popular among young Chinese Indonesians and China is now a popular holiday destination for the upper class. The Indonesian market is flooded with Chinese products forcing Indonesian businessmen, many of whom are of Chinese descent, to form new partnerships, create new networks in the Indonesian administration, and reorientate themselves in the global economy. In addition, the “China-revival” in post-Suharto Indonesia led to public debates about questions of identity and belonging of the Chinese Indonesian communities, a process that still continues. The end of Suharto’s Orde Baru (New Order) was the fourth major regime change Indonesia has witnessed since the early twentieth century and all these power shifts had profound impacts on the daily lives of Chinese Indonesian communities and society at large. The essays in this book look at fundamental transitions in Indonesian society from various angles and different disciplines and show that “Chinese Indonesians” are a diverse and socially active group, whose histories and agencies are heterogeneous and locally embedded and cannot be homogenized in a singular framework. As is well known, regime changes in Indonesia have often been accompanied by fierce anti-Chinese violence by elements in the general public and certain state-agents (Coppel 1983; Mackie 1976;

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Purdey 2006; Shiraishi 1997; Somers 1965; Twang 1998). This has been the case with the overthrow of the Dutch colonial regime by the Japanese military in 1942, the so-called Bersiap period during the first year of the Indonesian Revolution of 1945–49, the coup that marked the transition from the Sukarno to the Suharto regime in 1965, and in May 1998 with the fall of Suharto. Themes of violence, discrimination and oppression during the transitory periods from the Dutch, to the Japanese, to the Sukarno and to the Suharto regimes have therefore been prominent in the literature on Chinese Indonesians. This singular focus we believe needs correction. The Chinese in Indonesia were not only by-standers or innocent victims of history, but were simultaneously active agents of change during periods of crises, war, and revolution. The literature on the Chinese Indonesians that appeared after May 1998 testifies to this. We can read for instance how Chinese Indonesians started to revive Sino-Indonesian culture (Allen 2003), became active in civil society groups (Giblin 2003), began to explore their Chinese identity (Hoon 2006; Turner and Allen 2007) and set out to reassess their position in Indonesian society (Coppel 2003; Herlijanto 2005; Lindsey 2005). This volume adheres to the new directions that this growing body of literature offers and above all demonstrates that there have been many other moments in Indonesian history during which Chinese Indonesians were active agents of change, both in their private lives, through their companies and in society at large. Hence, this book shows how Chinese Indonesians played an active role in shaping society during regime changes, and found creative and constructive ways to deal with situations of adversity and crisis. The chapters demonstrate that regime changes, throughout Indonesian history, did not only pose threats of violence, but also offered chances and opportunities that induced “agency” on the part of Chinese Indonesians to shape their destinies and that of the country. Chinese Indonesians: State-Centered and Diaspora Perspectives Chinese Indonesian studies have generally been dominated by two prominent paradigms. On the one hand by “state-centered” studies in which political themes and questions of citizenship prevail and on the other hand by studies in which Chinese Indonesians are understood as part of transnational diaspora networks of so-called “overseas Chinese.”

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In the state-centered narratives the Chinese are typically presented as invasive agents, as instruments of colonial and global capital. This is, for example, the case for the period 1920s–1960s, when Indonesia experienced two regime changes, from Dutch colonial to the Japanese period and subsequently to an independent Indonesia. The historiography on the Chinese for this period has generally taken a political perspective related to the central (colonial ) state level and has mostly refrained from social and economic approaches (Suryadinata 1981, 1992). Whereas studies on the Chinese in the Indies during the period 1870–1910s dealt with them as an integral part of larger society, the main focus from the 1920s onwards shifted to their ambivalent role in the “nationalist enterprise.” In doing so these latter studies have lifted the Chinese from their socio-economic embeddedness in indigenous and urban society, and mainly stressed their problematic political incorporation in the Dutch colonial state, their collaboration with or resistance to the Japanese military regime, or their attitudes towards Indonesian national policies, thereby greatly contributing to the conceptualization of the so-called masalah Cina (Chinese problem) in Indonesia (Tan 1997).1 Until a decade or so ago most social scientists on decolonization processes in Southeast Asia have mainly been working within the nationstate paradigm stressing the achievements of the nationalist struggle and independence movements against the colonial oppressor and its local agents (Anderson 1974; Abdullah 1997). In the post-war debates on modernization and nation-state building, simplified dichotomies ruled the dice. Within these frameworks no need was felt to delve deeper into the experiences of the Chinese, since most were regarded as alien intruders, collaborators and profiteers of an unjust Dutch colonial order and a violent Japanese regime and exploiters of the indigenous populations, actually preventing their emancipation rather than supporting it (cf. Wertheim 1978). Hardly any attention was given to the daily experiences of the different groups of Chinese from different walks of life. How did they experience these changes, and how did they respond to them? What did it mean for the organization of their

An important exception is the work of historian Charles Coppel, whose historical “embeddedness” approach embraces not only many different themes (religion, culture, education, violence, minority status), but also departs from the premise to always understand Chinese Indonesians in their Indonesian context (Coppel 2002, 1–11). 1

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communities, and how did it affect relations between different groups of Chinese, and those between Chinese and Indonesians? During the Suharto era the powerful state was also the central framework. The then popular political-economy approaches, with their emphasis on the wealthy and crony Chinese business conglomerates, reinforced political stereotypes of economically powerful outsiders that shaped both state attitudes and popular sentiment towards the ethnic Chinese (McVey 1992; Robison 1986; Yoshihara 1988). Despite the fact that only very few of the Chinese Indonesians fitted the stereotype of rich tycoons who profiteered from state largesse, these approaches were not always critically examined and continue to dominate public opinion towards the Chinese Indonesians in general. Although the limitations of the nation-state paradigm and the political-economy approaches have been recognized in Indonesian studies (e.g. Kratoska, Raben and Schulte Nordholt 2005; Schulte Nordholt 2004), so far only few attempts have been made to reassess these in regard to the modern historiography of the Chinese Indonesians. The Chinese hardly have a place as active agents in Indonesian national historiographies and are marginalized to say the least. The diaspora perspective, which became popular from the mid1980s onward, has created a rather unifying and all-encompassing “Chinese” identity for ethnic Chinese living in Southeast Asian contexts. In this narrative, the Chinese of Indonesia are represented as part of a larger network. They are relegated as nodes in a regional structure that helps them become successful businessmen and maintain their cultural identity. A large body of literature has emerged arguing that because of specific cultural traits, such as personal networks, ethnic affinity and Confucian work ethics, ethnic Chinese people, communities and businesses function successfully in the new home countries and across borders (Chan 2000; Hamilton 1996; Kotkin 1993; Redding 1990; Weidenbaum and Hughes 1996). This culturalist approach from which the phrases “Chinese network capitalism” and “bamboo network” evolved, mainly stems from studies that have been trying to understand the so-called “business success” of ethnic Chinese in the Southeast Asian economies. Quite often the traits related to this business literature came to dominate the discourse on other aspects of Chinese life in Southeast Asia as well. Within this “culturalist” framework the hardworking Chinese built upon their cultural and social capital in order to enrich themselves, their families and their communities— both in Southeast Asia and China. A shared culture and ethos created

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solidarity, embodied in ties with their ancestral land, or qiaoxiang (Douw 1999), clan and temple organizations, enabling overseas Chinese to open economic frontiers in trade, agriculture and mining from the seventeenth century onwards. The opening of the Chinese economy from the 1980s onward has given new momentum to these approaches and it is often noted how “overseas Chinese”2 were not only the first, but also the most important investors in mainland China until the end of the twentieth century (e.g. Yeung and Olds 2000). This literature has also emphasized the transnational networks among the “overseas Chinese,” describing how extended families fanned out all over East Asia (Backman 2001). Cases of ethnic Chinese businessmen cooperating with co-ethnics in other parts of the region have been extensively analyzed in this body of literature, the interpretation being that Chinese capitalism has led to the emergence of a hybrid transnational “economy” (Weidenbaum and Hughes 1996) that crossed state boundaries, leaving the ethnic Chinese literally “ungrounded” (Ong and Nonini 1997). A “strong” legacy from this “overseas Chinese” perspective is that the Chinese communities in different parts of Southeast Asia are not only considered comparable, but are essentially judged to be the same, since they share a similar Chinese identity and culture that went almost unchanged for centuries, thus positioning them as outsiders in their respective “host” societies. Attempts have been made to de-essentialize or demystify the rather essentialist approach to Chinese business conduct taken by scholars adhering to culturalist perspectives (Carney and Dieleman 2008; Dahles 2007; Gomez and Hsiao 2004; Jacobsen 2004; Koning 2007; Menkhoff and Gerke 2004). These studies argue that too much emphasis has been placed on the role of a common ethnic identity as the main explanatory factor for behavior and business success, leading to a misplaced notion of exclusivity in other parts of daily life as well. These newer avenues explore among others the importance of

2 There have been lengthy debates on the appropriate terms to address Chinese migrants. While we do not wish to review these debates here, it is interesting to note that Wang Gungwu (1990, 1993) argues that with the growing number of people of Chinese descent taking on the local nationalities of their place of residence, the term “overseas Chinese” no longer holds. He instead prefers to use “Chinese overseas” (Wang Gungwu 1993, 927). The terminology debate touches upon broader questions of ethnic identity and whether or not ethnic Chinese population groups in Southeast Asia were sojourners, would “return” to China, or could become a “fifth column” for China (Reid 1996; Somers 1974; Suryadinata 1979).

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inter-ethnic affiliations, but have never really been able to overshadow the dominant “bamboo network” literature. Others have pointed out that the “cultural values approach” is generally flawed when it comes to explaining the business performance of small Chinese family enterprises in Indonesia that operated in and for the local markets, stressing that in these cases institutional factors are far more important (Braadbaart 1995). Notwithstanding the fact that both paradigms have created an important and rich body of scholarship on Chinese Indonesians, we are of the opinion that in order to truly understand the long-term significance and multiple roles of Chinese Indonesians in the historical development of modern Indonesian society, we need to step out of these frames. Both of these frames ascribe a largely passive and powerless role to Chinese Indonesians in Indonesian history. On the one hand, the state-centered perspective assumes the locus of power to be within the state and Chinese Indonesians to be outsiders. The “overseas Chinese” paradigm, on the other hand, attributes behavior to cultural factors and positions the Chinese Indonesians as driven by business and a set of transnational values that have little connection with or impact on local changes. As such, both perspectives have underplayed the important roles that Chinese Indonesians have played during periods of regime change in terms of shaping, moderating, or stimulating social change in Indonesia. In this volume, we aim to complement the literature with a new perspective showing that Chinese Indonesians displayed active agency, but by not ignoring the structural features involved. We do this by focusing on times of crisis and regime change, where processes of agency are perhaps more prominently visible and have more impact than under more stable circumstances. We present narratives that explore how Chinese Indonesians were deeply embedded in local processes and how they shaped important social trends in society. The Power of Regime Change The concept “regime change” became an important analytical tool in social sciences and international relations studies after President Bill Clinton signed the Iraq Liberation Act of 1998 and George W. Bush, forty-third president of the United States, used it to overthrow the Ba’ath regime of Saddam Hussein in Iraq. From then onward,

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“regime change” as a concept is widely used and debated. Although a thorough review of these discussions is beyond the scope of this book, this body of literature is helpful for the further refinement of our conceptualization. Regimes, as argued by Lawson (1993, 185), “embody or are an embodiment of particular norms and procedures.” A distinction can be made between regime change and changes within regimes that correspond with principles and norms on the one hand and rules and procedures on the other. The suggestion is that if there are changes in the principles and norms, than the term regime change applies; if there is a change in rules and procedures it is more apt to speak about changes within regimes. In the words of Krasner (Lawson 1993, 186), “change of regime involves alteration of norms and principles; and weakening of a regime involves incoherence among the components of the regime or inconsistency between the regime and related behavior.” Regime changes can be caused by external and internal forces, as Indonesia’s modern history shows. When Japanese military troops attacked the Netherlands East Indies in early 1942 and soon thereafter began establishing their military rule, all things Western and Dutch were eradicated. The European population was interned, their businesses confiscated, their administrative bulwark taken over by Japanese and Indonesians, and a powerful anti-Western campaign started. New laws were introduced and a war economy that centered on the acquisition of human resources and strategic materials came into being. This external Japanese force brought about a regime change in Indonesia that completely altered existing norms and principles and forced people—not in the least the Chinese Indonesians—to rethink their place and role in society. The chapter by Post exemplifies such external forces as it investigates the largest Chinese Indonesian firm in the colonial era, the Oei Tiong Ham Concern and issues of identification. The firm, like many of its counterparts, had to survive the turbulent regime changes from colonial rule, via Japanese occupation to an independent Republic of Indonesia. The chapter positions the identities of the ethnic Chinese Oei family in a framework of global citizenship, where family members were spread out over the globe, traveled extensively and lived their cosmopolitan lifestyles. Through rigorous analysis of historical sources, the chapter shows that the loyalties of the family members were not with Indonesia, where most of the family lived, or with China where their ancestors hailed from, or with the Dutch, under whose

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rule they achieved great business successes, but that their loyalty was with the survival of their global business. In conditions of crisis and adversity, which meant the destruction of property and jailing of leaders and personnel, the family tried to adapt to new conditions as well as they could and they aggressively moved into new opportunities that the crisis situation posed, without aligning themselves to one single national identity. The coup that brought Suharto to power in 1965 is an example of an internal force that set in motion a regime change that greatly affected the Chinese population groups. While the precise details of this historical event are still being revisited and investigated after the end of the Suharto regime, it is clear that from a society that was characterized by a balance of power between the army and the communists, held together by the charismatic Sukarno who favored a nationalistic and state-led Indonesia, Suharto shifted the power balance toward the army and helped crush the communist party (Cribb 1990, 2001; Vatikiotis 1998). In this process, a massacre against real and imagined communists occurred, the Chinese population groups being one of the targets. Suharto’s rise to power led to a set of policies for the economy and civil society that impacted the lives of Chinese Indonesians profoundly. In the economy, Suharto opened the country for international trade and investment, and he favored a selected group of ethnic Chinese businessmen, whom he used to develop the economy, showering them with incentives. Indonesia witnessed a period of economic growth during the thirtytwo-year rule of Suharto, which saw the development of many of today’s major Chinese Indonesian family business groups. Dieleman in this volume explores the strategy and networks of one such business group, the Salim Group, in detail. The chapter shows how this firm, whose group leaders were closely connected to Suharto, dealt with the regime change, also the outcome of internal forces, that occurred when the Suharto regime fell and was replaced. Dieleman argues that the Salim Group had outgrown its traditional Chinese and political networks, and drew from a much wider range of global partnerships, which allowed it to survive the demise of Suharto. As such, the chapter criticizes extant theories on ethnic Chinese business networks, which focus mainly on how companies make use of ethnic or political networks, and it shows that large firms broaden their networks and use them for survival in case of a regime change. It suggests a dynamic and evolutionary approach to business networking, where family

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businesses progressively “outgrow” narrower forms of networking and create broader business networks as the family business grows and matures. In social and cultural life, Suharto issued discriminatory measures and limited the freedom of expression for the Chinese population groups, with the support of the Forced Assimilation program, so as to ensure that they could not become a political force that could threaten his rule (Aguilar 2001; Dahana 2004; Heryanto 1998; Tan 2001). Aizawa and Susanto take up the issue of how this assimilation policy became established and was subsequently experienced in daily life by Chinese Indonesian groups. Aizawa analyzes the prominent debate between assimilation and integration of the ethnic Chinese minority in Suharto’s Indonesia. The debate at the time appeared to be won by the assimilationists, who became influential in government-linked organizations, especially after the integrationists disappeared with the attack on the Indonesian communist party. The assimilation policy for Chinese Indonesians was discredited after the fall of Suharto, and some blamed Chinese Indonesian assimilationists for their collaboration with the Suharto regime. The chapter revisits this debate and the author takes a new perspective—namely how the state, and in particular the Ministry of Home Affairs, looked at the Chinese Indonesians. The chapter argues that the Suharto era policies can better be understood by the overarching goal of de-politicization and the re-election of Suharto. From a political point of view, the Chinese minority was treated not as an ethnic minority, but as a potential political threat that had to be neutralized. While from the perspective of the Chinese Indonesians the assimilation/integration framework appears to be useful, the author contends that it was meaningless for the government, because the latter was mainly focused on ensuring Suharto’s re-election. Re-assessing the debate, Aizawa shows that ethnic Chinese leaders have had only a minor role in and responsibility for what became known as assimilation policies, which were in fact a method to check on the Chinese Indonesians and ensure their depoliticization. How Chinese Indonesians experienced this has so far hardly been explored. Susanto’s chapter therefore critically re-thinks the idea that assimilation was a policy that all Chinese Indonesians followed in similar ways, as they had no power but to accept it. Susanto examines the ways in which different Chinese Indonesians in the city of Yogyakarta have responded to the assimilation policy of the New Order. In doing

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so, he takes a position against the portrayal of Chinese Indonesians as a homogeneous community. Although the assimilation policy touched the lives of all Chinese Indonesians, this chapter shows the dynamics of the accommodation processes as they were played out within the various sectors of the Chinese community. The dominance of the assimilation discourse has created a rather narrow perspective and obscures the various ways people deal with their social environment. The chapter does justice to the role of agency during regime changes and throws a new light on the manner in which Chinese Indonesians have been active agents in molding the assimilation policy within their socio-cultural environments. In addition to external and internal forces that cause regime change, we also touch upon changes within regimes in Indonesia’s modern history. These too—mostly in the economic and legal spheres of life— had a large impact on people’s lives. One such change in the economic realm, which we might call an economic regime change, took place in the early 1930s when, due to the outbreak of the world economic crisis, the Dutch colonial regime felt itself forced to abandon its laissezfaire and free market policies and started to impose strict rules on the economy. These policies had a large impact on the businesses of the Chinese and necessitated them to seek other economic opportunities and use all their creativity to make a successful shift into the controlled economy that was created. In this regard, Claver reviews the MargoRedjo Company, a coffee company from Java. Claver’s chapter shows how a small Chinese Indonesian enterprise was successful in the wake of the Great Depression that shook the economy of colonial Indonesia in the 1930s. Margo-Redjo’s response to the economic regime change was to adopt marketing and brand management practices that were ahead of its time, such as clever advertising and consumer loyalty programs, by giving out coupons that could be accumulated by consumers and exchanged for a prize. The Tan family, who owned this small firm, closely followed new consumer marketing trends, primarily from Japan, and implemented them without much capital in a period of severe economic crisis. The chapter clearly shows a departure from “typically” Chinese middleman roles and successful adaptation to adverse conditions, mainly through the firm’s leader, who had access to international networks and to specialist knowledge in the field of marketing. The crisis had provided an incentive to shape the future of the company, and implement changes in the strategy that otherwise would perhaps not have happened.

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In the legal realm, Indonesian history also offers examples of changes within regimes. Tjiook-Liem narrates the story of an unknown shopkeeper, Loa Joe Din, who triggered a legal regime change in the colonial period. This regime change occurred in a context of increasing Chinese nationalism in Indonesia, accompanied by the rise of Chinese organizations and the influence of China. In addition, many Chinese were unhappy with the poor quality of the colonial legal system, which lacked the ability and the will to uphold justice for the non-European groups in the Netherlands East Indies. Two Dutch ladies accused the shopkeeper of accessory to theft. He was innocent, but convicted in a court system which equated Chinese with natives, and which lacked principles of fairness. The shopkeeper protested against his sentence in the media and wrote to the Chinese government. Both exercised pressure on the Dutch government to improve the legal position of the natives and Chinese, in particular for minor offences, and eventually this led to a legal regime change where justice was upheld for all citizens, not only for Europeans. The case of Loa could only make a difference in a time when discontent with the treatment of the Chinese minority was high, and with the application of foreign political pressure. By scaling his protests to higher levels, the simple shopkeeper was able to change the legal situation for all Indonesians, not only those of Chinese descent. As shown above, we emphasize an approach to regime change and changes within regimes that incorporates both institutional pressures and active human agency. Giddens was among the first to theorize the interplay of agency and structure bringing these together within a framework of time and space. Following this structure-agency interplay, we take actors and agents to be “knowledgeable” and, as social actors, they “know a great deal about the conditions and consequences of what they do in their day-to-day lives” (Giddens 1984, 281). Giddens was concerned with “the dialectical process in which practice, structure and consciousness are produced.” In other words, with “agencystructure issues in an historical, processual and dynamic way” (Ritzer 2008, 522). This implies an approach in which Chinese Indonesian agents create, deploy, circumvent, or reshape their ethnic identity, their position in Indonesian society, and their businesses, while at the same time regimes are regarded as both constraining and enabling. This latter issue is taken up by Koning, who explores why charismatic Christian religious movements have been so attractive for quite a few Chinese Indonesian business people, and argues that this is closely

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related to the Asian Crisis and fall of Suharto, which proved to be both constraining and enabling at the same time. The chapter presents personal stories of Chinese Indonesian businessmen, and these are placed in a social and political context of post-crisis Indonesia, which on the one hand gave more freedom of expression to Chinese identities, but on the other also increased a perceived lack of safety. Using the lens of religion, this chapter shows how these religious movements construct a global culture modified to the local Indonesian setting. This global religious culture taps into the need for recognition as a full member of a community of “belonging,” whereas these religious movements are also conducive to business ideas. The author argues that Chinese Indonesians and global charismatic Christianity embraced each other after the fall of the Suharto regime because there was a “fit.” The general notion that change is embedded within the formal and informal institutions that collectively structure social life—and at the same time that change is induced by active agency—has found wide acceptance throughout the social sciences, including in political theory, sociology, institutional economics, and in organizational sciences (e.g., DiMaggio 1988; Krasner 1983; North 1990; Scott 1995). The notion that actors also have the capability to change existing arrangements and thereby induce change comes to the fore best in the chapter by Yamamoto. His chapter shows convincingly how peranakan Chinese journalists were actively contributing to the spreading of nationalist ideas. This chapter deals with an aspect of the role of Chinese Indonesians in the late colonial era that has hitherto hardly been investigated, namely the influence of journalists, and more generally the media industry, on the nationalist movement. The chapter describes the role of Chinese Indonesians in this industry, in particular journalists working for newspapers in the 1910s–1930s in colonial Indonesia. Being part of a larger media culture, journalists, both indigenous and Chinese, created an “imagined community” of ideas, often propagating against the colonial regime. The tight and intimate networks within this industry, the culture of citation, and the rotation of people in high-level positions from one newspaper to the other led to a common journalist culture that cut across categories of ethnicity, language, nation, and political orientation. The tight networks across boundaries ensured that the Chinese Indonesian journalists were deeply embedded in the nationalist political movement in the late colonial era. It was this nationalist movement that later shaped the regime change

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from colonial rule to independence. Yamamoto’s chapter argues that hitherto used categories for the Chinese Indonesian, for example based on political orientation, are not tenable when it comes to describing the political and professional activities of Chinese journalists. It argues that not just cultural but rather professional identity is a key element in understanding Chinese Indonesian journalists and their contribution to the formation of the Indonesian nation state. Chinese Indonesians and Regime Change: An Alternative Perspective Our “alternative perspective” hence centers on two central features. First of all, we pay attention to the question of how people influence and respond to historical events rather than treating them as passive bystanders or victims determined by these events. This book, with its focus on “knowledgeable” agents, treats Chinese Indonesians not as outsiders but as insiders. Active agency does not necessarily stem from the most powerful and connected, but can also be driven by ordinary people. Rather than taking the Indonesian state or Chinese culture as a starting point, this volume concentrates on the daily lives of these agents and, as such, pays attention to those actors that have rarely been studied so far: the ordinary Chinese Indonesian shopkeeper and small businessman, the Chinese Indonesian youngster. The volume also explores the “inside” in great detail, such as family relationships, a segment of a Chinese community in a small city, a family business, or the way a Ministry “looks” at Chinese Indonesians. In this way, we do justice to the heterogeneity of the Chinese Indonesian communities. Secondly, our agency-centered approach, in tandem with formal and informal institutions, allows us to transcend conceptual categories such as state, culture, and migrant, which have framed such a large part of today’s literature on Chinese Indonesians. Agents of change can be individuals, groups, or organizations from different walks of life. Consequently, rather than being narrowly defined within an academic discipline, our actor-centered approach allows for a mix of viewpoints, e.g., history, anthropology, sociology, and business studies. By applying an actor-centered and daily life focus to processes of regime change, and by using a multi-disciplinary perspective, this volume goes beyond the state-centered and essentialist overseas Chinese perspectives in an effort to broach new and innovative research trajectories.

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The chapters in this book are therefore clustered in a thematic rather than chronological manner. In the first cluster—policy and dignity— Koning, Aizawa, and Susanto address issues of assimilation, identity, and belonging in novel ways and from quite different perspectives. This cluster investigates how Chinese Indonesian identity is produced and played out during and after Suharto’s New Order. A central theme in all these chapters is the interplay between the New Order assimilation policy, aimed at de-politicizing Chinese Indonesians and erasing Chineseness, and the creative solutions Chinese Indonesians found to accommodate this policy—and its aftermath—to their daily lives. The important message that these chapters convey is that, instead of seeing Chinese Indonesians as outsiders on whom an assimilation policy was bestowed (which is of course not denied here), it is more revealing to use an insider perspective (of both Chinese Indonesians and the New Order government). Such an approach not only shows that the variety of responses has been far greater than the literature has shown so far, it also broadens the scope because the several responses take us beyond the immediate structures of the Indonesian nation-state. In the second cluster—justice and representation—Yamamoto and Tjiook-Liem present cases of Chinese Indonesians during the colonial period who set in motion processes of change, and they explore how Chinese Indonesians established their identity and rights as citizens. During this period, it was common to classify the different groups in society using racial distinctions, and the resulting categories were laid down in the colonial legal framework. Indonesians of Chinese descent were categorized as Foreign Orientals, being considered distinct from the native population and from the Europeans. The use of such categories has been commonplace in much of the literature, but in this book we attempt to transcend such boundaries, by looking at identity and representation through the lens of occupational cultures and through the story of one Chinese Indonesian who triggered a change in the legal system for all non-Europeans, whether or not of Chinese descent. The third cluster—survival and creativity—zooms in on several business firms and how they maneuvered, quite different than the business literature on “overseas Chinese” has assumed, through periods of crisis and regime change since the 1930s. Claver, Post, and Dieleman investigate the activities of Chinese Indonesian businessmen from the 1930s to the Suharto period, focusing in particular on how companies managed political and economic regime change. Periods of crisis

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test the resilience of businessmen as adverse conditions threaten the company. There is a thriving literature on ethnic Chinese business networks across Southeast Asia, which focuses mostly on how businessmen use their ethnic and clan networks to gain an advantage in business. These networks help businessmen overcoming periods of crisis. While the chapters in this cluster show this at work, each chapter also shows how different companies make use of creative ideas, which were obtained beyond traditional business networks. They demonstrate that the firms reviewed survived regime changes because they were able to transcend stereotypical characteristics of Chinese family firms through smart maneuvering. Regime changes, therefore, occur not only as inevitable external events in the everyday live of Chinese Indonesians, but are also to some extent impacted by their agency. By acknowledging the power attached to the actor (the agent is knowledgeable and discursively empowered), as well as by focusing on social practices as played out in day-to-day life, this volume portrays the walks of life of Chinese Indonesians within the contours of the enabling and constraining structures of that daily life. By interpreting regime change as a change that goes hand in hand with a change in norms and principles, as stipulated by Lawson (1993), we furthermore incorporate structures, but much more so in the manner in which Giddens has meant it to be, leading to a more balanced interplay between actor and structure and a dynamic time-space related study of how Chinese Indonesians actively “traveled” through Indonesian history. Bibliography Abdullah, Taufik, ed. 1997. The Heartbeat of Indonesian Revolution. Jakarta: P.T. Gramedia. Aguilar, Filomeno. 2001. Citizenship, Inheritance, and the Indigenizing of “Orang Chinese” in Indonesia. Positions 9 (3): 501–33. Allen, Pamela. 2003. Literature and the Media: Contemporary Literature from the Chinese “Diaspora” in Indonesia. Asian Ethnicity, 4 (3): 383–400. Anderson, Benedict R. O’Gorman. 1974. Java in a Time of Revolution: Occupation and Resistance, 1944–1946. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Backman, Michael. 2001. Asian Eclipse: Exposing the Dark Side of Business in Asia. Singapore: John Wiley. Braadbaart, Okke. 1995. Sources of Ethnic Advantage. A Comparison of Chinese and Pribumi-Managed Engineering Firms in Indonesia. In Chinese Business Enterprise in Asia, ed. Rajeswary Ampalavanar Brown, 177–98. London and New York: Routledge.

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Chan Kwok Bun. 2000. State, Economy and Culture: Reflections on the Chinese Business Networks. In Chinese Business Networks: State, Economy and Culture, ed. Chan Kwok Bun, 261–84. Singapore: Prentice Hall. Carney, Michael and Marleen Dieleman. 2008. Heroes and Villains: Ethnic Chinese Family Business in Southeast Asia. In Theoretical Developments and Future Research in Family Business, ed. Philip Phan and John E. Butler, 50–73. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Press. Coppel, Charles. 1983. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur: ASAA, Oxford University Press. ——. 2002. Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies. ——. 2003. Special Issue Foreword. Asian Ethnicity 4 (3): 327–36. Cribb, Robert. 1990. Problems in the Historiography of the Killings in Indonesia. In The Indonesian Killings of 1965–1966: Studies from Java and Bali, ed. Robert Cribb, 35–7. Monash Papers on Southeast Asia, no. 21. Clayton, Victoria: Monash University Centre of Southeast Asian Studies. ——. 2001. How Many Deaths? Problems in the Statistics of Massacre in Indonesia (1965–1966) and East Timor (1975–1980). In Violence in Indonesia, ed. Ingrid Wessel and Georgia Wimhöfer, 82–98. Hamburg: Abera. Available at: http://works. bepress.com/robert_cribb/2 Dahana, A. 2004. Pri and Non-Pri Relations in the Reform, Era: A Pribumi Perspective. In Ethnic Relations and Nation-Building in Southeast Asia. The Case of the Ethnic Chinese, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 45–65. Singapore: ISEAS Publications. Dahles, Heidi. 2004. Venturing across Borders: Investment Strategies of SingaporeChinese Entrepreneurs in Mainland China. Asian Journal of Social Sciences 32 (1): 19–41. ——. 2007. On (Mis-)Conceptions of Culture as a Vehicle of Business Success: Singapore Chinese Investment Strategies after Failing in China. East Asia; An International Quarterly 24 (2): 173–93. DiMaggio, Paul J. 1988. Interest and Agency in Institutional Theory. In Institutional Patterns and Culture, ed. L. Zucker, 3–22. Cambridge, MA: Ballinger. Douw, Leo. 1999. The Chinese Sojourner Discourse. In Qiaoxiang Ties: Interdisciplinary Approaches to “Cultural Capitalism” in South China, ed. Leo Douw, Cen Huang and Michael R. Godley, 22–45. London: Kegan Paul International. Giblin, Susan. 2003. Overcoming Stereotypes? Chinese Indonesian Civil Society Groups in Post-Suharto Indonesia. Asian Ethnicity 4 (3): 353–68. Giddens, Anthony. 1984. The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Cambridge: Polity. Gomez, Terence and Michael Hsiao. 2004. Chinese Business in Southeast Asia. Contesting Cultural Explanations, Researching Entrepreneurship. London, New York: Routledge Curzon. Hamilton, Gary. 1996. Asian Business Networks. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, Herlijanto, Johannes. 2005. The May 1998 Riots and the Emergence of Chinese Indonesians: Social Movements in Post-Suharto era. www.sinica.edu.tw/capas/ publication/newsletter/N27/2702_02.pfd]: 64–80. Heryanto, Ariel. 1998. 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, ed. Joel Kahn, 95–114. London: I.B. Tauris Publishers. Hoon, Chang-Yau. 2006. Assimilation, Multiculturalism, Hybridity: The Dilemma of the Ethnic Chinese in Post-Suharto Indonesia. Asian Ethnicity, 7 (2): 149–66. Jacobsen, Michael. 2004. De-Essentialising “Chinese Capitalism” in Southeast Asia. NIASnytt 3: 1–31. Koning, Juliette. 2007. “Chineseness” and Chinese Indonesian Business Practices. A Generational and Discursive Enquiry. East Asia, An International Quarterly 24 (2): 129–52.

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Kotkin, Joel. 1993. Tribes: How Race, Religion, and Identity Determine Success in the New Global Economy. New York: Random House. Krasner, Stephen. 1983. International Regimes. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Kratoska, Paul H., Remco Raben and Henk Schulte Nordholt, ed. 2005. Locating Southeast Asia: Geographies of Knowledge and Politics of Space. Leiden: KITLV Press. Lawson, Stephanie. 1993. Conceptual Issues in the Comparative Study of Regime Change and Democratization. Comparative Politics 25(2): 183–205. Lindsey, Tim. 2005. Reconstituting the Ethnic Chinese in Post-Soeharto Indonesia: Law, Racial Discrimination, and Reform. In Chinese Indonesians: Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, ed. Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker, 41–76. Singapore and Clayton: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies and Monash Asia Institute. Mackie, Jamie A.C. 1976. Anti-Chinese Outbreaks in Indonesia, 1959–68. In The Chinese in Indonesia: Five Essays, ed. Mackie, J.A.C., 77–138. Melbourne: Thomas Nelson, in association with the Australia Institute of International Affairs. McVey, Ruth. 1992. Southeast Asian Capitalists. New York: Cornell University Press, Southeast Asia Program. Menkhoff, Thomas and Solvay Gerke. 2004. Chinese Entrepreneurship and Asian Business Networks. London, New York: Routledge. North, Douglas C. 1990. Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ong, Aihwa and Donald M. Nonini. 1997. Ungrounded Empires. The Cultural Politics of Modern Chinese Transnationalism. New York: Routledge. Purdey, Jemma. 2006. Anti-Chinese Violence in Indonesia, 1996–1999. Singapore: Asian Studies Association of Australia, in association with Singapore University Press. Redding, Gordon. 1990. The Spirit of Chinese Capitalism. Berlin: De Gruyter. Reid, Anthony. 1996. Flows and Seepages in the Long-term Chinese Interaction with Southeast Asia. In Sojourners and Settlers: Histories of Southeast Asia and the Chinese, ed. Anthony Reid, 15–50. St. Leonards: ASAA Southeast Asia Publications Series, Allen and Unwin. Ritzer, George. 2008. Sociological Theory. New York: McGrawHill, 2nd ed. Robison, Richard. 1986. Indonesia: The Rise of Capital. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Schulte Nordholt, Henk. 2004. Decolonising Indonesian Historiography. Working Paper in Contemporary Asian Studies. Centre for East and SE Asian Studies, Lund University. Scott, W. Richard. 1995. Institutions and Organizations. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Shiraishi Takashi. 1997. Anti-Sinicism in Java’s New Order. In Essential Outsiders, ed. Daniel Chirot and Anthony Reid, 187–207. Seattle; University of Washington Press. Somers, Mary, F. 1965. Peranakan Chinese Politics in Indonesia, PhD diss. Cornell University. ——. 1974. Southeast Asia’s Chinese Minorities. Hawthorn, Victoria: Longman. Suryadinata, Leo. 1979. Political Thinking of the Indonesian Chinese, 1900–1977. A sourcebook. Singapore: Singapore University Press. ——. 1981. Peranakan Chinese Politics in Java: 1917–1942. Singapore: Singapore University Press. ——. 1992. Pribumi Indonesians, the Chinese Minority and China. 3rd ed. Singapore: Heinemann Asia. ——. 1997. The Culture of the Chinese Minoroty in Indonesia. Singapore: Times Books International. ——. 2004. Chinese Indonesians: State Policy, Monoculture and Multiculture. Singapore: Marshall Cavendish Intl. ——. 2005. Pribumi Indonesians, the Chinese Minority and China. Singapore: Marshall Cavendish Intl.

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Tan, Eugene. 2001. From Sojourners to Citizens: Managing the Ethnic Chinese Minority in Indonesia and Malaysia. Ethnic and Racial Studies 24 (6): 949–78. Tan, Mely. 1997. The Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia: Issues of Identity. In Ethnic Chinese as Southeast Asians, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 33–65. Singapore: Allen and Unwin and Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Twang, Peck Yang. 1998. The Chinese Business Elite in Indonesia and the Transition to Independence. Singapore: Oxford University Press. Turner, S. and P. Allen. 2007. Chinese Indonesians in a Rapidly Changing Nation: Pressures of Ethnicity and Identity. Asia Pacific Viewpoint 48 (1): 112–27. Vatikiotis, Michael. 1998. Indonesian Politics under Suharto: The Rise and Fall of the New Order. London: Routledge. Wang Gungwu. 1981/1992. The Origins of Hua-ch’iao. In Community and Nation: China, Southeast Asia and Australia (New Edition), ed. Wang Gungwu, 1–10. Sydney: Allen and Unwin. ——. 1993. Greater China and the Chinese Overseas. The China Quarterly 136: 926–48. Weidenbaum, Murray and Samuel Hughes. 1996. The Bamboo Network: How Expatriate Chinese Entrepreneurs Are Creating a New Economic Superpower in Asia. New York: The Free Press. Wertheim, W.F. 1978. Indonesië van vorstenrijk tot neo-kolonie. Meppel: Boom. Yeung, Henry Wai-Chung and Kris Olds. 2000. Globalizing Chinese Business Firms: Where Are They Coming from, Where Are They Heading? In Globalization of Chinese Business Firms, ed. Henry Yeung Wai-chung and Kris Olds, 1–28. London: Macmillan. Yoshihara, Kunio. 1988. The Rise of Ersatz Capitalism in Southeast Asia. Singapore: Oxford University Press.

PART II

POLICY AND DIGNITY: CHINESENESS DURING AND AFTER THE NEW ORDER

CHAPTER TWO

BUSINESS, BELIEF, AND BELONGING: SMALL BUSINESS OWNERS AND CONVERSION TO CHARISMATIC CHRISTIANITY Juliette Koning Introduction This chapter discusses religious conversion among Chinese Indonesians during the turbulent times of the late 1990s, in which Indonesia witnessed a political regime change.1 I shall in particular explore conversion to Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity of a group of Chinese Indonesian business people in the city of Yogyakarta. Departing from the position that conversion should be understood both at the individual level as in a broader societal context (Hefner 1993, Kipp 1995, Rambo and Farhadian 1999), ample attention will be paid to several decisive events of the late 1990s such as the economic crisis (1997), the riots and anti-Chinese violence (May 1998), the fall of the Suharto regime two weeks later, the Reform Era (1998–2004) and the election of the first democratically-elected president (2004). The positioning of Chinese Indonesians within this broader societal and nation-state context will be combined with how individual Chinese Indonesian business people narrate about these events and their religious endeavors. The central aim is to come to a better understanding of why some Chinese Indonesians have turned to Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity at this particular moment in time. What are the hopes and dreams that go along with the status of being a born-again, Chinese Indonesian, Christian in Muslim dominated Indonesia? What has inspired the choice for Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity?

1 I will use the term Chinese Indonesians for those Indonesians with a Chinese descent line in stead of ethnic Chinese as it does better justice to the dual affinities most of them feel and express (see also Koning 2007). For a further discussion on this terminology see Coppel (2003). The term “ethnic Chinese” is only used if I refer to literature that uses this terminology.

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After Islam (eighty-eight percent), Christianity constitutes the second largest religious group (almost nine percent) in Indonesia (Ananta et al. 2008, 30). Although there are no reliable statistics on the more than 250 Christian denominations and their membership (Goh 2005, 59), there are indications that Christianity is on the rise among Chinese Indonesians. A newspaper article speaks about the majority of Chinese Indonesians “now” being Christian (Brazier 2006), and research results indicate that the increased number of Christians in Indonesia (from 7.4 percent in 1971 to 8.9 percent in 2000) could be related to Chinese Indonesians who converted to Christianity (Suryadinata 2005, 89). In other words, Chinese Indonesians are a prominent group within the Christian community in Indonesia (Goh 2004, 7). The growth of Christianity can partly be ascribed to the expansion of Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity with which Indonesia follows a worldwide trend.2 Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity is considered the fastest growing global religion of the twentieth century, with some 500 million people who feel connected with one of its many manifestations (Anderson 2005, 1). It is a form of Christianity in “which believers receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit and have ecstatic experiences such as speaking in tongues, healing, and prophesying” (Robbins 2004, 117). Again, accurate numbers on Pentecostal-charismatic Christians in Indonesia do not exist. Many groups and movements assemble in restaurants, hotels, conference halls, and private buildings because they lack the necessary permit to operate as “house of worship.”3 Whereas Chinese Indonesians are a minority in ethnic and religious terms, the reverse seems to count for their economic position. Their visibility in the economy is argued to be a colonial heritage. Because ethnic Chinese were not allowed to own land or join the civil service, many opted for an occupation in trade and business. Besides being strong in the distribution and retail market, a small group of Chinese managed to accumulate wealth through revenue farming, tax collecting, and money lending. These activities “contributed significantly to the negative stereotypes of Chinese businesses” (Chua 2008, 108). This 2 There are indications that Evangelical Christianity is on the rise as well. See for instance news reports in the International Herald Tribune of 20 September 2008, and themalaysianinsider.com of September 5, 2008. Accurate numbers are, however, not available. 3 The request for a permit to establish a house of worship needs to be sanctioned by at least ninety worshippers and sixty people from other faiths residing in the area; this requirement is in particular difficult to meet for religious minority groups (Decree No. 1/2006, revision of joint ministerial Decree 1969).

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negative image is supported by often repeated but rarely substantiated claims that Chinese Indonesians control seventy percent of the economy (Coppel 2008, 132) and hold some eighty percent of Indonesia’s corporate assets (Yeung and Olds 2000, 7–9). Such referencing has contributed to the idea that all Chinese Indonesians are extremely wealthy, while in fact such numbers only refer to a “handful” of quite powerful business families (Susanto 2008, 3). The ascribed and achieved ethnic and economic status can be said to have had its backlash; in times of economic or political turmoil Chinese Indonesians have often been targets of local frustrations, with the most recent outburst of aggression in May 1998 when Chinese shops and houses were burned down and Chinese Indonesian women were raped (Purdey 2006). This “Chinese card” was played in order to “direct the anger of the people away from the government and towards defenseless Indonesians of Chinese origin” (Chua 2008, 113), a strategy employed more than once during New Order periods of instability. Hence, the case here under scrutiny is one in which a number of Chinese Indonesians—mostly occupied in business and trade and confronted with a history of material and immaterial insecurity—actively chose to convert to Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity. As stated, the aim is to unravel the reasons behind this choice during the regime change of the late 1990s. The chapter proceeds as follows. The next section discusses the empirical data gathering process. This is followed by a brief outline, in a contextual manner, of the socio-political and socio-economic position of Chinese Indonesians as well as the major characteristics of Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity. Next, three cases are presented that show how the converted Chinese Indonesians relate their newfound religion to their personal, business, and nation-state positions. In the final section I shall analyze these narratives for their role and meaning among Chinese Indonesians in the most recent period of regime change in Indonesia. Researching Business and Belief The data collection took place in the city of Yogyakarta, central Java. The time frame in which it took place is quite relevant for the results as the interviews were held in the autumn of 2004, during the election of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono as President. It was a time

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when expressions of Chineseness were starting to be brought more into the open. However, there was also lingering anxiety about the position of the new president and vice-president toward Chinese Indonesians. In particular, some statements by the new vice-president on affirmative action for indigenous businesses and limiting ethnic Chinese business led to emotional debates about the possible anti-Chinese position of the new government ( Jakarta Post, August 20, 2004). The ethnographic proper consisted of collecting life-cum-business stories of converted Chinese Indonesians active in the business sector. What I label life-cum-business stories are life histories with a focus on the business activities of the interviewee (see also Dahles 2004, 4). In that sense it is neither a purely business history (as, for instance, no use of historical archives is made) nor is it a life history in the classical sense (as several personal circumstances have not been discussed because of the focus on business and religion). What the life-cumbusiness stories here gathered share with the life story genre is “a dual focus on history; a concern with time in the life—of how it is lived over phases, careers, cycles, stages; and within time outside the life—of how the ‘historical moment’ plays its role in any life’s shape” (Plummer 2001, 39). Whereas Atkinson (1998, 4) prefers to single out the term life story for those accounts that are almost completely in the words of the storyteller, my representation is an edited version of the narrative with large parts of it in the words of the storyteller. I talked at length and repeatedly, during two months of fieldwork, with Chinese Indonesian owner-managers of small and medium enterprises (mainly retail and services, with some manufacturing companies) about personal, business, and religious matters. Related to their religious careers, I tried to find out which religious shifts they had made and why, with ample attention for conversion stories. Those interviewed share a common descent from southern China (Fujian province) and are mostly second or third generation Chinese born in Indonesia. Before joining the Pentecostal-charismatic movement, many were already Christian (traditional Protestant) while several others adhered to Buddhism or Confucianism. In order to contextualize the narratives and conversion stories, I conducted participant observation in two of the larger charismatic churches in Yogyakarta that were visited each Sunday during the research. This led to interviews with preachers and staff members on the growth of the congregations, preaching, and profiles of the church members. The two charismatic movements studied in this research both have a local membership of some 2,500 people; the preachers are Chinese Indonesian,

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as are the majority of the members. Reacting to the question why it is mainly Chinese Indonesians that go to these meetings, one of the preachers gives a very revealing answer which shows the ethnic division in Indonesian society: “if the preacher is Chinese, yes then many Chinese go there.” The Chinese Indonesian business people that participated in the research were either member of one of these movements or were contacted through snowball methods. All were interviewed twice on different occasions and the interviews were tape recorded in Indonesian (and later on translated by the author) with consent of the interviewees. The life-cum-business stories have been analyzed from the perspective that the narratives we tell are in retrospect, after-the-fact interpretations of actions, events, and happenings in our lives as an act of meaning (cf. Geertz 1995). Bruner has argued that interpreting meanings and meaning-making is only possible “in the degree to which we are able to specify the structure and coherence of the larger contexts in which specific meanings are created and transmitted” (Bruner 1990, 64). Hence, the narratives are analyzed by linking elements of the stories to each other, i.e. the personal, the business, and the religious themes in tandem with phenomena shared by the group of people, such as the ambivalent positions of Chinese Indonesians in the Indonesian nation-state and the events of the late 1990s. Conversion in Context The conversion stories of the Chinese Indonesians in this study only make sense in their proper context, meaning the long history of contested citizenship, the ethnic policies of the various regimes, and the globalization of charismatic Christianity and what this denotes for Chinese Indonesians who convert to it.4 I will start with the position of Chinese Indonesians in Indonesia.5

It has to be remarked that the start of the New Order regime (1965–66) was also a moment during which many ethnic Chinese (and others) converted to Christianity. The new government had stipulated that all Indonesians needed proof (on their identity card) of adhering to a world religion. Confucianism was excluded from the list. Not adhering to a religion at that time equaled being an atheist and hence a communist, a persona non grata after the recent killings of thousands of supposedly communist party members. See Bertrand (2004, 74) and Coppel (2002a). 5 Chinese Indonesians are often divided into totok (China-born Chinese) and peranakan (descendents of mixed marriages between totok men and indigenous-Indonesian 4

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Although historians disagree on the complexity of the matter, the Dutch colonizers used a racial segregation of its populace into Europeans, Foreign Orientals, and Natives. In particular, Coppel (2002b) argues that the idea that the Chinese were designated Foreign Orientals is less settled and emerged later than generally believed.6 According to Winarta, this colonial categorization into Europeans, Foreign Orientals, or non-indigenous and indigenous, did however create a “segregation” that never really disappeared (2008, 57).7 After Independence (1945), some prominent Chinese Indonesians established Baperki (the Consultative Body for Indonesian Citizenship) with the purpose of asserting equality and citizenship for Chinese Indonesians throughout Indonesia (Winarta 2008). The Chinese Indonesian community, however, was divided between those who favored assimilation (by dissociating from Chineseness) and those who argued for integration (cultural pluralism) (Susanto 2008, 5). The disagreements between the assimilationists and the integrationists ended with the banning of Baperki in 1965, after the military take-over by Suharto whose New Order government (1965–1998) took a clear assimilationist standpoint.8 The New Order regime used very effective tools in its attempts to assimilate the Chinese. At a more psychological level it tried to create a national identity with the help of othering; the significant other being the (non-indigenous) Chinese (Hoon 2006). These identity politics by the state resulted in an either-or position; Chinese Indonesians could either be Indonesian or Chinese, but not both; to be “completely Indonesian, the Chinese had to give up all their Chineseness” (ibid., 152). The other tool, based on the idea that the Chinese were not true women). This distinction is used to claim that the totok are more Chinese than the peranakan who are supposedly more assimilated. Some scholars point out that this distinction is no longer relevant and that many peranakan regard Chinese culture and traditions as important as is supposed for the totok (Wijaya 2002, 10–13). 6 For a detailed discussion see Coppel (2002b, 131–149). 7 There is much more to be said about the ethnic Chinese during the colonial era and the Old Order for which I refer to: Reid (1996), Hefner (2001), Coppel (2002a), Chua (2008). 8 The theme of assimilation is discussed in great detail in the following two chapters in this volume. Aizawa in the next chapter takes on the issue of assimilation departing from the perspective of the government (Ministry of Home Affairs) in order to unravel the relationship between the Chinese Indonesian community and the Indonesian nation-state, while the chapter by Susanto explores the different manners in which assimilation was incorporated by Chinese Indonesian citizens.

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citizens and might turn their back on Indonesia whenever they feel like it (Freedman 2000), consisted of issuing more than sixty “discriminating regulations” (Winarta 2008, 62). Most of the discriminatory regulations date from the early years of the New Order when the assimilation policy was aimed at repudiating Chineseness.9 Details of such regulations can be found in the chapter by Susanto, but in short it can be said that it was in particular the presidential instructions from 1967 that limited the scope of Chinese traditions to the family worship house and required Indonesian ethnic Chinese to change their Chinese names into Indonesian ones in order that “such citizens shall be assimilated as to avoid any racial exclusiveness and discrimination” (Winarta 2004, 72). Around the same time the use of Chinese language and characters in newspapers and shops was prohibited and a much contested law was installed earlier regarding citizenship, stating that Indonesian ethnic Chinese needed to have a citizenship certificate, evidence of the change of their Chinese names into Indonesian and Indonesian citizenship status (ibid.).10 The most severe blow, however, came from the elimination of Chinese cultural expressions such as Chinese media, Chinese organizations, and Chinese schools (Suryadinata 2005, 78). The end of the New Order regime in late May 1998 was preceded by events that became a very black page in the history of Chinese Indonesians. Discontent in the country over political and economic affairs (economic crisis) led to student protests, upheavals in the bigger cities, and finally culminated in outbursts of violence against Chinese Indonesians in Jakarta, Medan, and Solo.11 This severe act of aggression against Chinese Indonesians made a number of Chinese Indonesians leave Indonesia never to return, while others were left in an even more severe state of insecurity than before (Susanto 2006). As the personal story of the events and their aftermath by Zhou Fuyuan (2003, 453) explicates, “the number of people who managed to make

9 For an extensive overview of the discriminatory regulations before and after the New Order regime, see Coppel (2002a), Lindsey (2005), and Winarta (2004, 2008). 10 This certificate is known as Surat Bukti Kewarganegaraaan Republik Indonesia, SBKRI. 11 See Coppel (2002a) and in particular the special volume of Asian Ethnicity (vol. 4. no. 3, 2003) discussing the variety of responses of Chinese Indonesians after the fall of Suharto. A detailed discussion of these events and other ethnic Chinese violence between 1996 and 1999 is to be found in the work of Purdey (2006).

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their way to a foreign country was very small: far more had to stay and resign themselves to the situation. For those who chose to stay, anxiety was our constant companion; we became hypersensitive . . . we were living in an environment so susceptible to calamity.” There were only ten days between these outbursts of violence and the forced resignation of Suharto. The Reform Era that followed was the start of the revocation of discrimination against Chinese Indonesians. Interim president Habibie (May 1998–October 1999) approved the formation of Chinese political parties and installed a Decree to stop the official use of the terms pribumi (native; sons of the soil ) and non-pribumi (non-native; immigrants—including Chinese Indonesians). Abdurrahman Wahid (President from October 1999 until July 2001) abolished the law on the manifestation of Chinese cultural and religious expression in 2000. Megawati Sukarnoputri (in office from July 2001 until October 2004) issued a Decree that made Chinese New Year a national holiday. Notwithstanding these revocations, there are still regulations related to citizenship and population affairs that lead to discriminatory treatment of Chinese Indonesians (Winarta 2008, 65). At the same time it is questioned whether there is enough political and judicial confidence among Chinese Indonesians to reclaim their citizenship and legal rights, as these still belong to a system controlled by the state, a system that has proven to be unreliable (Lindsey 2005). Notwithstanding such hesitations, two themes were discussed more openly than before: the assimilation policy and racialism in Indonesian society at large (Herlijanto 2005, 75). This could also be noted among the interviewees in 2004, and one remarked: “we, alumni of Chinese schools, we are thinking of starting a Chinese organization in order to correct the wrongs being done to the Chinese, to get rid of the discrimination against the Chinese. We want the same rights as other Indonesians.” As pointed out by Herlijanto (2005), there was a double bend in the position of Chinese Indonesians during the New Order era because the government was not only the one discriminating against the Chinese but also considered the best party that could secure their safety. However, this changed dramatically after May 1998. It is argued that the May 1998 riots created a “crisis of trust” among Chinese Indonesians who now believed neither the military nor the state could offer any protection (Herlijanto 2005, 69). In fact, this crisis of trust created a

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vacuum. Some groups filled the vacuum with initiatives such as forming political parties and pressure groups, while others preferred to be left alone “doing what they have always done quietly” and “continue to go about their business and hope and pray that their family will survive this multiple crisis” (Tan 2004, 35). Yet others perhaps went looking for protection elsewhere, such as religion. Converting to What? What characterizes Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity, the religion that is the focus of this study? As mentioned in the introduction, Christianity is expanding rapidly in Asia and the greatest Pentecostalcharismatic expansion in Southeast Asia took place in Indonesia and the Philippines (Anderson 2005, 7). Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity is characterized by “exuberant worship, an emphasis on subjective religious experience and spiritual gifts, claims of supernatural miracles, signs and wonders—including a language of experiential spirituality rather than of theology—and mystical ‘life in the Spirit’ by which they daily live out the will of God” (Burgess and van der Maas 2002, xvii). The global attraction is to be found in its egalitarian character: salvation and the gifts of the Spirit are open to all; its emphasis on outreach: everyone can evangelize once inspired by the Spirit; its social organization: the use of multi-media and a focus on strong personal connections; and its ritual life and spirituality (blurring the boundaries between worship and leisure), which are often in stark contrast to the daily lives of the converts (Robbins 2004, 124–6). Pentecostalcharismatic Christianity globalizes successfully because it is quick in addressing local issues and concerns and is de-territorialized (not tied down to one place) (Robbins 2003, 222). An important component in these forms of Christianity is conversion. Being born-again means having left behind a “sinful past.” Investing in faith (through Bible study, evangelizing, paying tithes, activities in charity, church work) sets into motion a process of continual self-overcoming and results in personal success. Salvation is now “resolutely this-worldly, and the evidence of a new life has become as much material as spiritual” (Corten and Marshall-Fratani 2001, 7).

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The roots of Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity in Indonesia can be found in the arrival of Dutch missionaries in the 1910s–1920s, from which originated the Pentecostal Church of Indonesia (Gereja Pantekosta di Indonesia, GPdI). It is from the GPdI that one of the larger Pentecostal-charismatic congregations developed, the Indonesian Bethel Church (Gereja Bethel Indonesia, GBI). These churches are characterized by a decentralized organizational structure, meaning they are autonomous, they exhibit an entertaining worship style, have pragmatic preaching with room for jokes, stories and testimonies, with preachers who are former businessmen, professionals or celebrities, and an emphasis on the miraculous such as divine healing (Wiyono 2005, 318–19). This has resulted in large numbers of conversions, in particular at two moments in time (Robinson 2005, 338). First of all, in the late 1980s during Indonesia’s industrialization and urbanization boom, when it filled the ideological vacuum that the rapid modernization processes created. In these years the influx of adherents mainly came from the middle class, professionals, and business people (Robinson 2005, 337–8). Mega-churches sprung up in the business centers of the major cities in Indonesia (Wijaya 2002, 259). The second moment of growth can be related to the economic crisis and the fall of Suharto. It was turbulent times, with growing socio-political domination of Islam, and persecution of Christians and churches, with Pentecostal churches being the main target in the attacks of the late 1990s and early 2000s (Goh 2005). Hence, it seems that in times of insecurity, whether out of materialplenty and ideological emptiness or out of material and emotional anxiety, these charismatic congregations with Bible teachings about matters that affect people’s everyday lives and with their modern outlook and strong leadership (Robinson 2005, 340–2) offer a safe haven where both individual and collective, as well as material and emotional “needs” are met. Life-cum-Business Stories Most of the stories collected during the research contain an element of radical personal change, associated with personal and/or business problems that directed the narrator to convert, to become a born-again Christian. The telling and retelling of conversion stories by born-again Christians is related to converting others as well as “reconverting the

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charismatic self” (Coleman 2003, 17). As a result these testimonies are often the center of the narrative, and a main component of charismatic meetings. Denzin (1989, 22) introduces the term “epiphanies,” or turningpoint moments, to argue that most biographical texts are structured by significant moments in the life of the narrator. The epiphanies might be helpful in understanding that the intense or “decisive” moments in life come to color the rest, as is the case with the religious turn in the life of the Chinese Indonesians under study here. “Epiphanies are interactional moments and experiences which leave marks on people’s lives . . . in them, personal character is manifested; they are often moments of crisis” (Denzin 1989, 70). The following three cases are representative of the converted Chinese Indonesians under study and address business, religion, and being Chinese Indonesian. Case 1: Harri—A Born-Again Christian Harri was born in 1949 in Salatiga but he grew up in Yogyakarta. Coming from an entrepreneurial family, he started a small printing business in 1975 that prints invitations and paper bags for shops. From the start his customers and business relations were other Chinese, because “for a Chinese it is important that if he does not live up to his financial promises he will lose his name. Taking responsibility is very important. If this trust is broken, then the relationship ends. This I was taught by my parents.” Harri employs six people and his wife handles the administration. “It is a small business, a people’s business.” He is a third generation Chinese in Indonesia but explains that he does not adhere to Chinese traditions. He did go to a Chinese primary school but he cannot understand or speak Mandarin, just enough to conduct business. He was brought up as a Christian. He and his parents went to a Pentecostal church but he did not find it inspiring. “The Pentecostal church I went to in my youth was not very appealing to me; I did not get anything from it. After a while I wondered why keep going? I did not feel any power or strength. So I stopped going to church; for three years I did not go to church at all. During that time a friend of mine introduced me to something new. This friend knew my taste for a more dynamic approach. I was introduced to a prayer service outside church hours, led by a man who was called by God to start this. The group consisted of about ten people. It was here I found a more dynamic atmosphere and a closer relationship with God. I was immediately attracted and I have never stopped going there. From ten people now there are some 2,500–3,000 members and this happened in about fifteen years; I was a witness that it really started from nothing.”

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He found pleasure in going to church. “But I was involved in ‘making money the wrong way,’ a very lucrative business. In 1998 when the economic crisis was high, I was not really hit very hard. It was only in 1999 that my business began to sore and my monetary situation worsened. It was the after-effect. I started to worry about income to support my family. I was in huge problems and also felt I could not tell anyone; the problems were too private. I started to pray; I prayed and looked back at my life and asked God how about my children, my business, my life? I prayed and gave all that was in my heart to God and said: ‘God I want to believe, have faith.’ And I was answered. That was a magical moment. It was also the moment I quit the money-business.” He explains: “being together with God does not mean we do not encounter any problems any more, but it is in his hands, we are under his leadership.” He was baptized and became born-again in 1999. “After I have found God I am much more at ease in my business. Before finding Jesus I did my business with my head, rational thinking, wanting to be as perfect as possible. I thought that in that way I would get better business results. But after many difficult and bad experiences I let Jesus into my heart. I pray every day before I start work. I give the day in the hands of God and whatever happens that day is the way God has meant it to be. I have found peace in that.” In these years of troubles and finding Jesus, Harri also became involved with the Full Gospel Business Men Fellowship (FGBMF). “In all this I felt growing inside. I very much like the style, which is proactive. I wanted to help friends to find Jesus as well. But if I mentioned the name of a church the door closed. By approaching people from a similar background, as businessmen meeting businessmen, it is less threatening to people. In Full Gospel we as businessmen can share daily life experiences, give testimonies, and it can all be done immediately. That is the strength. The strength is also that the members are all businessmen so that the group is homogeneous. Full Gospel might become very important in the future, as this is one of the few organizations that have a permit to have meetings in public places. There are also some new regulations going on that are very anti-Christian. Maybe churches will have to close down because they do not have permits. So the Full Gospel meetings are very important. The business meetings are also very efficient for finding new people who are willing to accept Jesus. It is not really easy to find new souls, but it is the way God has asked me to walk. Strong people are needed. The mainstream churches are afraid, but they have to accept it; in fact they might even have to become more charismatic as well. It belongs to this present time. Globalization fits and needs a more expressive mode. I think that in this global world doing business can get a kind of safety from Christianity, from belief. Protection. A true Christian will receive protection in his business and life. In the business world when not involved with the Lord, the business can go bad.”

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Case 2: Arief—Balancing Business and Belief Arief (1950) was born in Solo ( Java), is married and has four children who all have university degrees; three of them studied abroad. His grandfather and the grandfather of his wife were born in China (Fujian). In his youth he went to Chinese schools in Solo. His parents were Buddhists. He explains that he also became a Buddhist but only because it was required to have a religion. He explains he did not have any religious feelings until 1997. Thereafter his life changed. “Everything we do in life goes via Jesus and then we’ll be successful. Without Jesus within, people cannot change.” Arief started working at the age of forteen. He is now owner and manager of two interior design stores in Yogya. “It was my grandfather who came to Indonesia without anything. He was able to build a reputation in the soap business, Sabun Ton. In its prime days there were some fifty employees. During the Japanese period the factory and business experienced very difficult times but was able to survive. It was in the 1970s, when the Rinso (Unilever) factory made its entry, that my grandfather’s business went bankrupt. Managementwise we could not win from big factory management. From these experiences my parents taught me to be diligent, hard working, and to be strong in my business endeavours.” “In 1975 I moved here and opened a bicycle store. I was in the bicycle business until 1978. My wife (I married in 1975) would be the one in the store and I would go to the villages with the spare parts. But this was not really getting me anywhere; I did not make any real progress. Therefore in 1978 I changed direction and opened a store for building materials such as paint and cement and I closed the bicycle store. In the early 1980s many new cement stores were opened and we had trouble making any profits. We changed the store again and reopened in 1990, being the first building materials supermarket in Indonesia. In 1994 we opened another store because our front porch was claimed by the government for enlarging the road. It used to be possible to park about seven trucks in front of my store, now there is only space for one car. At the new store it is easier to load and unload materials. It is eight times bigger than the older store. I did a lot of commercial advertising for the design center and therefore we had a lot of customers, but this has changed since the crisis.” “In 1997 we were hit by the monetary crisis and I had to take over the store all by myself. Before the crisis a lot of business was done via factories. Architects would make a showroom and bring in salespeople; we would sell their things. They were hit by the crisis too and left. Before the crisis I had the dream to expand the design center concept to various other cities. But this did not happen. Before I became born-again I was only conducting my business for me alone, now I am conducting my business for God. It is not the case that if we follow Jesus we cannot conduct business anymore, but the focus needs to be changed.” In 1997 Arief experienced the appearance of Jesus and this changed his life. “It was on the 12th of October 1997 that my sins were washed away in Hotel Phoenix during a baptism’s ritual and I was reborn in the Spirit. It

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was a very difficult time business-wise because of the crisis.” Arief explains he experienced a miracle in his business. “Before the crisis I had ordered various materials from the factory but the materials were not delivered, while at the same time the prices were rising because of the crisis. My children said, ‘papa: do not just trust on your own strength but trust in Jesus.’ My children took my wife and me to church and there I started to cry. I felt very embarrassed but I could not stop. At that point I was ready to give my worries into the hands of Jesus and I raised my hands. I was the only one. I was called to come to the fore and, although I was afraid, we went up and raised our hands together. There I felt as if electricity went through my fingers, I wanted to cry out, it was a very nice feeling.” In the meantime his order had not yet arrived and prices were rising constantly. “But I stayed very calm and knew Jesus would take care of it. By the time the prices had risen to the highest point, finally my trucks with materials arrived. The strangest thing is that notwithstanding the very high price we had no problem at all in selling them.” “One of the major changes in my business is that since I have met Jesus I pray every morning before opening up the store; with my wife. This strengthens my faith and power. There is no clash between the Bible and business but it is all about priority.” Arief is quite critical of the charismatic movements in Yogya. “People go there as an experiment, just to feel fine, to find success, they pray to have a better life, to get something. Many rich people became Christians during the crisis: they mainly prayed for money. Business people often follow Jesus to become successful. To be honest, for business people it is not easy in Indonesia. For instance in my case: why can I not grow bigger? Because most of the building projects are in the hands of the government and, if you want to join these projects you need to give money, and that I cannot do because of my religion. Join corruption and so on. This is something that is not possible. But others go along with the corruption anyway. If we join in corruption this means we have no faith, if we have no faith we are never going to be saved. I am very much at ease in my business now. That is my faith. Indonesia needs to be converted.” Case 3: Gono—Chinese and Christian Gono was born in 1949 and he is a third generation Chinese. He has a very successful printing and publishing house. He started from scratch but is now among the more successful businessmen in Yogyakarta. He is no longer very active in his business. He leaves much of it to the board of directors and to one of his sons. Gono spends most of his time on his Christian mission. “I started my business from personal networks. Although the pribumi also use personal networks for doing business, the family network is far stronger among the Chinese.” He explains that there is an opening prayer every morning in the factory. “I am a Christian by birth. I have been going to the Protestant Church (GKI) and later on to the Pentecostal church. I want to be a person with God in his heart. Since 1990 I am a full-timer in religious

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fields. I was also a person with sins, you know. This company is a mission company.” “I wrote a book that teaches people how to pray. This book is more or less my mission so that Indonesia will one day have 200 million people who pray, who want to pray. Indonesia is full of problems, especially since the crisis, but also because of all kinds of aggressive Islamic movements and terrorist problems. The political system and the law system in Indonesia are terrible; Indonesia is the third-largest corrupt country in the world. That is why praying is so important. Since we cannot join practical politics, we can only follow the politics of the Lord.” Gono witnessed the growth of the charismatic movement in Yogyakarta. “The charismatic movement in Yogyakarta started in the 1980s. There was quite some growth and there were quite some cases of healing. But the charismatic movement has two faces; there is the entertainment: clapping hands, singing, and testimonies that are blown up. And there is the learning how to know Jesus. This is teaching about the true mercy of God and being blessed. Let’s start from the fact that many threatening things happen to Christian people, but also to business people in Indonesia. In the middle of the threatening experiences Jesus opened their eyes. Business people only know money; their focus is on making money. But then their stores were burnt to the ground in Solo and Jakarta (Chinese problems 1998). This and the crisis opened their eyes. They became aware that there is something above them that is bigger. They started to put their hope in Jesus. Hence business people meet many problems and dangers apart from the hatred of the people. Then they started to see that there is Jesus; that Jesus wants to help them. They wanted to become closer to God, learn how to pray, they started to have meetings and get-togethers. After this, the Lord chose them to spread the word and bring further the movement of God but without having to leave their businesses. They can sponsor the needs of churches. The churches also started to focus on businessmen and teach them the word of God.” “If we look at the facts, we can say that in the past the Chinese were intimidated, they were kept low, they were afraid. This is exactly why they went looking for justice, love, mercy, spirituality, protection, God. And, they began to be blessed. However, as a result new feelings of jealousy arose. A new gap arrived. People said, oh the Chinese easily get rich. But today it is time that the Chinese start to carry out their identity that they start to get involved in practical politics. It is the time. But we have to be careful, we should not be too excessive, we should not blow it up too much. With identity I mean cultural values; that we are people who matter. How I see it, the Chinese have always been under pressure and people under pressure often come with up with better results.”

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juliette koning Unravelling the Stories

At the beginning of this chapter I argued that the group under study is precariously situated in the Indonesian nation-state. This is related to their long history of contested identities as ethnic Chinese and as economic actors, and, paradoxically, it is also related to the fall of Suharto. Although the regime change meant more space for expressions of Chinese identity, it in fact increased their insecurity. In the following section, based on the cases above, I shall discuss the religious turn by exploring the interplay between the economic crisis, regime change, business, and conversion. Business, Belief, and Belonging Looking at the cases, the role of business problems in finding Jesus is quite apparent and these specific problems often co-act as the instigator of the conversion. All the interviewees refer to the economic crisis as an important turning point. Being owner-manager of a business keeps them busy at least six days a week from early morning till late at night. As the one in charge, they carry the responsibility for the success of their business. Next to business problems, in all cases, some more explicit than others, the situation of Chinese Indonesians is mentioned as well. This is most explicit in the words of Gono, but both Harri and Arief refer to problems in Indonesian society (corruption, corrupt government, permit problems for Christian movements). So what does Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity “offer” them? First of all, Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity, with its enjoyable style of worship and pragmatic-oriented sermons (Wiyono 2005, 318), offers distraction and immediate solutions to everyday problems, and it fits this global age, as Harri explained. Those who encountered the Holy Spirit (often expressed as meeting Jesus face-to-face) divide their lives into before and after this encounter, and it is the gifts of the Spirit, aptly referred to by Droogers (2001, 45) as “healing in a very wide sense including non-medical problems,” that are cherished and celebrated. As the interviewees express, “electricity went through my fingers,” “it was a magical moment.” As such, this form of Christianity is rather unique and offers quite instant relief for all kinds of problems. At the same time, the meetings are vibrant, with singing and being in touch with the Lord and, as such, they give new energy as well. The testimonies and the leaflets and books produced offer ready-

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made applicable solutions. More importantly, these solutions are seldom obtained in the mainstream churches. The stories above are good examples of what is also shared during Sunday masses, or home and house meetings. The sharing of similar and recognizable family and business problems offers comfort, a feeling of belonging and safety. Secondly, apart from the instant sharing, relief, comfort, and joy, spiritual guidance is found. A common theme in the conversion stories of these business people is that once having met Jesus a burden is lifted from their shoulders. The testimonies express that having found God and being able to trust in his leadership was the kind of spiritual business support they in fact were longing for. They narrate about giving their problems and business worries in the “hands of the Lord.” It is expressed as a complete surrender. They are less stressed and more at ease, and in fact this seems to work to their personal and business benefit; this religion gives them strength and power. The testimonies express a wish to be no longer “lonely.” In fact, “receiving the gifts of the Holy Spirit has the effect of solving an existential problem and continues to be an important and healing resource in the ongoing struggle for life” (Droogers 2001, 45). Thirdly, Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity endorses the accumulation of wealth, not found in this manner in other religious traditions. Whereas the Chinese and Christianity meet each other in the importance of the family, with “familism” considered to be the tenet in ethnic Chinese economic, political, and social life, the messages in the mainstream Christian churches do not speak to their business spirit (Wijaya 2002). This is where the charismatic movement proves different and where a number of Chinese Indonesians find their answers. In a newspaper article, Brazier writes that the charismatic churches prove different from Buddhist or Catholic principles in endorsing the accumulation of wealth, something that in particular speaks to Chinese Indonesians for whom “money” is an important form of protection in an otherwise “volatile society” (Brazier 2006). In fact, “born again Christians have a right to enjoy prosperity by the grace of God” (Meyer 2006, 11). Fourthly, being in a network of co-worshippers inspires the Chinese Indonesian business identity (as shown, often a negative stereotype). For minority religious groups who, to some extent, are excluded from mainstream society, “access to professional advice and services through the religious or ethnic network may be a matter of no small consequence” (Dodd and Seaman 1998, 73). Sharing norms of the faith

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creates strong personal ties of trust and trust is a well-known feature in business conduct, as it might create access to important information and contacts. Hence, such trust relationships with co-worshippers are highly appreciated. The interviewees in my study all make extensive use of personal networks with co-ethnics and co-worshippers because of expressed shared business norms and religious unity; both related to being considered “outsiders.” This co-worship network proves quite important; in it ethnicity and religion seem to fuse. Aside from possible new business partners to be found on this axis, the converts find a further enhancement of their economic identities as business people in an environment in which it is not stereotyped and even praised (see former point). As argued by Chua, “stereotypes do not disappear so fast, the equation of ‘Chinese’ and ‘rich’ is deeply embedded” (Chua 2004, 476). Fifthly, the May riots and the regime change made it quite clear that safety and feeling safe, in particular for Chinese Indonesians, is not a guarantee. The impact of the economic crisis on their business and personal lives was further deteriorated by the harsh reality of the regime change, and the attacks on Chinese Indonesians showed that there is no safe place for Chinese Indonesians in their own country. Herlijanto (2005, 70) argues that since the state turned out not to be their main protector, many Chinese Indonesians realized that they had to take matters into their own hands in order to prevent these horrors of happening again. If we look at the narratives, it is in particular Gono’s account that we can find this call to take action when he states “it is time for the Chinese to show their identity, to show that they are people who matter.” However, he is not referring to a protest movement or NGO, but to religion and prayer. As Zhou Fuyuan recalls, “my friends who had always thought of themselves as Indonesian suddenly faced the fact they were actually regarded as Chinese, and as such deserved to be alienated. They had to seriously rethink what this meant and to reorientate themselves” (2003, 454). It seems quite plausible that some Chinese Indonesians found in religion the reorientation that Zhou Fuyuan refers to. Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity is a clear example of a religion that is “change” oriented. It is firmly believed and expressed that change lies in the strength of the Holy Spirit and that “from this change, other change will follow, be it personal or social transformational” (Ma 2005, 66). This message fell in fertile ground among Chinese Indonesians at this crucial moment in their lives.

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Finally, as far as belonging is concerned, Allen (2005, 3) rightly points out that we know relatively little about how the events of 1998 (the May riots and the regime change) have impacted how Chinese Indonesians perceive themselves and their situation. She argues that the fall of the Suharto regime might have opened up the possibility of new identity formation, and wonders whether new forms and interpretations of Indonesianness can be found. What can be witnessed is the increased importance of the question of what it means to be “Chinese” (in particular so among the younger generations).12 Allen, referring to an on-line forum that discusses these questions states: “the sheer volume of postings in 1998 is testament to the need felt by ChineseIndonesians for an outlet for their fears and aspirations” (Allen 2005, 3). With ongoing discrimination and stereotypes, an alternative for the need to belong seemed at hand beyond the Indonesian nationstate. Under such severe insecurity pressures, the open arms of the new charismatic movements were very welcome. The charismatic turn then represents, in this overtly non-Christian setting, both a turn away from the nation-state and an embracement of a larger frame of reference. Global Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity brings a different sense of belonging. Those who converted seem to prefer to be first and foremost charismatic Christians who belong to a global community and as such adopt a view of themselves as borderless world citizens; as a family within the larger family of God. And more importantly there is the promise of protection, of both the business and the individual. Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity is often found among ethnic minorities, where it “acts as a revitalization and assertion of moral standing” (Martin 2005, 28). Rereading the life-cum-business stories of Chinese Indonesians who convert, the argument that conversion is a “passage,” a reaction to intellectual and practical problems (Austin-Broos 2003, 9), seems quite accurate. In the case of the Chinese Indonesians here under study, the conversion to the status of a born-again Christian brings with it the hope of a more trustworthy protection of their families and businesses, as this is what Global Charismatic Christianity promises to true believers.

12 The question of what it means to be Chinese Indonesian for various generations is addressed by Koning and Susanto (2008).

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juliette koning Conclusion

The aim of this chapter is to come to a better understanding of why certain Chinese Indonesian business people in the city of Yogyakarta were converting to Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity during the political regime change that occurred in the late 1990s. The underlying question was what new dreams Chinese Indonesians went looking for now that the authoritative regime under which they had been discriminated against for more than thirty years had fallen apart, and why some of them chose Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity. By positioning the narratives in their proper context, i.e. the socio-historical and socio-political position of Chinese Indonesians in the Indonesian nation-state and by exploring the phenomenon of growing charismatic Christianity as a global culture, this chapter paid attention to the interplay between the individual and societal dimensions in this process of conversion. Ever since colonial times, Chinese Indonesians have been contested in their ethnic identity and their citizenship. Their position within the newly built nation-state has been one of exclusion and discrimination, which is underlined by the various restrictive laws that have been installed in particular under the New Order. The state has been a dominant player in this “selective creation and manipulation of ethnic identities” (Tan 2001, 952), while forging a national identity out of a multi-ethnic populace in the process of nation building. That same state, however, has also been, paradoxically enough, a dominant safety valve for Chinese Indonesians. The riots and regime change in 1998 altered both situations. On the one hand more room for expressing Chinese identity was slowly established while on the other hand a safety-vacuum, or increased insecurity, presented itself. On top of that, the ongoing economic crisis for many meant a severe attack on their very existence-cum-identity. The crisis, and the related business problems that many of the Chinese Indonesians encountered in the late 1990s, led them on the road to a religion that is quite unique in offering immediate solutions to urgent business problems, and also offers spiritual guidance in being an owner-manager of a business, as well as a network of trustworthy co-worshippers. Above all, this is the only religious congregation that respects their economic activity: being in business. Furthermore, as pointed out by one of the preachers, coming to church is a joy, and gives new energy to those who make long working days. The worldly

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character, the gifts of the spirit, and the dynamic and vibrant atmosphere makes Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity very attractive. It provides them a forum where they can share their insecurities and their business problems with like-minded people. There is instant care and relief; the get-togethers with fellow Christians and in most cases co-ethnics bring both material and immaterial support. The narratives also reveal a new vigor around issues of “Chineseness” after the regime change in the late 1990s. The choice for Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity can be interpreted in terms of a move away of the nation-state that, although at times an important security foundation, proved unreliable during that last regime change and in particular during the severe riots of May 1998. Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity is a global movement. Because of the linkages between the local and the global, individual members may feel connected to believers all over the world, not only sharing the Gospel but also a social position and common lifestyle. For converted Chinese Indonesians this connectedness to a global community takes on a special meaning. It reduces their insecurity and offers an escape from a depressing situation in which their ethnic and economic status is constantly under pressure, erasure, or even worse. Their membership of the Charismatic movement, by providing them a global religious identity, enables them to break away from the oppressive political system of and unfair treatment by their own nation-state, while at the same time they will fall under the protection of global Christianity. The religious turn expresses the new hope and dream to be protected and accepted properly in their entire being, which is as Chinese Indonesian, as entrepreneur or businessman, and as husband/wife and father/mother. Global Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity seems to offer that, in particular to true believers, and this is fate and faith they have in their own hands. Bibliography Allen, Pamela. 2005. Deconstructing the Diaspora: The Construction of ChineseIndonesian Identity in Post-Suharto Indonesia. In Asian Futures, Asian Traditions, ed. Edwina Palmer, 128–39. Folkstone: Global Oriental. Ananta, Aris, Evi Nurvidya Arifin, and Bakhtiar. 2008. Chinese Indonesians in Indonesia and the Province of Riau Archipelago: A Demographic Analysis. In Ethnic Chinese in Contemporary Indonesia, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 17–47. Singapore: ISEAS Publications.

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Anderson, Alan. 2005. The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia. In Asian and Pentecostal. The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia, ed. Alan Anderson and Edmond Tang, 1–12. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Atkinson, Robert. 1998. The Life Story Interview. Qualitative Research Methods Series 44. A Sage University Paper. London: Sage Publications. Austin-Broos, Diana. 2003. The Anthropology of Conversion: An Introduction. In The Anthropology of Religious Conversion, ed. Andrew Buckser and Stephen D. Glazier, 1–14. Lanham: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers. Bernard, Jacques. 2004. Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brazier, Roderick. 2006. In Indonesia, The Chinese Go to Church. International Herald Tribune Thursday, April 26, 2006. Bruner, Jerome. 1990. Acts of Meaning. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Burgess, S.M. and E.M. van der Maas, ed. 2002. The New International Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements. Michigan: Zondervan. Chua, Christian. 2004. Defining Indonesian Chineseness under the New Order. Journal of Contemporary Asia 34 (4): 465–79. ——. 2008. The Conglomerates in Crisis: Indonesia, 1997–1998. Journal of the Asia Pacific Economy 13 (1): 107–27 Coleman, Simon. 2003. Continuous Conversion? The Rhetoric, Practice and Rhetorical Practice of Charismatic Protestant Conversion. In The Anthropology of Religious Conversion, ed. Andrew Buckser and Stephen D. Glazier, 15–28. Lanham: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers. Coppel, Charles. 2002a. Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies. ——. 2002b. The Indonesian Chinese: ‘Foreign Orientals’, Netherlands Subjects and Indonesian Citizens. In Law and the Chinese in Southeast Asia, ed. M. Barry Hooker, 131–49. Singapore: ISEAS. ——. 2003. Special Issue Foreword. Asian Ethnicity 4 (3): 327–36. ——. 2008. Anti-Chinese Violence in Indonesia after Soeharto. In Ethnic Chinese in Contemporary Indonesia, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 117–36. Singapore: ISEAS Publications. Corten, Andre and Ruth Marshall-Fratani. 2001. Introduction. In Between Babel and Pentecost. Transnational Pentecostalism in Africa and Latin America, ed. Andre Corten and Ruth Marhsall-Fratani, 1–21. London: Hurst & Company. Dahles, Heidi. 2004. McBusiness versus Confucius? Anthropological Perspectives on Transnational Organizations and Networks. Inaugural Lecture, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Denzin, Norman. 1989. Interpretive Biography. Qualitative Research Methods Series 17. A Sage University Paper. London: Sage Publications. Dodd, Sarah and Paul Seaman. 1998. Religion and Enterprise: An Introductory Exploration. Entrepreneurship: Theory and Practice 23 (1): 71–86. Droogers, Andre. 2001. Globalisation and Pentecostal Success. In Between Babel and Pentecost. Transnational Pentecostalism in Africa and Latin America, ed. Andre Corten and Ruth Marhsall-Fratani, 41–61. London: Hurst & Company. Freedman, Amy. 2000. Political Participation and Ethnic Minorities. Chinese Overseas in Malaysia, Indonesia and the United States. London and New York: Routledge. Geertz, Clifford. 1995. After the Fact. Two Countries, Four Decades, One Anthropologist. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Goh, Robbie. 2004. Asian Christian Networks. Transnational Structures and Geopolitical Mappings. Journal of Religion and Society 6: 1–13. ——. 2005. Christianity in Southeast Asia. Singapore: ISEAS Press. Hefner, Robert. 1993. World Building and the Rationality of Conversion. In Conversion to Christianity. Historical and Anthropological Perspectives on a Great Transformation, ed. Robert Hefner, 3–46. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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——. 2001. Introduction: Multiculturalism and Citizenship in Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia. In The Politics of Multiculturalism. Pluralism and Citizenship in Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia, ed. Robert Hefner, 1–58. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Herlijanto, Johannes. 2005. The May 1998 Riots and the Emergence of Chinese Indonesians: Social Movements in Post-Suharto Era, 64–80. www.sinica.edu.tw/ capas/publication/newsletter/N27/2702_02.pfd Hoon, Chang-Yau. 2006. Assimilation, Multiculturalism, Hybridity: The Dilemmas of the Ethnic Chinese in Post-Suharto Indonesia. Asian Ethnicity 7 (2): 149–66. Kipp, Rita Smith. 1995. Conversion by Affiliation: The History of the Karo Batak Protestant Church. American Ethnologist 22 (4): 868–82. Koning, Juliette. 2007. “Chineseness” and Chinese Indonesian Business Practices. A Generational and Discursive Enquiry. East Asia, An International Quarterly 24 (2): 129–52. Koning, Juliette and Andreas Susanto. 2008. Chinese Indonesians and “the Rise of China”: From Business Opportunities to Questions of Identity. In China in the World: Contemporary Issues and Perspectives, ed. Emile Kok-Kheng Yeoh and Joanne Hoi-Lee Loh, 161–84. Kuala Lumpur: Institute of China Studies, University of Malaya. Lindsey, Tim. 2005. Reconstituting the Ethnic Chinese in Post-Soeharto Indonesia: Law, Racial Discrimination, and Reform. In Chinese Indonesians. Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, ed. Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker, 41–76. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Martin, David. 2005. Issues Affecting the Study of Pentecostalism in Asia. In Asian and Pentecostal. The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia, ed. Alan Anderson and Edmond Tang, 27–36. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Ma, Wonsuk. 2005. Asian (Classical ) Pentecostal Theology in Context. In Asian and Pentecostal. The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia, ed. Alan Anderson and Edmond Tang, 59–92. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Meyer, Birgit. 2006. The Pentecostal Aesthetic and the Spirit of Modern Consumerism. Faith, Prosperity and Vision in African Pentecostal-Charismatic Churches. Princeton Lecture in Religion and Global Culture, April 26 at the Centre for the Study of Religion, Princeton University. Plummer, Ken. 2001. Documents of Life 2. An Invitation to a Critical Humanism. London: Sage Publications. Purdey, Jemma. 2006. Anti-Chinese Violence in Indonesia, 1996–1999. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Rambo, Lewis and C. Farhadian. 1999. Converting: Stages of Religious Change. In Religious Conversion. Contemporary Practices and Controversies, ed. C. Lamb and M Bryant, 23–34. London and New York: Cassell. Reid, Anthony, ed. 1996. Sojourners and Settlers: Histories of Southeast Asia and the Chinese. St Leonard’s, Australia: Allen & Unwin. Robbins, Joel. 2003. On the Paradoxes of Global Pentecostalism and the Perils of Continuity Thinking. Religion 33: 221–31. ——. 2004. The Globalization of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity. Annual Review of Anthropology 33: 117–43. Robinson, Mark. 2005. The Growth of Indonesian Pentecostalism. In Asian and Pentecostal. The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia, ed. Alan Anderson and Edmond Tang, 329–44. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Suryadinata, Leo. 2005. Buddhism and Confucianism in Contemporary Indonesia: Recent Developments. Chinese Indonesians. Remembering, Distorting, Forgetting, ed. Tim Lindsey and Helen Pausacker, 77–94. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Susanto, Andreas. 2006. Safety-First. Strategies of Managing Insecurities among Chinese Indonesians in Yogyakarta. In Ropewalking and Safety Nets. Local Ways of Managing

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Insecurity in Indonesia, ed. Juliette Koning and Frans Hüsken, 107–24. Leiden and Boston: Brill. ——. 2008. Under the Umbrella of the Sultan. Accommodation of the Chinese in Yogyakarta during Indonesia’s New Order. PhD diss., Nijmegen University. Tan, Eugene. 2001. From Sojourners to Citizens: Managing the Ethnic Chinese Minority in Indonesia and Malaysia. Ethnic and Racial Studies 24 (6): 949–78. Tan, Mely. 2004. Unity in Diversity: Ethnic Chinese and Nation-Building in Indonesia. In Ethnic Relations and Nation-Building in Southeast Asia. The Case of the Ethnic Chinese, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 20–44. Singapore: ISEAS Publications. Wijaya, Yahya. 2002. Business, Family and Religion. Public Theology in the Context of the Chinese-Indonesian Business Community. Bern: Peter Lang AG. Winarta, Frans. 2004. Racial Discrimination in the Indonesian Legal System: Ethnic Chinese and Nation-Building. In Ethnic Relations and Nation-Building in Southeast Asia. The Case of the Ethnic Chinese, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 66–81. Singapore: ISEAS Publications. ——. 2008. No More Discrimination against the Chinese. In Ethnic Chinese in Contemporary Indonesia, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 57–74. Singapore: ISEAS Publications. Wiyono, Gani. 2005. Pentecostals in Indonesia. In Asian and Pentecostal. The Charismatic Face of Christianity in Asia, ed. Alan Anderson and Edmond Tang, 307–28. Oxford: Regnum Books International. Yeung, Henry and Kris Olds, ed. 2000. Globalization of Chinese Business Firms. Hampshire: Macmillan Press Ltd. Zhou, Fuyuan. 2003. Ethnic Voices Where Do We Belong? Asian Ethnicity 4 (3): 453–9.

CHAPTER THREE

ASSIMILATION, DIFFERENTIATION, AND DEPOLITICIZATION: CHINESE INDONESIANS AND THE MINISTRY OF HOME AFFAIRS IN SUHARTO’S INDONESIA Nobuhiro Aizawa Introduction On August 16, 2005, Ong Tjong Hay, better known as Kristoforus Sindhunata, quietly passed away in Jakarta. He was buried at the renowned Kalibata Hero’s cemetery. A small obituary appeared in the daily newspaper Kompas on August 18, the day after Indonesia celebrates Independence Day.1 Sindhunata, a former navy major, was one of the key figures in the history of the Chinese “issue” in Indonesia. His most notable post over the course of his career was his long-term commitment as chairman of Lembaga Pengkajian Kesatuan Bangsa (LPKB, Institute for the Promotion of National Unity), a military-supported political organization established in the 1960s during the Sukarno era. LPKB was an important organization for the so-called assimilation movement. The assimilation movement consisted of Chinese Indonesian activists who sought the complete social and political integration of ethnic Chinese in Indonesian society and considered this best reached by abandoning all aspects of Chinese cultural life. During the Suharto era, Sindhunata also chaired the Badan Komunikasi Penhayatan Kesatuan Bangsa (BAKOM PKB, Communication Body of Organizing National Unity), a group

1 See the article, Obituari Kristoforus Sindhunata Dimakamkan Hari Jumat (Kompas, August 18, 2005). Harry Tjan Silalahi also wrote an obituary; he was a friend of Sindhunata at the Law Faculty of the University of Indonesia, and a former colleague at the Perhimpunan Mahasiswa Katolik Republik Indonesia (PMKRI, Indonesian Catholic Students Association). Sindhunata was vice-chairperson of PMKRI from 1957–1959 while Harry Tjan acted as chairperson from 1961–1962. See also the article: Obituari Mengantar Kepergian Almarhum Mayor Laut K. Sindhunata (Kompas, August 28, 2005). Sindhunata is one of the “Eminent Indonesian Chinese” in Suryadinata’s (1981) biographical sketches.

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that besides promoting assimilation also had the task to bridge the communication gap between the central government and the Chinese Indonesian community. Both organizations were government supported and were mainly concerned with Chinese Indonesian affairs.2 As a moderator of the “assimilation policy” for Chinese Indonesians, Sindhunata became well known both among public officials as among Chinese Indonesian political activists. However, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, his name has as good as disappeared. The issue is no longer whether the Chinese need to assimilate or not, but rather how to restore and redress their rights, and how to acknowledge their Chinese heritage, a heritage that had come under a lot of pressure during the Suharto period with the banning of Chinese schools and the public display of Chinese language signboards.3 Since the end of Suharto’s presidency (1998), the socio-cultural conditions of Chinese Indonesians have changed quite drastically. One of the more crucial changes is the “China boom” which has taken place in Indonesia’s major cities. The flow of Chinese goods to Indonesian cities is now widespread and visits to and from China have been increasing. Chinese cultural and social activities are not only publicly displayed; they are actually welcomed and encouraged. Imlek, the Chinese New Year, and Cap Go Meh, the celebration of the fifteenth night of the New Year festival, are now publicly celebrated. Festival favorites like the Lion and Dragon Dance draw large crowds at shopping centers and on the streets. Such celebrations not only attract Chinese Indonesians but also so-called pribumi.4 It is now an expected part of the annual holiday landscape to see shopping centers fully decorated in red ribbons, lanterns, and other Chinese decorations during the New Year’s celebration. Another crucial change is the shift in the terminology used by the government and mass media to refer to Chinese Indonesians. Tionghoa, 2 LPKB, with backup from the military, was established in March 1963 to counteract the Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI, Indonesian Communist Party) that supposedly had connections with the Badan Permusyawaratan Kewarganegaraan Indonesia (BAPERKI, Body for Indonesian Citizenship). BAKOM PKB was established in 1977 with the backup of the Ministry of Home Affairs to assist the communication between the government and the Chinese community. 3 In 2000 under President Abdurrahman Wahid, Presidential Decree No. 6/2000 was issued to annul Presidential Decree No. 14/1967, which had restricted all public activities of the Chinese related to religion, beliefs, and customs. 4 Pribumi is an Indonesian term for those who are regarded to be indigenous Indonesians. Chinese Indonesians were often referred to as non-pri. Pri and non-pri became words to differentiate between indigenous Indonesians and Chinese Indonesians.

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which was used in the Sukarno era, has returned and has taken over the “derogative” term Cina that was used during Suharto’s regime. Today, many Chinese Indonesian students study Mandarin and China has become a favorite holiday destination for many Indonesians. A process of “re-sinicization”—that is, a reconnecting with Chinese cultural heritage—can be witnessed. These political and cultural changes seem to have made the idea of assimilation an outdated concept for Chinese Indonesians.5 Since 1999, various non-governmental organizations and political parties have been established to spearhead the issues of Chinese Indonesians. The appeal of these groups to abolish assimilation policies gained support and several crucial laws were successfully dismissed. The governments that came to power after the fall of the New Order regime have started to reconsider the assimilation laws because these are now considered discriminatory, inhumane, and in violation of basic human rights.6 In light of this changing “position” of Chinese Indonesians in today’s Indonesia, it becomes relevant to unravel what the assimilation policies of the past encompassed, and under what circumstances, by whom, and for what purposes these policies were implemented. The aim of this chapter, therefore, is to describe what assimilation, as implemented by the Ministry of Home Affairs, entailed for the Suharto regime, and to advance our general understanding of the relationship between the Indonesian state and Chinese Indonesians, a dimension often ignored. In order to come to a better understanding of these assimilation policies, many researchers turned to the political debate, better known as the assimilation versus integration debate, among Chinese Indonesian activists and politicians in the 1950s and 1960s.7 The assimilationists argued that Chinese Indonesians should abandon their Chinese cultural background and exclusionary lifestyle—that is, living separately from other Indonesian ethnic groups. The integrationists, however, were of the opinion that in order to fully participate in national

5 Also Sindhunata visited China in the last days of his life, even though he was one of the most cautious Chinese Indonesians regarding trips to China. 6 For an overview of discriminatory laws see Jusuf and Srivanto (2001), and Suryomenggolo (2003). 7 See Somers (1964), Coppel (1983), Setiono (2002), and Yayasan Tunas Bangsa (1962).

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politics, Chinese Indonesians did not need to deny their cultural background. Interestingly enough, this frame of analysis is still surprisingly influential in the post-Suharto period for studying both the new social movements of Chinese Indonesians as well as for reviewing the history of Chinese Indonesians.8 Although this assimilation versus integration framework does provide a rich analysis of the dynamics within the Chinese Indonesian community, it does not address the political relationship between Chinese Indonesians and the Indonesian nation-state. Therefore, to understand the politics associated with the issue of Indonesia’s assimilation policy, we need to go beyond the dynamics within the Chinese Indonesian intellectual community, and investigate the intricacies of the relationship between the Chinese Indonesian community and the state. This chapter will describe how and why the now-condemned assimilation policy was originally implemented and became a prominent feature of the Suharto regime. Although Sindhunata was an important figure, it is not appropriate to treat what Sindhunata and his assistants advocated as if it was government policy—Sindhunata, LPKB, and BAKOM PKB were never in a position to issue a regulation or law. Needless to say, it is the government that has the final decision on what regulations and laws are issued. Thus, the need to investigate the institution that drafted and made the final decisions on issuing assimilation policies: the Ministry of Home Affairs. By investigating the policies of the Ministry of Home Affairs (Departemen Dalam Negeri, hereafter referred to as DEPDAGRI), I examine what “assimilation” actually meant to the government. It was the DEPDAGRI that was in charge of issuing assimilation policies under the Suharto regime. What the DEPDAGRI wanted to accomplish as far as assimilation was concerned was not what Sindhunata advocated—to elevate the status of the Chinese Indonesians in the Indonesian political scene. DEPDAGRI’s goal was rather to depoliticize the Chinese Indonesians under the guise of the same assimilation agenda. It

8 In compiling the political history of Chinese Indonesians, Setiono (2002) pays extensive attention to the asimilasi vs integrasi debate. Purdey (2003) also uses this framework to analyze the political and social activities of Chinese Indonesians during the first years of the post-Suharto period. The magazine Sinergi is an important source that condemned the assimilationists. Suryomenggolo’s (2003) sharp review of the Suharto period frames the Suharto era as an era of assimilation.

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might be said that Sindhunata’s assimilationist agenda was taken over by the DEPDAGRI. Sindhunata and LPKB Sindhunata is best known for chairing LPKB; a political body established in 1963 under the auspices of the military during Sukarno’s regime. The rivalry between the LPKB led by Sindhunata and Badan Permusjawaratan Kewarganegaraan Indonesia (BAPERKI),9 then led by Siaw Giok Tjang, resulted in one of the most crucial debates in Chinese Indonesian history. The difference between the groups was based on their contrasting views on whether Chinese Indonesians should deny their Chinese cultural heritage and assimilate into Indonesian society; or whether they should maintain their cultural lifestyle and integrate as one of Indonesia’s suku (ethnic group). LPKB was established to counter BAPERKI, which saw an increase in membership but was also considered a danger for supposedly supporting the Indonesian communist party (Partai Komunis Indonesia, PKI). The political rivalry between the military and PKI severely affected the competition between the assimilationists and integrationists.10 After the 1965 coup d’état known as the Gerakan 30 September (the September 30th Movement, G30S), a massive purge of PKI and its collaborators followed and resulted in the disbanding of BAPERKI. This breakdown seriously affected integrationist leaders and with the dissolution of the PKI the competition between the assimilationists and the integrationists came to an end. LPKB was thus left as the sole political body representing the interests of Chinese Indonesians. As chairman of LPKB, Sindhunata raised the group’s political clout and was appointed as one of the keynote speakers at the 1966 Second Seminar of the Army Staff and Command College (Seminar Sekolah Staf Komando Angkatan Darat II, SESKOAD II), which designed policies for the New Order regime. Delivering this

9 BAPERKI was a social organization established in 1954, its membership consisted mostly of Chinese Indonesians. The aim was is to gain equal rights for Chinese Indonesians. BAPERKI had wide participation from Chinese Indonesian intellectuals, including members from various political parties. Cf. Setiono (2002, 713–732). 10 The debate developed in Star Weekly magazine. Regarding the rivalry between the LPKB and BAPERKI, see Coppel (1983), Sadayoshi (1995), Setiono (2002).

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keynote speech was a highlight in Sindhunata’s political career. He thereafter became known among politicians, technocrats, and military generals as the Ahli Asimilasi (assimilation specialist). His task during the Suharto regime was to develop a vision that would support the new regime in designing assimilation policies regarding Chinese Indonesians. Masalah Cina and the Suharto Regime Suharto’s New Order regime put much emphasis on creating national unity. In line with this goal, the presidium cabinet in April 1967 stated that the masalah Cina, the Chinese problem, had to be dealt with as a national issue and needed the commitment and initiative of the state to solve it. This was only one month after Suharto was inaugurated as acting president. The word Cina in Indonesian basically meant three things: first of all, the People’s Republic of China (PRC); secondly, the Chinese as an ethnicity both foreign and domestic born; and thirdly, Chinese as a culture and philosophy.11 The fact that Indonesia had a deteriorating relationship with the PRC also changed political conditions in the country and created a strong image of PRC as something to be feared, putting even more stress on the concept Cina. Domestically, the new government was confronted with a weakened economy because of the hyperinflation during the last years of the Sukarno regime. It was decided to mobilize the financial resources of the entire Chinese community, both foreign citizens and Indonesian citizens, in order to restore economic development.12 The masalah Cina hence started to encompass not only social and cultural issues, but economic and political matters as well. It was decided that these issues needed the attention from a wide range of institutions. Under the coordination of the presidium cabinet’s political section, the Chinese problem would be tackled with the support of all agencies involved in political issues such as DEPDAGRI, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the military (including the national police), the intelligence agency, and the attorney general’s office. The presidium cabinet, led by Suharto, See Sukisman (1973). Taiwan was not acknowledged as a state and therefore its people were neither registered as Indonesian nor as foreign Chinese but as “stateless.” 12 See Aizawa (2006). 11

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appointed each institution to take responsibility of the masalah Cina related to its own focus.13 This led to the following division. Issues that had to do with the PRC and foreign-born Chinese in Indonesia became mainly the responsibility of the Armed Forces of the Republic of Indonesia (Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia, ABRI), the National Intelligence Coordination Agency (Badan Koordinasi Intelijen, BAKIN), and the attorney general’s office. Issues regarding Chinese Indonesians were dealt with by DEPDAGRI. Institutions and Networks Ministry of Home Affairs (DEPDAGRI) On December 6, 1967, DEPDAGRI was appointed as the main institution for drafting and executing laws and policies regarding Chinese Indonesians under the newly established Suharto regime.14 While DEPDAGRI swiftly advanced with its role of implementing Chinese Indonesian policies, Sindhunata and other LPKB members were gradually excluded from the policy making process during this crucial period in 1967 when Suharto was framing the legal and institutional contours of the new political order. Although Sindhunata had drawn attention with his keynote speech at the SEKOAD II seminar in August of the previous year, he was gradually pushed aside by those at the top of the administration. Despite negotiations and efforts by Sindhunata and his assistants to preserve LPKB and its role in the new administration, LPKB was dissolved on November 22, 1967. In the presidential decree ordering the dissolution, Suharto stated that, “In terms of political strategy, LPKB has finished its mission and has

13 This intra-governmental coordination was led by the “National Committee of Drafting the Policies Resolving the Cina Problem,” and headed by Brigjen (Brigadir Jenderal ) Sunarso, personal staff for the President of the Political section. 14 See Presidential Decree No. 240/1967. All the policies on masalah Cina by various institutions were coordinated by a special staff for Cina affairs, (Staf Chusus Urusan Tjina, SCUT) later succeeded by the National Coordination Body of Intelligence (Badan Koordinasi Intelijen Negara, BAKIN) and the Coordination Agency of the Cina Problem (Badan Koordinasi Masalah Cina, BKMC).

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reached its maximum goal.”15 The function and resources of LPKB were handed over to DEPDAGRI. DEPDAGRI was one of the most powerful pillars, together with the military (ABRI), of the Suharto regime for maintaining and securing domestic political stability. Stretching its bureaucracy networks across the archipelago, matters relating to the so-called SARA politics—suku (ethnic), agama (religion), ras (race), and antar golongan (class relations)— were strictly supervised by these two arms of government. It was the General Directorate of Social and Political Affairs (Direktorat Jenderal Sosial dan Politik, Dirjen SOSPOL), one of the five general divisions of DEPDAGRI, that served as the backbone of supervising SARA issues. The intelligence functions of Dirjen SOSPOL allowed it to monitor “suspected threats” to the Indonesian nation which endowed the agency with such a significant amount of power that people were terrified hearing its name alone. Within DEPDAGRI, it was the powerful Dirjen SOSPOL that orchestrated the assimilation policies towards Chinese Indonesians. Dirjen SOSPOL The name Dirjen SOSPOL was introduced in 1975 as a result of the structural reform of DEPDAGRI that same year. From that year on, Dirjen SOSPOL functioned as the axis of the Suharto regime, watching over the most crucial and sensitive SARA issues. Before 1975, various other directorates with ever-changing names managed SARA issues. Until 1970 SARA matters fell under the Biro Politik, and from 1970 to 1975, it was under the Dirjen Khusus. After a brief interlude of belonging to the Dirjen Pemerintahan Umum, in 1975 the name Dirjen SOSPOL was chosen and this lasted until 1999. From the early days of his career, the most trusted advisers of Suharto came from the military that were assigned double functions, dwi-fungsi. This meant that they were not only active as military officers but also fulfilled roles in politics and the bureaucracy. One of the practical outcomes of this dwi-fungsi doctrine was the appointment of military generals into the DEPDAGRI. The most important civilian

15 Keputusan Presiden Republik Indonesia No. 220 tahun, 1967. The efforts of Sindhunata and the reaction of Ruslan Abdulgani and other high officials are best described in Coppel (1983).

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positions that members of the military took over were that of the Minister of DEPDAGRI and the Chief of Dirjen SOSPOL. These two posts became the backbone of repressing political opposition and preventing social unrest. The Minister of DEPDAGRI had great influence in selecting the governor of each province, while the Chief of Dirjen SOSPOL had the power to orchestre surveillance activities of civilian officers throughout the archipelago. With its influence and importance, Dirjen SOSPOL was truly a powerhouse. Erman Harrirustaman, a brigadier general in the army, was the first director-general and was appointed by the Minister of DEPDAGRI, Lieutenant-General Amirmachmud.16 Amirmachmud had a reputation as “The Bulldozer” for his tough attitude towards government opposition—a toughness that was, in practice, carried out by Dirjen SOSPOL. Different from other directorate-generals, an important characteristic of Dirjen SOSPOL was that it not only had an office at DEPDAGRI but in every region, and the organization of each regional office paralleled the organization of the central DEPDAGRI office. In 1978, provincial, municipal, and county level DEPDAGRI offices established SOSPOL divisions and each of these housed KESBANG offices (Direktorat Pembinaan Kesatuan Bangsa, or the Directorate of Promoting National Unity that took charge of the masalah Cina). By 1976, central and regional offices charged with monitoring and executing the policies toward Chinese Indonesians had been established throughout the archipelago. To further complicate the chain of offices involved in Chinese Indonesian affairs, institution building did not end with this official SOSPOL network but was supplemented by the establishment of the Communication Body of Organizing National Unity, or BAKOM PKB. BAKOM PKB One of the most famous institutions that Chinese Indonesians had access to during the Suharto period may have been the BAKOM PKB. This organization is frequently referred to as the main instrument in the assimilation policy during the Suharto era. BAKOM PKB

16 Before leading the Dirjen SOSPOL, Erman Harirustaman also chaired the Dirjen Pemerintahan Umum.

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was known as the institution that brought together local Chinese Indonesian leaders who were close to or who wanted to get closer to the Suharto regime. Initially, to be a BAKOM PKB member was a rare chance to gain an official channel to each provincial governor’s office and to the central office of DEPDAGRI. BAKOM PKB started with former LPKB leaders and was chaired by Sindhunata. The establishment of BAKOM PKB took place in 1977. Prior to this initiative, the mayor of Daerah Khusus Istimewah (DKI, Special District) Jakarta, Ali Sadikin, had already instigated a similar initiative. In August 1974, Sadikin established Badan Pembina Kesatuan Bangsa (BPKB, Body of Promoting National Unity), a group whose role it was to collect information in the Kota area, the old downtown trading center in the northwestern part of Jakarta densely populated with Chinese Indonesians. Former LPKB members were appointed to open a channel and facilitate communication between Sadikin’s office and the Chinese Indonesian residents of the Kota. There was special interest in this area because of the anti-Chinese riots of 1967. Although ten years had passed since the restrictions on Chinese cultural and social practices, there were still many people in this area who kept their Chinese traditions and spoke Mandarin. Local officers who were dispatched to conduct administrative work frequently faced communication problems with residents, primarily due to language problems. In order to better deal with the Chinese Indonesian population, Sadikin, a former military general and an ambitious mayor, recruited former LPKB personnel to intervene. Subsequently, DEPDAGRI saw the value of this action and applied it at the national level as well. On July 19–23, 1977, a preliminary meeting to discuss national unity and the establishment of BAKOM PKB was convened with Minister Amirmachmud, two Chinese Indonesian representatives and one regional officer from each of the twenty-six provinces,17 along with General Sudomo (Komando Pemulihan Keamanan dan Ketertibaan, Chief of KOPKAMTIB), Major-General Sunarso (Badan Koordinasi Masalah Cina, Chief of BKMC), and important staff from other major government branches. According to the proposals from this preliminary meeting, on August 25, 1977, Amirmachmud ordered all governors to establish institutions similar to the BAKOM PKB.

17

The twenty-six provinces at that time did not include East Timor.

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Created at the behest of DEPDAGRI, KOPKAMTIB, BKMC, and all the provincial offices on October 28, 1977, BAKOM PKB at first only consisted of its core members, among them quite a few assimilationists who had been ousted from LPKB in 1969.18 Two months later, in December 1977, BAKOM PKB was officially acknowledged by the DEPDAGRI, which meant that DEPDAGRI officials would become members of the organization.19 BAKOM PKB’s status was that of a semi-governmental organization assisting the activities of the Minister of DEPDAGRI as well as the governors and Dirjen SOSPOL of each province. “Semi-governmental” meant that the appointed members were not official civil servants, but that the budget was supported by DEPDAGRI or by the provincial government offices. BAKOM PKB’s mission was to expedite and achieve the “unification of the people” through “assimilation.” BAKOM PKB basically had two interrelated functions: to create access for the government to the Chinese Indonesian community and vice versa.20 As an assisting organization of DEPDAGRI, BAKOM PKB had to coordinate the implementation of policies and laws. By appointing Chinese Indonesian leaders from local communities to BAKOM PKB, DEPDAGRI established a wide-reaching network in major Chinese Indonesian communities. BAKOM PKB also had to be a consultative body for the Chinese Indonesian community—a channel through which Chinese Indonesians could address their needs and seek solutions for problems that might occur, such as investigating local rioting against and looting of Chinese Indonesian retail shops. Whether it was from the Chinese Indonesian side or from the pribumi side, all information related to causes of social disorder had to be reported to DEPDAGRI. Chaired by Sindhunata, BAKOM PKB was a combination of former LPKB members and the increasingly powerful Dirjen SOSPOL.21 18 Departemen Dalam Negeri Republik Indonesia (1977a). Kawat Menteri Dalam Negeri 600/ KWT/SOSPOL/D2/VIII/1977. 19 The General Director of SOSPOL, Erman Harirustaman, and the Director of Promoting National Unity, Suwarno, were also appointed as members of BAKOM PKB. 20 August 26, 1978. Piagam Berdirinya Badan Komunikasi Penghayatan Kesatuan Bangsa (Charter on the establishing of the Communication Body of Organizing National Unity). 21 On the establishment of BAKOM PKB, see Departmen Dalam Negeri Republik Indonesia. 1978. Peresmian Badan Komunikasi Penghayatan Kesatuan Bangsa (BAKOM PKB) Tingkat Nasional oleh Menteri Dalam Negeri, tgl. 31 Desember 1977. Jakarta: Departemen Dalam Negeri Republik Indonesia.

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It was within this context that the Suharto regime gained its power and it was during the Third Development Cabinet that the relevant institutions were prepared that would implement the new policies for Chinese Indonesians.22 Assimilation Policies and Programs After establishing a large network of institutions, such as Dirjen SOSPOL and Direktorat KESBANG, policies aimed at integrating Chinese Indonesians into the general Indonesian population were ready to be enacted. In 1980, Dirjen SOSPOL conducted a program (“Improvement Program”) directing Chinese Indonesian community leaders to survey and report the assimilation situation and any other masalah Cina in the sixteen provinces recognized as having a large Chinese Indonesian population.23 The aim of this survey was to establish a system to record all kinds of local community problems. The second step was to train local leaders on how to report to the local Dirjen SOSPOL office.24 Other activities included the training of officers and to check the ratio of non-pribumi to pribumi in each local district. Areas with more than twenty percent non-pribumi were designated sites for the implementation of the assimilation program. The neighborhood heads of these designated districts joined an intensive training with Dirjen SOSPOL on how to define and report how well Chinese Indonesians had already assimilated in their neighborhoods, and how

22 The Third Development Cabinet (Kabinet Pembangunan III) under the Suharto Presidency lasted from 1978 to 1982. Each cabinet had a term of five years. 23 The “Neighborhood Improvement Program in the Assimilation process” (Program Peningkatan Peranan RT/RW Dalam Proses Pembauran) was conducted under the initiative of the Dirjen SOSPOL. The sixteen designated provinces were: North Sumatra, West Sumatra, Riau, South Sumatra, DKI Jakarta, West Java, Central Java, DI Jogjagkarta, East Java, West Kalimantan, South Kalimantan, East Kalimantan, North Sulawesi, South Sulawesi, Bali, West Nusatengara. 24 According to the preliminary survey conducted by DEPDAGRI, these provinces retained districts where the ratio of Chinese population was more than forty percent, and thus were recognized as sites to conduct the assimilation program. (Cf. Laporan Hasil Pengamatan Lokasi RT/RW Percontohan Dalam Rangka Pelaksanaan Program Peningkatan Peranan RT/RW dalam Proses Pembauran. In the circulation letter of the Minister of DEPDAGRI on SOSPOL No. 148/7622 (1980)).

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to collect information on any related local conflicts or complaints.25 These heads at the lowest level of authority became responsible for collecting information on the lives of Chinese Indonesians and had to produce statistics. In addition, they were instructed on how to submit regular reports on the pri/non-pri relationship in their respective districts. Thus the major goal of this program was the creation of a national reporting network, to produce information and statistics on Chinese Indonesian lifestyles, and to see whether the pri/non-pri relationship in a certain area might become a political issue or not. The assimilation policies at the neighborhood level were not the only effort to reach all the way to the neighborhood level. The policies were also implemented via mass media. TV shows, such as popular dramas and love stories, were broadcasted emphasizing ethnic harmony. This was an important strategy in DEPDAGRI’s policy to depoliticize the issue of ethnicity.26 Shows with “happy-ethnic-endings” were not only broadcasted on television but also shown in movie theaters and at schools. This proves the cooperation between DEPDAGRI and the Department of Education and Culture and the Department of Labor. Each department had a role in implementing the assimilation policy supported by the neighborhood-level activities referred to above. By coordinating these three spheres—society, school/office, and neighborhood—the Suharto regime tried to make the assimilation policy more effective. Effectiveness and Limitations of the Assimilation Programs It can thus be argued that from the late 1970s onwards a powerful and massive “assimilation” system was established and coordinated under Dirjen SOSPOL and DEPDAGRI. However, it did not produce

25 Departmen Dalam Negeri Republik Indonesia. 1980. Laporan Hasil Pengamatan Lokasi RT/RW Percontohan Dalam Rangka Pelaksanaan Program Peningkatan Peranan RT/RW dalam Proses Pembauran. SOSPOL 148/7622. 26 In 1983, a new TV show was broadcasted on national television by TVRI under the banner: “people of different ethnicities living in good harmony”. One show revolved around a love story between a Javanese and Chinese Indonesian who initially broke up because of their different ethnicities. However, with the help and understanding of their communities, they gradually and successfully resolve their problems and live happily ever after. The message obviously being, no matter the ethnic differences, people in Indonesia can live in harmony.

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the expected results. There are two reasons why assimilation neither worked nor caught on. The first reason relates to a structural problem. The most important mission of DEPDAGRI was to retain the political and social order. To do this, the Ministry had the task to “successfully” carry out general elections every five years—meaning that DEPDAGRI served the President so that he would be assured of re-election. Whatever their other activities were, DEPDAGRI’s ultimate goal was to manage and coordinate the political and social environment in such a way that the general election would end the “right” way. As a result, the assimilation activities of DEPDAGRI could not really veer from DEPDAGRI’s core business: maintaining political and social stability for the sake of a “successful” election. Assimilation policies should therefore be understood within this context of preventing the Chinese Indonesian issue to become a destabilizing factor of the political and social order. As a result, former members of the LPKB—like Sindhunata and those Chinese Indonesian activists who were close to the Suharto regime— were also confronted with the difference between what they meant and what DEPDAGRI meant by “assimilation.” For Sindhunata and other LPKB members who aimed to enhance the living situation of Chinese Indonesians, assimilation meant guaranteeing safe political access and preventing social conflicts that would harm Chinese Indonesians. However, for Dirjen SOSPOL and DEPDAGRI, assimilation was intended to prevent possible sources of political opposition and, thus, pave the way for the president’s re-election. Ultimately, DEPDAGRI’s political structure set the boundaries for the assimilation policy. The second reason the assimilation policy was ineffective and limited relates to the coordination problem that occurred on December 10, 1977. In November 1977, Minister Amirmachmud authorized the establishment of BAKOM PKB. At the same time he also, confidentially, released the administrative guidelines for establishing the population census. These guidelines were sent to government institutions and the President.27 The guidelines were significant—Amirmachmud instructed that, in order to distinguish Indonesians of foreign descent, mainly Chinese, a particular code would be put on their national identity cards. This would make it possible for anyone to identify whether

27 Departmen Dalam Negeri Repubik Indonesia 1977a. Kawat Menteri Dalam Negeri 600/ KWT/SOSPOL/D2/VIII/1977.

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a person was of foreign decent. It was stipulated that when recording those of foreign descent, the code and the issue date of their Citizenship Letter (Surat Bukti Kewarganegaraan Republik Indonesia, SBKRI) had to be noted.28 The SBKRI was a document required for any administrative need, such as getting a passport or marriage certificate and registering the birth of a child. Ultimately, to instruct the census to distinguish between those of foreign descent and those of Indonesian origin was completely opposed to the original principle of assimilation. This instruction generated strong opposition from BAKOM PKB members and other Chinese Indonesian assimilation groups who had been working with the government. The BAKOM PKB members were not even officially informed about this new instruction. They discovered it by accident while doing a survey in West Kalimantan and learned that the district chief had received instructions that ethnicity should be specially mentioned. For those who wanted to promote assimilation, like BAKOM PKB, the policy was corrupted from its very beginning.29 Part of the confusion is to be found in the fact that this instruction was drafted by the Dirjen Pemerintahan Umum dan Otonomi Daerah (Directorate General Affairs and Regional Autonomy, Dirjen PUOD) and not by Dirjen SOSPOL. Dirjen PUOD was responsible for producing the voter registration list for the up-coming 1981 election. This project had started in 1977 and, according to its schedule and purpose, attempted to weed out possible sources of political threat or opposition. By placing not only those of Chinese descent but also former political prisoners (Golongan C) in the same category to be noted with a special code, Dirjen PUOD assured the Minister that they would be better equipped to control any political opposition toward the regime. Concluding Remarks On August 16, 1967, in his first national speech as acting President, Suharto stated that solving the masalah Cina was an important issue to tackle and needed priority.

28 29

Ibid. Interview, Harry Tjan Silalahi, May 11, 2005.

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nobuhiro aizawa In order to restore order, we would like to announce the outline of the policies to solve the masalah Cina. What I would like to express here to all people is not to get involved in any kind of ethnic discriminatory acts. A sharp line must be drawn between foreign Chinese and Chinese Indonesians. Chinese Indonesians do have equal rights and responsibilities no matter where their ancestors came from . . . We would like to request that Indonesians of Chinese descent achieve integration and assimilation in society without delay. . . . In this way, physically and mentally, there will be no barriers between us. Herewith, there will be no difference between Indonesians of foreign descent and pribumi. On the other hand, Chinese of foreign citizenship will be treated as foreigners and we will stay mindful of the fact that those foreign Chinese may encourage dangerous activities such as subversion.30

Although Suharto paid a lot of attention to the masalah Cina while building his new regime, it is important to note that he did not follow a specific assimilation principle. Whereas the debate between the assimilationists and the integrationists, in which Chinese Indonesian intellectuals were entangled, seemed to have been won by the assimilationists after the dissolution of BAPERKI, their voices were gradually marginalized soon after their “victory.” The difference between assimilation and integration had been an important dispute within the Chinese Indonesian community, but was neither important nor vital for government policy makers. As long as the concepts of integration and assimilation made Chinese Indonesians feel connected and loyal to the Indonesian state, the actual substance of either belief held no importance for Suharto in building his political regime. Initially, Suharto’s most important objective was to ban all elements that might become a source of strong political opposition and turmoil. Therefore, Chinese Indonesians, along with Communists and Muslims, were closely surveyed by the powerful DEPDAGRI as part of the so-called SARA politics. Perhaps the second most important mission for Suharto was to make a distinction between Chinese Indonesians and the Chinese from overseas in order to prevent them from acting as a fifth column of Beijing that could intervene in Indonesian politics. The idea was to identify a clear “nationality” concept and to include as many foreign Chinese and Chinese Indonesians as possible. As long as the Chinese Indonesians were Indonesian citizens, the central

30 Cited from the President’s remarks on Independence Day before the DPR, August 16, 1967. Translated by the author, emphasis added.

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government considered whether they were assimilationists or integrationists a minor issue. This is why, for example, in his speech, Suharto referred to the Chinese Indonesian policy as “integration and assimilation”—as far as Suharto and his government were concerned, it was not “either/ or” but “and” that connected the two ideas. In fact, he discarded the distinction made in the early 1960s between assimilation and integration. The attitude of the state towards Chinese Indonesians was set by DEPDAGRI and its Dirjen SOSPOL at the height of their power in the late 1970s and 1980s. Even though their power was significant, they did not achieve what Sindhunata and other former LPKB members had expected, which was to improve the political and social position of Chinese Indonesians through assimilation. Dirjen SOSPOL and DEPDAGRI were not interested in the debate between assimilationists and integrationists, for them the major issue was the depoliticization of Chinese Indonesians and securing transparency of the Chinese Indonesian community. As mentioned, DEPDAGRI’s ultimate goal was to help the President get re-elected. Therefore, dismantling sources of political opposition was high on the agenda. Scrutinizing Chinese Indonesian as well as anti-Chinese Indonesian groups became part of their operation. In 1973–74, major anti-Chinese Indonesian riots occurred in Bandung and Jakarta. This alarmed DEPDAGRI and motivated them to take further action and investigate areas with a high percentage of Chinese and Chinese Indonesians. It was in this climate that BAKOM PKB was established in 1977. To secure transparency of what took place in the Chinese Indonesian community, contacts were established via BAKOM PKB. DEPDAGRI could also use the census data that identified Chinese Indonesians in order to collect information on Chinese Indonesian communities. Even though these actions received severe opposition from the Chinese Indonesian community, DEPDAGRI never changed its policy during the Suharto era. From the point of view of DEPDAGRI, without BAKOM PKB and other similar groups, and new ways to identify ethnicity, the Chinese Indonesian community would have been able stay a “secret society.” Whether it was a restriction on Chinese language, the establishment of BAKOM PKB, or the registration of a Chinese code on identity cards, the ultimate goal was to open up this perceived “secret society.” Hence, if studied from that perspective, the regulations by

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DEPDAGRI all seem quite understandable. A series of regulations, which were seemingly contradictory to the assimilation-integration framework, were not contradictory at all. What DEPDAGRI was doing in the late 1970s and early 1980s was, thus, conducting policies of de-politicization and securing transparency. This is why there was only limited assimilation during the Suharto regime. No matter how powerful DEPDAGRI really was, its will to thoroughly execute assimilation was subordinated to Suharto’s priority of extending his own presidency. The difference between the assimilation policy Sindhunata had in mind and the policy Dirjen SOSPOL would promote has been noted. This difference was the dilemma that Sindhunata faced as leader of the assimilationists. For him, assimilation was an agenda that would advance the presence of Chinese Indonesians in Indonesia’s political sphere. However, assimilation for DEPDAGRI was a policy to depoliticize the Chinese Indonesian population. One of the reasons why the issue of assimilation is repeatedly brought up but never solved must therefore be found in the difference between the opinion of state policy makers and that of the Chinese Indonesian intellectual community. Bibliography Aizawa, Nobuhiro. 2006. Defining Masalah Cina in Suharto’s Indonesia. PhD diss., Kyoto University. Coppel, Charles. 1983. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Jusuf, Esther, and Ferdi R. Srivanto. 2001. Rasisme: Dokumentasi Dokumen-dokumen Internasional Tentang Rasisme. Jakarta: Yayasan Solidaritas Nusa Bangsa. Purdey, Jemma. 2003. Political Change Reopening the Asimilasi vs Integrasi Debate: Ethnic Chinese Identity in Post-Suharto Indonesia. Asian Ethnicity 4 (3): 421–37. Sadayoshi, Yasushi 1995. Peranakan kajin no dokaronsou (1960nen)-indonesia sikou no yukue (The assimilation debate among the Peranakan Chinese—the fate of “pro-Indonesian”). Nanpo Bunka 20, 3–38. Setiono, Benny G. 2002. Tionghoa dalam Pusaran Politik. Jakarta: Elkasa. ——. 2005. Kegagalan Doktrin Asimilasi Indonesia Media Online: http://www.indonesiamedia.com/2005/10/early/sejarah/kegagalan%20doktrinasi%20asimilasi.htm. Somers, Mary F. 1964. Peranakan Chinese Politics in Indonesia. PhD diss. Cornell University. Sukisman, W.D. 1975. Masalah Cina di Indonesia. Jakarta: Yayasan Penelitian Masalah Asia. Suryadinata, Leo. 1981. Eminent Indonesian Chinese: Biographical Sketches. Jakarta: Gunung Agung. Suryomenggolo, Jafar. 2003. Hukum sebagai alat Kekuasaan: Politik Asimilasi Orde Baru. Yogyakarta: Galang Press. Yayasan Tunas Bangsa. 1962. Lahirnya Konsepsi Asimilasi. Jakarta: Yayasan Tunas Bangsa.

CHAPTER FOUR

DIVERSITY IN COMPLIANCE: YOGYAKARTA CHINESE AND THE NEW ORDER ASSIMILATION POLICY Andreas Susanto Introduction As described in more detail in the previous chapter by Aizawa, between 1967 and 1997 the New Order government demanded total assimilation of the Chinese in Indonesia and insisted that the process of pembauran, assimilation, be accelerated. The government considered culture to be the main obstacle in this process. The handbook on the resolution of the “Chinese problem” in Indonesia states: “Guidance to assimilate in the realization of unity of the nation should be geared towards the establishment of unity in the value system, and therefore all forms of cultural affinity based on the country of origin should be removed.”1 Besides the predominant role of the Chinese in the country’s economy, their real or perceived social exclusivity had also constantly been a target of popular criticism. Chinese willingness to merge into the mainstream Indonesian society was persistently questioned.2 The logic of the assimilation policy required the Chinese to relinquish their Chineseness and to be absorbed without trace into indigenous society. Chineseness became, more or less, a forbidden cultural identity. The official policy of assimilation pressured the Chinese minority to erase as many traces of Chineseness as possible, e.g. by assuming Indonesian names or abandoning Chinese customs. This assimilation had to be realized through government-sponsored social engineering in the form of legislation that required the Chinese to abandon their culture and exclusiveness. In 1977, the government established the Communication Bureau for the Appreciation of National Unity, 1 Badan Koordinasi Inteligensi Nasional (Bakin, Coordinating Body for National Intelligence), 1979. 2 See Jahja (1983, 1991). His books contain a collection of the indigenous perceptions toward the Chinese in Indonesia.

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which acted as the coordinating body to promote and accelerate the process of assimilation.3 The formal manifestation of the government’s intent to assimilate the Chinese into the mainstream society took shape in various policies that were meant to suppress Chinese identity. While there were no clear sanctions for those who ignored them, the regulations had, in general, discouraging effects. It is believed that the general response to such changes has been compliance, albeit with covert reluctance, although there have been occasional attempts to ignore or maneuver around the regulations. What is much less known is how precisely the pressure to assimilate was dealt with and whether the “compliance” was “uniform.” Assimilation, as the conventional description of the management of the Chinese in Indonesia, does not capture the dynamics of the accommodation processes and the cultural reformation occurring within the various sectors of the Chinese community. The dominance of the assimilation discourse has created a rather narrow perspective and obscures the various ways people deal with their social environment. Whereas Aizawa in the previous chapter explores assimilation policies by zooming in on the ignored dimension of the relationship between the state and the Chinese Indonesian community, this chapter investigates the many different reactions to assimilation from Chinese Indonesians in their daily lives. Therefore, rather than speaking in a uniform manner about all Chinese and assuming that all Chinese respond to their socio-political situation in an identical manner, we must develop a more culturally and sociologically realistic understanding of Chinese life in Indonesian society that proceeds on the assumption that culture is not “the undivided property of the whole society” (Bourdieu, 1977, 73), but is instead subject to contestation and divergent interpretations. In order to do justice to possible divergent interpretations and to contest the idea that the Chinese all reacted in similar ways, this chapter addresses the responses to assimilation from within one particular community, the Yogyakarta Chinese. The chapter attempts to assess how the Yogyakarta Chinese have responded to the pressures to assimilate during the New Order. It intends to show that the regime

3 Badan Komunikasi Penghayatan Kesatuan Bangsa, Bakom-PKB, was set up in every province; see the previous chapter by Aizawa in this volume for more details.

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change, which set into motion a policy aimed at repudiating Chineseness created quite different reactions. As such, it does justice to the role of agency during regime changes and aims to shed a new light on the manners in which Chinese Indonesians have been active agents in processes of assimilation. In the paragraphs to come I will set the scene by addressing the fieldwork methods, and the assimilation regulations and ethnic Chinese stereotypes. Next I will outline, based on my research, four different assimilation groups within the Chinese community. How these groups have responded to assimilation will be clarified with examples from their residential strategies, religious choices, and membership of Chinese organizations. Methods and Fieldwork This chapter is based on my PhD research in Yogyakarta that began with intensive fieldwork in late 1997 and continued through late 1999 (see Susanto 2008). Since then, I have been involved in activities organized by Chinese associations and have been able to continue to monitor the development of the Chinese community in Yogyakarta. I met with many Chinese in the community, including peranakan Chinese as well as totok Chinese, prominent and ordinary, rich and poor, business people, professionals, as well as with many indigenous Indonesians. I attempted to cover the variation in socio-economic status, cultural and political orientation, age, gender, religion, education, and occupation amongst the Yogyakarta Chinese. My informants and respondents were aged primarily between thirty to sixty; the majority were males of the second and third generations of Chinese migrants, middle and lower class, high school graduates, and mostly Christian. Many of my informants in the business community were former students of Chinese schools. Most of them lived in the heart of the city. I interviewed approximately thirty informants intensively and many others less intensively. They were community and business leaders, board members of Chinese associations, shopkeepers, employees, and young activists. The indigenous Indonesian I interviewed included members of parliaments, members of boards of Indonesian chambers of commerce, lecturers, students, and journalists. I decided to begin my research in areas known to be old Chinese settlements, among the peranakan Chinese elite these areas are known

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as the “Chinese slums.” Of particular interest is the close relationship between Chinese and Javanese residents, and the high rate of intermarriage between them. I usually introduced myself as a lecturer at Atma Jaya Yogyakarta University and explained that I wanted to study the daily life and history of the Chinese community in Yogyakarta. I did not tape the conversations, but occasionally took notes. The interviews were, for the most part, open and unstructured conversations, rather than structured interviews. Although I attempted to follow a list of questions, the conversations broadened naturally. This sometimes created difficulties in subsequent summarizing, especially if the conversation had been long and note-taking inconvenient. I relied on my memory and kept detailed field notes. Sometimes a brief encounter in the streets provided me with important information or broadened my insights. I met most of my informants more than once, particularly those who showed a willingness to share information and insights. Most of them were more open in telling their stories in the second and subsequent meetings. During the initial nine months of my research, I visited my respondents almost everyday, usually in the morning between 9 a.m. and 1 p.m., and in the evening. I attended meetings and arisan gatherings regularly, both in the kampung and within the families. Usually, I went with Marsel, twenty-seven years old, a son of a Hokchia totok and a Javanese mother, who had grown up there and knew many members of the local community, both young and old people. I also met with friends and family members of my informants and, occasionally made acquaintances in shops or other public places. I made observations in homes, as well as in public places, including the marketplace, temples, churches, government offices, restaurants, places of entertainment, etc. In this way, I was able to observe interactions between many different people in a variety of situations. I found funeral parlors to be very interesting and important, since I could meet and observe many Chinese in an exclusively “Chinese” social and cultural situation. The sense of community was strong there, as it was in some social and sport events. Setting the Scene: Regulations and Stereotypes In his speech to the General Session of Parliament on August 16, 1967, acting President Suharto appealed to Indonesian citizens of

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foreign descent to no longer delay their assimilation into the indigenous community (Coppel, 2002, 22). The New Order government was determined to accelerate the assimilation process through regulations.4 These regulations were meant to eradicate the main obstacles to the process: ethnic exclusivity and cultural affinity to the country of origin.5 The first step in accelerating the assimilation process was the regulation issued in 1966 that promoted the replacement of Chinese names with indigenous names. There was an existing law (UU No.4 of 1961) that called for a changing of names; however neither of these regulations was actively enforced. The Suharto government simplified the procedure to encourage the Chinese to adopt names that followed the local customs. In order to foster complete and homogenous unity of the Indonesian nation, in June 1967, the government formulated a regulation on Chinese religion, beliefs, and customs, which took form in Presidential Instruction No.14 of 1967. According to this law, the manifestation of Chinese religion, beliefs, and customs could lead to inappropriate psychological, mental, and moral influences on Indonesian citizens and hinder the assimilation process. It therefore required regulation. First, the practice of Chinese religions should be observed only personally or privately within the family. Second, Chinese religious festivals and traditional ceremonies could be celebrated only in places of worship that had been designated for that purpose. In other words, these activities could not be held in public forums.6 With the emergence of the New Order, Chinese organizations have been either banned or discouraged. The Chinese could only join organizations that were generally Indonesian in nature (Suryadinata, 1978). All Chinese language newspapers were closed, except for the

4 On December 9, 1967, the government established the Staf Chusus Urusan Tjina (SCUT, Special Staff for Chinese Affairs), whose purpose was to assist the government to formulate policies regarding the Chinese, and to supervise the implementation of these policies. See Coppel (1983, 131). 5 The most extensive published compilation can be found in the three volumes, Pedoman Penyelesaian Masalah Cina di Indonesia (Guide to the Solution of the Chinese Problem in Indonesia), published by the Coordinating Body for National Intelligence (Bakin, 1979). 6 See Joint Decision of the Minister for Religion, Minister for Internal Affairs, and the Attorney General of the Republic of Indonesia, No. 67, 111, and 224 of 1980, translated in Coppel (2002), Appendix I.

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government-controlled Harian Indonesia.7 The use of Chinese language and script in public was discouraged. The government Censor Board required the Chinese language spoken in Mandarin movies to be dubbed into Indonesian (Suryadinata, 1978). Although Chinese language schools were prohibited in July 1966, the government allowed for the establishment of schools sponsored by private groups within Chinese communities. The schools called Sekolah Nasional Projek Chusus (SNPC, Special Project National Schools) followed the national curriculum, but Chinese language was added as an extracurricular subject.8 In Yogyakarta, there was only one SNPC, Sekolah Bhinneka. In 1975, all SPNC schools in Indonesia were closed because some of these schools allegedly used Chinese as the language of instruction. This abolishment marked the complete curtailment of Chinese cultural influence through formal religious, social, media, and educational institutions. Following Tan (1991), a review of the implementation of the regulations indicates that the restrictions were enforced most consistently on the use of Chinese script in public places, the sale of Chinese language publications, and the existence of Chinese language schools. The implementation of the regulations was not always definitive and consistent, and often depended on the attitude of the local authorities towards the Chinese. Pervading discussions on assimilation are various ethnic stereotypes. Warnaen’s study (2002) on the perception of ethnic stereotypes prevailing in Indonesia revealed that Chinese are labeled as “stingy” and “crafty.” They are said to be deeply integrated into their families and distrustful of outsiders. These stereotypes are commonly expressed in daily conversations amongst indigenous Yogyanese and give rise to popular grievances and accusations of exclusiveness and asocial attitudes of the Chinese. These perceptions leave the Chinese feeling uneasy. It is noted, for example, that Chinese prefer to live on streets or in housing estates where the majority of the residents are Chinese, rather than in the kampungs inhabited primarily by indigenous Indonesians, or that they rarely participate in social gatherings and communal work that are organized by the kampung residents. It is common to hear

See Instruction of the Cabinet Presidium No. 49 of 1967. For a detailed account of Chinese language schools in Indonesia, see Suryadinata (1978). 7 8

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complaints about Chinese who seldom attend kampung meetings and, instead of participating in the communal neighborhood guard duty at night (ronda or siskamling), prefer to pay someone else to do it. Another characteristic that has become the subject of criticism is their strong sense of community that leads to the formation of exclusive informal groups and social associations of which the membership are predominantly Chinese. The fact that the majority of Chinese children attend private schools that have many Chinese students is seen as one example of this presumed exclusivity. There is also a perception amongst indigenous Indonesians that the Chinese consider themselves to be socially superior to others and, consequently, prefer to restrict social interaction with them. Many Javanese thought that Chinese place too much emphasis on wealth and were not sincere in nurturing friendships. Even when they were kind to others, they always expected something in return. Three Javanese women, Mur, Ti, and Eni, spoke to me about their friendships with Chinese girls at a prestigious Catholic school for girls. Their Chinese friends were generous and always treated them at the school cafeteria, but then they asked for small favors. While Chinese might interpret this interaction as reciprocity, it is perceived by the Javanese adversely as it counters the Javanese ethics of spurning pamrih, that, ideally, one’s actions should be free and not be motivated by selfinterest.9 Few Chinese would concede that there are grounds for these grievances. Many would say that these traits may be true of some Chinese, but they are not the general rule. It is difficult to determine to what extent indigenous Indonesians hold these perceptions and grievances, which may be far from a true description of the Chinese as a group.10 However, the frequencies with which these images and complaints appear, and the arguments among the Chinese themselves about how to counteract them, suggest that they are far from unimportant. An ethnic stereotype may produce an ethnic prejudice, an erroneous concept of a particular ethnic group that tends to generalize characteristic views, e.g., “all Chinese.” In many indigenous Indonesian minds, the Chinese are shop-owners, well-to-do professionals, or

9 Pamrih is explored in Anderson’s “The Idea of Power in Javanese Culture” (1972). 10 See Warnaen (2002) and Jaspar (1982).

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big business tycoons. However, in reality, the Chinese community is highly diverse, and its members respond differently to these indigenous prejudices and grievances. Categories of Assimilationists in Yogyakarta According to Wang Gungwu (1991, 198), the Chinese have never had a concept of identity, only a concept of “Chineseness,” i.e., of being Chinese and of becoming un-Chinese. This implies that one could be “more Chinese” or “less Chinese,” but this does not lead to a concept of identity.11 It can be said that this is an opinion the Chinese and indigenous Indonesians share. It is the Chineseness that became the target of eradication in the assimilation measures, so that the Chinese in Indonesia would cease to be Chinese. The Chinese in Yogyakarta come from various socio-economic backgrounds and they live mainly in the city proper. The majority engages in small and medium businesses, both as employees and employers. However, many Yogyakarta Chinese have also become professionals, such as lecturers, doctors, lawyers, accountants, architects, and beauticians. Their sub-ethnic groups include Hokkien, Hakka, Cantonese, Hokchia, and Teochiu. Many Chinese are Christians, but there are Buddhists and Muslims as well. Although the distinction has been blurred, the peranakan and totok categories still prevail.12 Their responses to the attempts to erase their Chineseness can be distinguished into four categories. The first group can be referred to as the natural assimilationists. These Chinese do not perceive assimilation to be a problem. On the contrary, they believe that it is natural for Chinese to gradually merge into the local indigenous society. However, unlike the assimilationist 11 In their study of the Chinese and Chineseness, cultural studies theorists have criticized the hegemonic formation in discussions of the Chinese. They point out that the search by overseas Chinese for an authentic Chinese meaning is inherently flawed and futile. They argue that the notion of Chinese and Chineseness are contingent, often multiple and evolving (Wong 2003). See also Ang Ien (1994). 12 Peranakan Chinese are considered to be more acculturated and less affiliated with Chinese culture. Totok are regarded to be pure Chinese because they are not descendants of inter-marriages between Chinese and indigenous Indonesians, as many peranakans are. Totok Chinese are considered to retain a strong affiliation with Chinese culture.

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group in the 1960s that was driven by political consciousness, these natural assimilationists are not products of political postures. They do not bother to offer excuses; they just assimilate silently.13 Most Chinese who belong to this group are middle class. They are engaged in the non-business sectors, primarily in socio-cultural occupations, such as journalists, artists, and painters. Among the prominent figures of this group are the well-known painter, Sidik Martowidjoyo, and the famous dancer-comedian, Didik Ninik Thowok. They are usually descendants of mixed-ethnic marriages, but they are somewhat different from peranakan Chinese who have developed a distinct culture of their own. Their way of life and attitudes are more akin to the local Javanese. Their characteristics have been disassociated from the negative stereotypes of the Chinese, such as being clannish, economically motivated and socially exclusive. It is not surprising that many of them have virtually disappeared into the local indigenous society. In Javanese, these assimilated Chinese are known as kasno, which is abbreviated from bekas Cino, former Chinese. It should be noted, however, that the situation is not always static. Some young natural assimilationists I met, who are no longer recognizable as Chinese, say that their feelings of “being Chinese” sometimes fluctuate. Although they know that they are only half Chinese, they still feel an affinity to the Chinese community in particular situations. When the sky in Jakarta, Solo and Kebumen turned red because of fires, and Chinese people were looted and killed, they too felt the pain. They were upset when indigenous Indonesians repeatedly blamed the Chinese as the cause of Indonesia’s financial crisis. In the taxi, on the way to her home, Susi listened while the driver vilified the Chinese as the evil ones who devastated the indigenous economy by conducting deceitful business. He did not realize that Susi was part Chinese, because she resembles her mother, a Javanese woman. The taxi driver did not suspect anything when Susi tried to explain that the Chinese were not the only ones hoarding food supplies, but that there are also wealthy Javanese merchants doing the same thing. Nevertheless, the driver ignored her comment. She was very offended.

13 Hardjono (1970, 44) called this group “the silent majority,” those who silently integrate into the indigenous community.

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Another story from Yayuk also suggests the possibility of identity change. She was raised in a mixed-ethnic family who lived in an indigenous kampung. Most of her friends in the kampung and at school were Javanese. She saw herself as a Javanese, even though her father was totok Chinese. This changed, however, when she started to work in a Chinese company where most of her colleagues were Chinese. This Chinese environment gradually influenced her sense of identity, and today she feels that she has become “more Chinese” than Javanese in her way of thinking, although less so in her attitude. She told me her Chinese friends in the company also shared her feelings. Nevertheless, Yayuk kept her father’s principle that they belonged to the local community, and eventually, like all her sisters, she married a Javanese man, a friend from secondary school. Members of this group rarely experienced racial discrimination, largely because they resembled indigenous Indonesians, rather than Chinese. Interesting stories surface from this issue of physical appearance. Bimbim, who does not appear to be Chinese, went to a government office to request a form that was required for Chinese who plan to get married. The official did not believe that Bimbim was Chinese and accused him of deception. Fortunately, a senior official who happened to know Bimbim’s father well was able to moderate the dispute. He told Bimbim not to fill out the form because he was accepted as indigenous, not Chinese. The second group is made up of opportunistic assimilationists. Many of them are uneasy with their Chinese label because it may lead to difficulties. To some extent, being Chinese in Indonesia may be risky, as Chinese have been convenient targets of harassment, exploitation, abuse, and violence. Therefore, to avoid any problems arising from their ethnicity, some Chinese attempt to disguise or camouflage it in various ways. They adopt Indonesian names, wear batik attire at formal occasions, and show interest in the assimilation program and indigenous culture, not because they are genuinely enthusiastic about it, but merely as a cover. At the extreme end, a number of them publicly reject their Chineseness. Some members of this group have converted to Islam. By doing this, they claim that they are already “indigenous” and hope that will no longer be associated with the unfavorable stereotypes of the Chinese. In Javanese, this second group is called kirno, which stands for mungkir (deny), Cino (Chinese); an acronym used to criticize Chinese who deny being Chinese. Most Chinese of this group belong

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to the middle-class business community. The motivation behind their assimilation is to escape from a difficult situation or discrimination encountered in their businesses. The opportunistic assimilationists assume that discrimination is not aimed at the Chinese as a whole, but rather, at those Chinese who refuse to assimilate to dominant norms. Members of this group, as well as others, have been creative in adopting Indonesian-sounding names. They usually adopt the names that correspond to their Chinese surname phonetically or in meaning. For example, the surname Lim may be transformed into Limanto or Salim, and the name Oei may change into Wijaya, both names meaning “victorious.” Often, conversions to Islam are superficial and they become nominal Muslims, or “Islam KTP” (identity-card Islam). The indication on the identity card (kartu tanda penduduk, KTP) of Islam as their religion may help to deflect any discriminatory treatment. They often flaunt charity activities by exposing them to media coverage. In these ways, this group’s assimilation appears to be superficial. In actuality, members of this category have not abandoned Chinese culture or distanced themselves from the Chinese community. They still celebrate Chinese New Year and perform traditional Chinese marriage and funeral ceremonies. Most of them also belong to a Chinese funeral society or other predominantly Chinese clubs. Their denial of being Chinese is purely for the purpose of promoting a favorable image in the indigenous community. The third group can be referred to as the symbolic assimilationists. For them, being a good Indonesian citizen does not necessarily mean ceasing to be Chinese. According to this group, assimilation is not an escape from discrimination, but rather, its effect. They claim that the process of assimilation is not a natural one, but is forced upon them by the New Order government; therefore, their responses are not natural either. In facing the pressures of assimilation, their general response has been one of compliance. They accommodate to the pressures at the least possible cost. Although they acknowledge interethnic marriage and religious conversion, this group opposes the use of these social processes for the purposes of assimilation. For the symbolic assimilationists, it is the attributes of culture that matter in the government-imposed assimilation, not the essence. Their accommodation is, basically, artificial, behaviorial adjustments without changing their basic way of life. According to this group, whose members are primarily upper middle-class business people and professionals, the demand for total

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assimilation is an absurd notion. As one of them asked, “How can a duck become a chicken?” They do not believe the Javanese way of life would conform well to their way of living, of which they are proud.14 Often, there is an implicit pride of being Chinese resonating in their remarks.15 For instance, they remark on how the Chinese always work industriously, building to their successes, how they initiate development programs in their kampungs, and how Chinese never give up striving for a better life.16 However, they tend to be indifferent in response to indigenous criticism of the apparent Chinese fervor in making money. Pak Andi, an outspoken Yogyakarta Chinese whose grandmother is Javanese, said, “We cannot be like them and live on a day-to-day basis, never thinking in a long-term perspective. They can do that, perhaps, because they take this land for granted and they can rely on their fellow countrymen. But we have to struggle to survive. The indigenous people criticize the Chinese without being aware of the problems we are facing. We’re not crazy about money. Many Chinese are poor. But, we must earn a living; otherwise we won’t be able to live here.” Many Chinese in this group who share Pak Andi’s view emphasize that they do not care about what people say, as long as it is not illegal or inflicts a financial loss on anyone. The fourth group consists of the cosmopolitan assimilationists. This group is the result of the process of Indonesianization during the New Order. They are the younger generation of Chinese who feel totally Indonesian. Members of this group are no longer able to speak Chinese and no longer practice or observe anything related to Chinese culture. They live exactly like other young urban Indonesians of their generation. Their only Chinese traits, if any, may be in their physical appearance.

At this point, it is important to note that mutual negative stereotyping between Chinese and indigenous people exist. Generally speaking, the Chinese perceive indigenous people to be sluggish, less hard-working, and unreliable. 15 They also keep up with the recent events in China. I could see enthusiasm in their faces when we talked about the remarkable development of China. Apparently, the fact that China is now growing as a prominent economic power in the world, to some extent, influences their pride in being Chinese. See Koning and Susanto (2008). 16 A peranakan Chinese remarked that the stereotype of the hard-working Chinese more appropriately applied to the earliest migrants and totok Chinese. He recalled that until the early 1970s, most peranakan-owned shops on Malioboro closed between 2 and 5 p.m for an afternoon rest and reopened in the evening. 14

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Since the Chinese traditions are foreign to them, they do not see the absence of these traditions in their lives as a problem. They were not raised under circumstances where Chinese or peranakan culture had an effect on their lives. They know nothing about the assimilationistintegrationist debates of the 1960s. Therefore, they do not feel any loss of culture, nor do they have any desire to fight for its survival. Their lifestyles are derived from the Indonesian modern, cosmopolitan culture that does not belong to any local, traditional culture. Their families may no longer celebrate Chinese New Year, but do observe Christmas and the international New Year. Moreover, like other Indonesians of the younger generation, they are more akin to modern Indonesian or Western music and dance. According to some young Yogyakarta Chinese, very few young Chinese in their social circle own Mandarin song collections. Most of them are, however, familiar with Indonesian and Western popular music and idols.17 Although these cosmopolitan assimilationists really consider themselves to be one hundred percent Indonesian, their convictions are challenged repeatedly. In the face of covert discrimination and periodical anti-Chinese violence elsewhere, when some have begun to realize that they are not fully accepted as Indonesians, they begin to distance themselves from the indigenous majority. It is this group of Chinese who sometimes experience identity crises. Generally, however, many of them remain positive about their identities as Indonesians. They are quite critical and open-minded in understanding the disadvantaged position of the Chinese in Indonesia, in the sense that they do not see it as an isolated Chinese problem, but as a result of the poor management of the country’s political and economic health. Several educated Yogyakarta Chinese are aware of the general injustice in Indonesia; they do not view their situation as purely racial or ethnic based. Very

17 This was the general case until the end of the New Order. In 2002, a shift occurred when a Taiwanese television series, Meteor Garden, became the most popular drama serial in Indonesia. The actors, four members of a Taiwanese boy band known as F4, suddenly rocketed to stardom. Their hairstyles became the fashion among many urban Indonesian boys. According to Feny, a Yogyakarta Chinese girl, her infatuation with F4 was similar to her previous fascination with other Western boy bands, so her fondness for them had nothing to do with her ethnicity. F4 was later replaced by a Korean movie star. Indonesian and American music pop stars continue to rank among the favorite artists of young people.

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few members of this group joined the new Chinese associations in Yogyakarta that emerged after Reformasi. It is difficult to determine exactly which of these groups is the largest. However, if we risk simplification by referring to the National Census of 2000, which indicates that the majority of Yogyakarta Chinese population belongs to the younger generation, it can be assumed that the cosmopolitan assimilationists and the natural assimilationists dominate the present community. In the following sections the positions of these groups on residence, religion, and Chinese organizations will be explored. Residential Strategy It is a fact that most Yogyakarta Chinese live in Pecinan neighborhoods, areas where they have lived for centuries, as required by colonial law. This zoning system, (wijkenstelsel ) became effective in Yogyakarta in 1835, and was abolished in 1918. It represented a “perfect” place for those who were engaged in commercial trade, so it was reasonable that they stayed there. Nevertheless, today, this area is no longer an exclusive Chinese quarter. The Chinese have become a minority amongst indigenous residents. In this context, it can be said that the discourse on the ethnicity of the Yogyakarta Chinese residential pattern is largely a matter of misperception and prejudice on both sides. Although many symbolic assimilationists acknowledge that some Chinese live apart from the indigenous society, they do not think it is because of a desire to be exclusive. One symbolic assimilationist said: “The fact that we live in a predominantly Chinese residential area does not mean that we distance ourselves from indigenous people. We do have close indigenous friends and occasionally, we visit each other at our homes.” If they do not participate in social activities in the community, it is simply because they are very preoccupied by their work; it has nothing to do with ethnic prejudice. They claim it is a common characteristic of modern urban life. A number of Chinese business people expressed their reluctance to live in indigenous kampungs. Their reason is simple: to avoid problems. They worry that they may be ostracized by their indigenous neighbors. Another argument is that they want to avoid being caught in a position where, by refusing to lend money to a neighbor or fail to join communal activities, they foster an unfavorable reputation. Of

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course, this may not happen, but they believe that there is a tendency to see the Chinese as rich and as potential sources for financial aid. It is difficult to be socially accepted if one refuses to be generous. In other words, it is the desire to avoid treatment of the Chinese as a “milking cow” that prevents them from living in indigenous kampungs.18 The advice is usually: “If you are not able to adjust to the indigenous community and participate in the kampung activities, it is better not to live in their kampung!” The question of whether they must or are willing to make adjustments while they still have other options is, of course, arguable. The fact is that many Chinese prefer to live amidst their ethnic group, although not necessarily in a Chinese compound. They realize that, to some extent, they have different lifestyles from the indigenous community, and since it is not easy for both sides to accept the others as they are, they avoid trouble by living within their own group. At this point, it should be noted that the reasons behind their preference for any particular location might differ; there is no collective reason. Preferences of Chinese entrepreneurs are based on pragmatic reasons. On Malioboro, the commercial center, where Chinese are predominant, the communal activities fit in with the schedule of their businesses. In fact, there are not many communal programs or social obligations. Therefore, this is a suitable place for Chinese business people to live and work. Moreover, many Chinese who lived in the old Chinese quarter for a long time still believe that it would be more secure to stay together. As one of them said: “Who will help you if there are no Chinese in your neighborhood?”19 Many lower-middle class Chinese said that they could not afford to buy new houses in other areas. Today, many Chinese no longer view the old Chinese quarter in the Malioboro neighborhood as a residential area. It has become overcrowded. For the well-to-do Chinese and the younger generation who are in a better economic position, the Chinese quarter was never a fashionable neighborhood. They prefer to live in modern housing estates in the nearby suburbs. Generally, the residents in these housing

18 Again, it should be noted that this is not always the case. There are kampungs where Chinese and indigenous people live harmoniously together. 19 During the struggle for independence (1945–49) and in late 1965, many Chinese who lived in indigenous kampungs outside the city took temporary shelter in their relatives’ homes in town (Pecinan).

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estates in Yogyakarta, both for the middle or upper class, are from ethnically mixed groups. Nani, Wahyu, Junaedi, and Gunawan, who live in upper-middle class housing estates, suggest that neighborhood life in these subdivisions is comfortable, because Chinese and indigenous families who live there share a similar social standing and background, which creates mutual understanding. For instance, since most of the home owners are very busy entrepreneurs and professionals, they do not have much time to socialize. They understand how people are preoccupied with their activities outside their neighborhood, e.g., in their places of employment, business or social associations, and sport clubs. Therefore, they employ security guards to guard their complex and use a cleaning-service agency to perform the tasks they do not do themselves.20 It is public knowledge that the people who live in the uppermiddle class housing estates tend to be individualistic. Their social interaction is confined to whatever is deemed absolutely necessary. Communal gathering and activities are minimized in order to spend more time with their families or to work on their businesses. Sharing this common lifestyle, the indigenous residents, in general, do not perceive their Chinese neighbors’ behavior as unusual. Religious Affinities The phenomenon of Chinese converting to Christianity is not recent. The Chinese have established churches since colonial times (Brown 1989, 97–119). Nevertheless, it was only in the New Order era that there was a massive conversion to Christianity among the Chinese. Some Chinese said that they converted because they were trying to avoid being tagged with a Chinese identity, i.e. that they were Buddhist or Confucianists. Due to pressures from government regulations, Confucianism was restricted and discouraged. Many Chinese, especially peranakan, were reluctant to be associated with this religious affiliation, which had become a prime target of criticism by indigenous people (Suryadinata 1978). It was not a matter of what they believed, but what they perceived was safe. However, if it was only a question of

20 In many upper-middle class housing areas, the housing developers provide security and cleaning services.

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security, it is unclear why the majority of Chinese choose to convert to Christianity rather than Islam, which is the religion of the majority of Indonesians. Would they not be more secure if they were Muslims? There are various personal reasons why many Chinese preferred Christianity to Islam.21 The general answer is that religion is a matter of faith and cannot be forced upon anyone. Some Chinese believe that Muslims are against the Chinese, quoting evidence of anti-Chinese violence in Indonesia, which were allegedly incited by Muslim activists. Because of this, many Chinese perceive Islam to be a militant religion that promotes fear, rather than peace. They feel that the Muslims dislike Chinese and, therefore, feel threatened. Moreover, some Chinese think that becoming Muslim means renouncing their Chinese identity.22 The fact that most Chinese converted to Christianity and not to Islam is seen as an indication of Chinese reluctance to assimilate into the indigenous society. They kept their distance by choosing a religion different from that of the Indonesian majority. In this way, the choice of being Christian could be interpreted as an attempt to resist the pressure to adopt an indigenous identity. Many symbolic assimilationists do not believe that becoming Muslim will guarantee them full acceptance by the indigenous majority and promise them greater security. When anti-Chinese violence occurred on Java, Muslim Chinese became victims as well. According to Haji Kwik, a prominent Muslim Chinese in Yogyakarta, being Muslim does not automatically help them develop their businesses or deal with corrupt officials. He said: “Money is the most important thing in solving problems with or getting support from those corrupt bureaucrats and military men.” In business, religion does not matter, because the broadest business network is not in the hands of Muslim business people. The fact that Muslim Chinese have their own association, Perhimpunan Islam Tionghoa Indonesia (PITI, Association of Indonesian Muslim Chinese), indicates they have not completely merged into the indigenous Muslim society. The Muslim Chinese group in Yogyakarta has its own arisan, Koran reading club, and newsletters. Some members of To explore the conversion to Christianity from a broader perspective, see Hefner (1993). 22 For a detailed discussion on this issue, see The (1993, 55–99; 1965, 67–83); also Jacobsen (2003). 21

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PITI said that they decided to become Muslims because they believed that Islam is a good religion, not because it is the religion of the indigenous majority. Haji Kwik said: “We must not forget that Chinese in China became Muslim long before Islam came to Indonesia. And even if we have the same religion as the indigenous people, our way of thinking and lifestyles are not similar.” Some Muslim Chinese also feel uneasy that the indigenous Muslims often doubt their devotion to Islam or suspect their motives in becoming Muslims (Legowo, 1986). In response to this less-than-friendly attitude by indigenous Muslims, the Chinese Muslims created separate associations. It is very rare that Muslim Chinese join either Muhammadiyah or Nadhlatul Ulama, the two main Islamic organizations in the country. Some Muslim Chinese do acknowledge that there is an advantage to being Muslim, in the sense that the indigenous people respect them more or at least refrain from harassing them as they might other Chinese. This is especially true if they have made the haj pilgrimage to Mecca and become a haji. For example, although the Chinese in Yogyakarta are not entitled to own land, Haji Budi, the head of PITI, received his certificate of land ownership by revealing that he was a haji.23 It should be noted that many Muslim Chinese, in particular the opportunistic assimilationists, retain membership in the Chinese associations. Despite criticism regarding their conversion, they still belong to the Chinese community. In fact, some prominent Muslim Chinese, like Haji Budi, Haji Tun and Haji Kwik, have become middlemen between the Chinese and the Muslim communities. They attempt to prove that the negative stereotypes of Chinese are not the general rule. Haji Kwik is frequently invited to indigenous Muslim gatherings and through his preaching he emphasizes that the true Muslim should not be racist or prejudiced against other ethnic groups. In the Christian Chinese community in Yogyakarta, there are more Protestants than Catholics. This is interesting since the Protestant churches are less tolerant than the Catholic Church towards Chinese traditional rituals, such as burning incense and praying for their ancestors.

23 The situation for Muslim Chinese in Indonesia is diametrically opposed to the situation of Muslim Chinese in Malaysia, where they are considered to be bumiputera, or pribumi, and have indigenous status. See Lam (2004); Tan (1988).

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One possible reason for the preference for Protestantism is that certain denominations of Protestant churches allow their followers to establish their own churches. In other words, there is space for individualism in the Protestant church; hence, there are churches whose members and boards are predominantly Chinese and congregations who sing their hymns in Chinese. Their Sunday schools teach Mandarin and sometimes they invite preachers from Hong Kong and Taiwan. The Catholic Chinese religious activities are more integrated into the larger Catholic community because Chinese are a minority in that church. Generally, the relationship between Chinese and indigenous Catholics is positive. Religious gatherings are hosted in members’ houses, both Chinese and indigenous. Mixed marriage is not uncommon. Several upper-class peranakan Chinese are respected leaders in the local Catholic community. They are enthusiastic in organizing social and religious activities, such as pilgrimages to sacred sites and charity bazaars. Chinese and indigenous Catholics frequently work together to raise funds for church renovation. Chinese Organizations What did the Chinese do after the New Order government denied them the right to organize groups based on ethnicity? In general, to safeguard their interests, their social groups were broadened into general associations that were open to everyone, not exclusively to Chinese. Their basic principles and goals, as well as membership, were general and not particularly Chinese. For example, the basic principle for all social organizations was based on Pancasila, the state ideology,24 and the goal was to advance the welfare of its members. As the definition of a Chinese association or organization was not clearly stipulated, it was interpreted to mean the obvious use of Chinese names and themes. Symbolic assimilationists took this interpretation as a loophole that provided an opportunity for them to organize a group for Chinese. They had to be careful and clever enough to camouflage their organizations in such a way that they did not attract suspicion.

24 The Suharto government imposed Pancasila as the sole principle for all social and political organizations. See Vatikiotis (1993, Chapter 4).

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The younger generation of Chinese, the cosmopolitan assimilationists, in Yogyakarta do not think about Chinese associations in the same terms and with the same spirit as their elders. The desire to have Chinese associations similar to those in the past is fading. Many have said that the demands and needs of this era are different. The Chinese themselves have changed. Most middle- and upper-class Chinese prefer to join modern clubs that are more popular and prestigious, such as the Rotary and Hash Harriers Clubs. Their interests and reasons for joining or forming an association now are more pragmatic and functional than ideological. Nevertheless, many opportunistic and symbolic assimilationists do choose organizations that have many, if not all, members of Chinese descent. People judge whether an organization is Chinese according to the majority of its membership and board. These associations organize a variety of social activities, such as arisans, sports events, karaoke singing sessions, and tours. Yogyakarta Chinese avoid forming business organizations, which is reasonable since they are trying to avoid the stereotype that Chinese form a united business front against the indigenous entrepreneurs. According to some leaders of Yogyakarta Chinese associations, it is not important whether or not their organizations are labeled Chinese. When they established badminton or basketball clubs, they chose not to identify the group as Chinese. In fact, they did not want to attract public attention to Chinese characters. It was more important that they could join with other Chinese in an activity. The most important thing was the social gathering. Times have changed. Affinity based on ethnicity has gradually been abandoned. Natural assimilationists and cosmopolitan assimilationists and lower-class Chinese were not involved with exclusive Chinese associations. Middle-class Chinese join professional clubs because they are interested in the club’s activities and facilities, not because of primordial ties. They feel it is natural to socialize with people with whom they have much in common rather than joining a club only because there are many Chinese members. Chinese predominance in certain associations may not be intentional. For example, Rotary clubs in the Chinese quarter are predominantly Chinese because new members are selected based on other members’ recommendations. It is open to question whether member recommendations are free of ethnic prejudice. However, ethnic affinity does remain a primary consideration in membership selection in certain associations. Although these groups

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do not intend to be exclusive, there may be a feeling that it would be difficult to synchronise people from different cultural backgrounds. Some have admitted, though, that ethnic prejudice is a factor and that Chinese and indigenous persons sometimes scarcely trust each other. Nevertheless, many Chinese associations try to avoid the impression of being exclusive, so they invite indigenous friends to join their organizations. It is also common in Indonesia to have government or military officials in an organization as a pelindung, protector, who serve to discourage any possible interference against the Chinese associations. The funeral society is probably the most important association that serves traditional Chinese concerns. It is the last bastion of Chinese tradition, since the funeral association was the only Chinese organization that was allowed to remain in existence when all other groups were banned. To some extent, they also function as mutual-aid associations. Although few Chinese rituals for funerals are maintained, the existence of the funeral associations themselves is significant for retaining Chinese traditions. For example, the Chinese usually keep the dead body for several days before the burial. Generally, the more prominent the family, the longer the waiting period, allowing more time to mourners to arrive to attend the funeral. Accessories, such as incense, funeral clothes of the mourning family, pieces of cloth with Chinese characters to express condolences from the mourners, and funeral decorations, are used for the ceremony. It is usually the Buddhist or Confucian Chinese and totok families who are more interested in conducting Chinese funeral rituals. The Christian and Muslim Chinese adopt the funeral ceremonies according to their religion. If members of a family adhere to different religions or cultural orientations, they sometimes combine the ceremony with Chinese rituals. Regardless of religion, the choice to perform these rituals is often dependent on the generation of the mourning family. The older generation Chinese who were born during the colonial period retains these practices. In the perspective of the younger generation who were born in the New Order era, the Chinese funeral rituals are expensive and inconvenient. Observing Chinese funerals at the funeral parlor does not necessarily mean that the Chinese are still attached to the old traditions and community. For many, the reasons are practical, and perhaps more importantly, to avoid being conspicuous, as it is prohibited by law to perform their traditional rituals in public.

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Chinese culture resurfaces at the Chinese funeral parlor, in the sense that the rituals are a celebration of “being Chinese.” The funeral association places an obituary in the local newspapers to inform the relatives and friends of the deceased about the service. Most of the mourners are Chinese and they express their condolences to the family by clasping each other’s hands in front of their chests and shaking them up and down. After praying and paying respect to the deceased and the family, they offer a contribution and gather to chat with the other mourners. Many in attendance know each other, and if not, are soon introduced. It is a reunion of sorts for many people. The funeral becomes a venue for renewing acquaintances since they have little opportunity to meet on a daily basis. Some business persons said that it is not unusual that business deals may develop from small talk in the funeral parlor. The Chinese do see the condolence visit as an important social obligation. In conclusion, the government’s ban on Chinese organizations did not prevent the Chinese from forming their own associations by successfully transforming into general associations. As the years have passed, primordial affinity has been left behind. Most of these groups no longer have binding affinity with Chineseness; they are similar to other public associations, with the exception of the funeral associations. Concluding Remarks The regime change that brought to power the New Order regime (1966–98) meant the introduction of policies and institutions that attempted to force the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia to assimilate into the indigenous society. The New Order regime was in particular focused on breaking the dominance of the Chinese in the economy, and continued to practice legal segregation by referring to them as “non-indigenous.” The Chinese became convenient targets of harassment, extortion, and discrimination. Periodic anti-Chinese violence in some form occurred in virtually every outbreak of social and political unrest during Suharto’s thirty-three years in power. The main objective of this chapter was to understand how the Chinese community in Yogyakarta responded to the pressures for socio-cultural assimilation and to the negative stereotypes practiced throughout the New Order period. There are at least four categories

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of assimilationists that were identified: 1) natural assimilationists, those who believe that it is natural for Chinese to eventually merge into the local community, and who identify themselves fully as Indonesian; 2) opportunistic assimilationists, those who support the process of assimilation primarily for the sake of avoiding difficulties and conducting their businesses, and assimilate merely on the surface level; 3) symbolic assimilationists, those who actually refuse to abandon their Chineseness, but have little option other than to comply with the statesponsored assimilation pressures, and in order to avoid trouble, superficially accept assimilation; 4) cosmopolitan assimilationists, those who feel totally Indonesian and see themselves as Indonesian citizens, but define themselves with modern urban culture, not ethnically. The majority of Yogyakarta Chinese are natural assimilationists and cosmopolitan assimilationists. They are less attached to Chinese culture or do not emphasize their Chineseness, but still perceive themselves as apart from the indigenous population. By zooming in on residential choices, religious affinities and membership to Chinese organizations it was shown that these four categories have responded differently to the pressures to assimilate. Hence, it can be concluded that there have been various responses to the regime change. In their attempt to challenge the pressures to assimilate, to confront discrimination, and to overcome popular grievances towards them, the Yogyakarta Chinese redefined their role and place in the Indonesian society. What is most important in these findings is precisely the variety of the responses, the ways in which different sectors of the Chinese community constructed, negotiated, and maintained their security, identities, social lives, economic interests, civic rights within their local community, and within society at large. The findings underline the importance of the local context in understanding not only the diversity in the accommodations of Yogyakarta Chinese, but also the diversity among the Chinese themselves. This chapter has approached the issue of accommodation among Yogyakarta Chinese, not just as responses to actions from external sources, i.e. societal and government pressure, but as results of the interplay between internal and external forces. The particular ways in which sections of the Chinese community did accommodate to the regime change is influenced by the changes within the community itself, as well as shaped and affected by the local socio-political environment in which they live.

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Anderson, Benedict. 1972. The Idea of Power in Javanese Culture. In Culture and Politics in Indonesia, ed. Claire Holt, 38–43. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Ang, Ien. 1994. On Not Speaking Chinese: Postmodern Ethnicity and the Political Diaspora. New Formations 24: 1–18. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, Iem. 1989. Religions of the Chinese in Indonesia. In The Ethnic Chinese in the ASEAN States: Bibliographical Essays, ed. Leo Suryadinata, 97–119. Singapore: ISEAS. Coppel, Charles. 1983. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. ——. 2002. Studying Ethnic Chinese in Indonesia. Singapore: Singapore Society of Asian Studies. Hardjono, R. 1970. Komuniti Tionghoa Jogjakarta: Sedjarah Minoritas Lokal dengan Fokus Sosiologis. BA Thesis, IKIP Sanata Dharma, Yogyakarta. Hefner, Robert. 1993. Conversion to Christianity: Historical and Anthropological Perspective on a Great Transformation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Jacobsen, Michael. 2003. Chinese Muslim in Indonesia: Politics, Economy, Faith and Expediency. SEARC Working Papers Series No.54. Southeast Asia Research Centre, City University Hong Kong. Jahja, Junus. 1983. Garis Rasial Garis Usang: Liku-Liku Pembauran. Jakarta: Bakom-PKB Pusat. ——. 1991. Nonpri di Mata Pribumi. Jakarta: Yayasan Tunas Bangsa. Jaspar, J.M.F. and S. Warnaen. 1982. Intergroup Relations, Ethnic Identity and SelfEvaluation in Indonesia. In Social Identity and Intergroup Relations, ed. Henri Tajfel, 335–66. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Koning, Juliette and Andreas Susanto. 2008. Chinese Indonesians and ‘the Rise of China’: From Business Opportunities to Questions of Identity. In China in the World: Contemporary Issues and Perspectives, ed. Emile Kok-Kheng Yeoh and Joanne Hoi-Lee Loh, 161–84. Kuala Lumpur: Institute of China Studies, University of Malaya. Lam, Joy. 2004. Religious Conversion and Reconstruction of Identities: The Case of Chinese Muslim Converts in Malaysia. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association, August 14, San Francisco. Legowo, M. 1986. Pandangan Masyarakat Jawa terhadap Muslim Cina di Kotamadya Yogyakarta, Suatu Penelitian Awal tentang Masalah Pembauran. BA thesis, Gadjah Mada University, Yogyakarta. Suryadinata, Leo. 1978. The Chinese Minority in Indonesia: Seven Papers. Singapore: Chopmen. Susanto, Andreas. 2008. Under the Umbrella of the Sultan. Accommodation of the Chinese in Yogyakarta during Indonesia’s New Order. PhD diss., Nijmegen University. Tan Chee Beng. 1988. The Baba of Melaka: Culture and Identity of a Chinese Peranakan Community in Malaysia. Selangor: Pelanduk Publication. Tan, Mely. 1991. The Social and Cultural Dimensions of the Role of Ethnic Chinese in Indonesian Society. Indonesia 51: 113–51. The Siauw Giap. 1993. Islam and Chinese Assimilation in Indonesia and Malaysia. In Chinese Beliefs and Practices in Southeast Asia, ed. Cheu Hock Tong, 59–99. Selangor: Pelanduk Publication. Vatikiotis, Michael. 1993. Indonesian Politics under Suharto: Order, Development and Pressure for Change. London: Routledge. Wang Gungwu. 1991. China and the Chinese Overseas. Singapore: Times Academic Press.

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Warnaen, Suwarsih. 2002. Streotip Etnis dalam Masyarakat Multietnis. Yogyakarta: Mata Bangsa. Wong, Loong. 2003. Belonging and Diaspora: The Chinese and the Internet. First Monday, 8 (4–7). http://firstmonday.org/htbin/cgiwrap/bin/ojs/index.php/fm/ article/viewArticle/1045/966

PART III

JUSTICE AND REPRESENTATION: THE CHINESE IN THE NETHERLANDS EAST INDIES

CHAPTER FIVE

THE CHINESE CONNECTION: REWRITING JOURNALISM AND SOCIAL CATEGORIES IN INDONESIAN HISTORY Nobuto Yamamoto The tragedy of the baba (peranakan) group is that they are too Chinese to be indigenous Indonesians, but they are also too assimilated into Indonesian to be 100% Chinese! (Kwee 1948, 26)

Introduction In his autobiographical account, Kwee Kek Beng, a prominent pre-war peranakan journalist, succinctly pointed out the position of the peranakan Chinese in Indonesian society. After Indonesia gained independence, the political status of the peranakan was rendered increasingly inconsequential. This represented a stark departure from the vigorous socio-political role they had played in colonial society. Peranakan journalists, including Kwee himself, had played a major role in the development of the Indies Chinese community as well as the journalistic community of the Indies. Yet, in postcolonial Indonesia, peranakan journalists somehow disappeared from the general and official narrative of the nationalist movement. They were forgotten and altogether left out of history.1 There are however several reasons why peranakan journalists must be front and center in any discussion of the formation of the Indonesian nation. Benedict Anderson’s groundbreaking book, Imagined Communities, rightly emphasized the role of newspapers and other mass media as instruments to imagine a superficial community such as the nation, in addition to promoting the rise and spread of nationalism. In his argument, Anderson draws attention to journalistic readership, which forms an unofficial and fluid membership of an imagined national 1 On the disappearance of peranakan literature from Indonesian collective memory, see Chandra (2006).

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community, to the way readers consume newspapers regularly—the “daily best-seller”—and in effect are being brought into a sense of “shared” time and “bounded” territory.2 In Indonesian historiography, although it is generally accepted that newspapers play an important role in cultivating a kind of “fellowfeeling” among the readers, the activity of journalists and writers has been largely neglected. Needless to say, this deserves closer examination. Even more so because journalists were the transfer point in the production and circulation of nationalistic discourses, through their writings, and as such created a quasi-national community in the journalistic world (doenia pers)3 of the Indies. Nevertheless, many prominent journalists have been forgotten in Indonesian national history writing. Not only indigenous journalists such as Tabrani, Parada Harahap, and Jamaluddin Adinegoro, but also Chinese journalists such as Th. H. Phoa, Kwee Kek Beng, and Liem Koen Hian are relatively unknown to the contemporary public as well as students of Indonesian history. Such an historical amnesia does not do justice to the Indonesian nationalist movement of the 1910s and 1920s, which witnessed the movement’s leaders being primarily constituted of committed journalists (Shiraishi 1990). Naturally, Chinese journalists, represented by the daily Sin Po, were also active in the overseas Chinese nationalistic movement (Williams 1960). More importantly, since Eurasians and peranakan Chinese had dominated the publishing industry since the beginning of the twentieth century, indigenous leaders frequently utilized their channels to communicate their thoughts and messages (Pramoedya 1985, Adam 1995). Regime changes dictated the conditions for the formation of a journalist community and the ways in which peranakan situated themselves in a broader colonial setting. Such regimes include political, legal, technological, informational, and cognitive ones. The 1920s and 1930s experienced a series of regime changes: a liberal political regime with an ethical policy turned into a conservative and suppressive one; 2 Shiraishi (1990) makes use of Anderson’s idea of imagined communities with reading local newspapers and colonial documents in analyzing the development of Indonesian nationalism in the 1910s and the 1920s. Attention to the development of Indonesian press revived, too. See for instance, Said (1988), Adam (1995), Kompas (2002), Maters (2003). As an example of novel reading of Malay literature and periodicals in the Indies, see Siegel (1997). 3 “Doenia pers,” Sin Jit Po, 4 May 1926, Th. 3, No. 95, L22.

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legal authority with a mixture of modern and traditional rule was taken over by a modern repressive administration; technological innovation introduced electronic printing machines in the publishing industry; and an information regime drew wider public attention through the development of media industry and market activities. These changes provided the circumstances for the social world of journalism and nationalism to develop. This contribution thus attempts to flesh out the unspoken link between nationalists and journalists in the 1930s and serves two purposes. One is to reveal the instrumental relation between newspapers and political associations. I illustrate the changing circumstances in politics and the media that gave rise to commercial journalism. I also discuss the expansion of the Malay print market in the late 1920s and the 1930s, with particular emphasis on the peranakan Chinese who were dominant in newspaper business. The number of press in Malay increased rapidly in that decade, which roughly coincided with the time when local politics were cut off from politically oriented newspapers. The second purpose is to deconstruct the conventional categorization of the Chinese. In general, this categorization is made to draw broad outlines of the politically diverse Indies Chinese; but it has become rather imposing in the sense that it obscures precisely the multiplicity it tried to capture. My research finds the conventional political categorization of the Chinese oversimplified, misleading, and quite often even contradictory to the realities of the Chinese. It also underscores that peranakan communities cannot be understood solely on the basis of their political orientations or through organized politics. Class issues and cultural affiliation provided the basis for more complex peranakan relationship and identification. The Newspaper Market When the Dutch introduced the Ethical Policy in 1900, it was believed then that it was the “moral duty” of The Netherlands to promote welfare and combat the causes of perpetual poverty in the Indies. “Efficiency, welfare, and autonomy” were the practical goals (Furnivall 1939, 225–256). Western education inspired the young generation of the upper classes with new ideas. This was not limited to the indigenous Indonesians, but also to Eurasians and the Chinese.

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Besides school education, the press industry also developed rapidly after the 1900s. Now people had a chance to express their grievances and made these public through local newspapers. Not coincidentally, as the nationalist movement grew in the 1910s, so did the number of newspapers also increase. Perhaps the most significant change in the Malay print market took place in the mid-1920s. The market expanded rapidly due to technological innovation in the printing industry with the introduction of electronic printing machines.4 It opened up a new segment in the print market that so far had been colored by politically oriented newspapers. During this decade, the number of Malay periodicals increased and their contents diversified. Many urban centers saw the establishment of local publishers. Figure 1 shows the growth of Malay periodicals in the Indies. It is based on my own calculation of the number of Malay periodicals in the Overzicht van de Inlandsche en Maleisch-Chineesche Pers (Survey of the Indigenous and Malay-Chinese Press, hereafter IPO) between 1918 to 1929 (Yamamoto 1995). IPO was a weekly publication issued by Balai Poestaka, the colonial publishing house, established in 1917. It consisted of a forty- to sixty-page summary throughout the 1920s. From 1921 it circulated publicly, having previously been a colonial secret mail-report (geheim mailrapport) to be sent to the Ministry of Colonies in The Netherlands. IPO, which provided a Dutch summary of major Malay periodicals, was essential reading for Dutch colonial administrators to familiarize themselves with Indies affairs, particularly with individuals and associations that were considered politically dangerous. These indigenous periodicals in the 1920s were related to the Sarekat Islam and the Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI, Indonesian Communist Party), both of which were considered major threats to the Indies government. Periodicals such as Neratja (Weltevreden, a radical organ of Sarekat Islam), Sinar Hindia (Semarang, communist leaning), and Oetoesan Hindia (Surabaya, radical Sarekat Islam) were among the most important publications monitored. It should be noted that each political organization had its own organs and therefore monitoring local newspapers 4 For instance, Sin Jit Po carried an advertisement of an electronic printing machine shop in 1925. “Electrische-Drukkery Kho Tjieng Bie & Co., Pintoe Besar—Batavia,” Sin Jit Po, September 26, 1925, Th. 3, No. 68, L3–3.

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Number of Melajoe Periodicals (1925–1940) 500 450 400

Number

350 300 250 200 150 100 50

19 25 19 27 19 28 19 29 19 30 19 31 19 32 19 33 19 34 19 35 19 36 19 37 19 38 19 39 19 40

0

daily

weekly

monthly and others

Figure 1. The Malay newspaper market.

was thought to provide indispensable information on the activities of political organizations. In other words, the translations and summaries in IPO made it easier for the colonial government to grasp the characteristics of each of the leading periodicals as well as of political organizations. The structure and contents of IPO reflect the nature and quality of the colonial authority’s conception of the Indies. IPO divided the Indies into two regions, e.g., Java and the Outer Islands. Then followed sub-categories such as Malay periodicals and Javanese periodicals, or social and religious associations, under rubrics such as Islamic and Christian. Because Java was the central focus of the Dutch colonial administration, it goes without saying that the Dutch paid more attention to Java, and to periodicals in Malay which were accessible to readers of all racial and ethnic groups in the Indies. Therefore, the colonial authority was principally concerned with the bottom of Figure 1, e.g., Malay newspapers in Java; followed by Malay newspapers in the Outer Islands, Malay magazines in Java, Malay magazines in the Outer Islands, and Sino-Malay periodicals in Java and the Outer Islands.

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The outline of Malay periodicals listed in IPO from 1918 to 1929 reveals three points. First, Java dominated the number of Malay periodicals. The number of newspapers in Java rose from thirty-three in 1918 to forty-six in 1929, while that of magazines from eleven in 1922 to forty-five in 1929. Second, during the 1920s the Outer Islands saw a relatively faster increase in the number of Malay periodicals than Java. Third, the number and possibly the variety of Malay magazines grew in the 1920s. The number of newspapers in the Outer Islands grew from eighteen in 1918 to thirty-three in 1929, whereas that of magazines fluctuated between eleven in 1922, thirty-eight in 1925, and twenty-two in 1929. With this expansion of the newspaper market, more specifically the Malay language publications, one could argue that a journalist community based on linguistic commonality came into being. There was yet another fundamental change in the nature of the press from the mid-1920s onward. From a vehicle of a particular political association it turned into a capitalist venture and a commercial undertaking. This change reflected the growth of an urban middle class that was politically conservative and more concerned with maintaining their living standards. Commercial newspapers covered general developments of indigenous political movements, but their emphasis was rather to introduce articles on culture, religion, education, and women’s emancipation among others, in order to meet a growing demand from readers. Journalistic writing styles such as the travel accounts by Parada Harahap became popular among urban middle class readers. Parada Harahap, who was hailed as “The King of the Java-Press”5 in the 1930s, detected the market change. He wrote of the necessity to produce a new kind of newspaper and of the need to explore a new type of readership (Harahap 1941). For the new readership, he pointed out that the urban middle class did not always pay attention to partisan politics or was affiliated with party organs; therefore neutral newspapers would be more appealing to this emerging class. “Newspapers have their market (pasar) and demands (keperloean)” (Harahap 1941, 120), he contends, and “have already become a commercial product (pers djadi perdagangan)” (Harahap 1924, 120). He was confident that

5

NA, Kol. na 1900, Vb. 20–1–39–F2, Mr. 988x/1938.

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his newspaper would make money because it catered to the growing number of the middle-class urbanites. Harahap published a Malay translation of the state regulations on the press and added a commentary. In his opinion, legal regulations were important to maintain social order. Within the colonial legal structure, he turned the newspaper into a money-generating commodity. Unlike the indigenous press of the 1910s and early 1920s, which had played a major role in confronting the colonial authorities, the newspaper business under Parada Harahap conformed to the colonial order, and in fact took a collaborative approach in relations to the authority. This approach became the trend in the expansion of the Malay print market from the 1920s onward. Sin Jit Po and the Persdelict It was in this mood of time that the Sino-Malay newspaper Sin Jit Po was launched in Surabaya in 1923. It was to become a popular newspaper in the 1920s, but would lose competition to Pewarta Soerabaja in November 1929. Thereafter, it recommenced publication as Sin Tit Po. Sin Jit Po had no political organization behind it. But, while the market started to expand in the 1920s, the colonial authority kept a close watch on local newspapers and from time to time applied disciplinary measures against them. Sin Jit Po was a liberal newspaper that often challenged colonial authority. I take Sin Jit Po as an example to present a journalistic practice that I call the “culture of citation,” but more specifically to look at the persdelict (press offense) cases reported in this newspaper. Persdelict cases reveal how the colonial authorities harassed newspaper reporters and how the newspaper fought back. In the early days of Sin Jit Po, Th. H. Phoa was editor-in-chief. Oei Kie Hok and R.M. Bintarti served as editors in Surabaya and Ang Hoay Lie in Samarinda. The director was Oei Ping Bie; its administrator, Njoo Khee Tjo. The newspaper had its own printing house, the N.V. Handelsdrukkerij “Sin Jit Po.” Its distributing agents extended from East Java (Madiun, Malang, Wonogiri), Central Java (Yogyakarta, Bangil ), West Java (Sukabumi, Blitar), Sulawesi (Makasar, Tulungagung, Gorontalo), Kalimantan (Samarinda), and even to The Netherlands. It was among the more popular and well-known dailies in the Sino-Malay language between the 1920s and the 1930s, not

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only in Surabaya and East Java, but also in other parts of the Indies archipelago. Sin Jit Po, like other newspapers of the time, covered various kinds of news and articles not only of Surabaya and the Indies, but also from China and other parts of the world. The basic format of the newspaper was as follows. Section 1: Page 1: Kota Soerabaja (City of Surabaya), Feuilleton: “Darah Poetih atawa Kabaran jang tida berwates,” ditjeritaken oleh Th. H. Phoa (White Blood or News without limits, as told by Th. H. Phoa) Page 2: Hoakiauw dan Tiongkok (Overseas Chinese and China), Kabar Dagang (Commercial News) Page 3: Kabar Kawat (Wired News), Hindia dan Laen Negri (Indies and Other Countries) Page 4: Section 2: Page 1: Kabar Sport (Sports News), Hindia dan Laen Negeri (Indies and Other Countries) Page 2: Hoakiauw dan Tiongkok (Overseas Chinese and China) Pages 3–4: Section 3: Page 1: Hindia dan Laen Negri (Indies and Other Countries), “Tong See Han Yan Gie: Satoe tjerita Tionghoa jang bagoes rame, banjak digoenaken daja oepaja dan menarik hati,” oleh Nemo (Tong See Han Yan Gie: A good Chinese story, meticulous and charming, by Nemo) Page 2: continued from “Hindia dan Laen Negri” of page 1 Pages 3–4:

These sections indicate that Sin Jit Po did not really emphasize one particular segment because the same subtitles occur in all the sections. Rather, they reflect a variety of contents, a compilation of news. To carry such a news variety, it was necessary for newspapers to have a network of news agents to obtain reports and to cite articles from one another, as it was not possible to have its own correspondents all over the Indies and abroad. This “culture of citation” had a long history in journalistic practice. The coverage of citations was extensive; it encompassed Dutch, Chinese, and indigenous newspapers. And the culture of citation provided the basis for local journalists to imagine a kind of a journalistic community. Sin Jit Po featured many political reports and news items alongside articles on culture. It also carried many commercial advertisements from Surabaya as well as other major cities in Java. Among the important items Sin Jit Po liked to cover were the persdelict (press offense) cases. The law on persdelict was introduced in the Indies in 1914 and became increasingly severe in 1917 when the colonial publishing

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house Balai Poestaka took over the role of press monitoring. As mentioned earlier, Balai Poestaka issued the weekly IPO, which was then used as a manual to discipline journalists, to keep writers and editors in jail for a period of time or to get them to pay a penalty. Over a period of twelve years (December 1917 to January 1929), 101 cases of persdelict were reported in IPO. Seventy-four cases occurred in the first five years (1918 to 1922), and more than ten leaders of the nationalist movement and journalists were incarcerated (Yamamoto 1997a). Journalists were the main target of the authorities due to their public remarks in printed matters, newspapers, and magazines alike. In the middle of the 1920s, due to tightening colonial control over the communist movement, some radical leaders and followers were banned to The Netherlands or deported to China. The persdelict was a convenient penal code for offenses of various forms. In a period of one year alone, from July 1925 to June 1926, Sin Jit Po carried forty articles related to persdelict cases. One is tempted to assume that the persdelict was applied solely to political writings, the coverage of actual politics in the Indies, or to anti-government articles. This, in fact, is the traditional perception of the persdelict because researchers tend to overemphasize its politically oppressive nature.6 However, a closer look reveals that the persdelict could actually be invoked for a variety of reasons. It could apply to newspaper articles that seemed to incite racial hatred, to (offensive) writings on influential families or on religion, to accounts based on hearsay or false witness, to criticism of other imperialist countries in Asia, or for using words (terms) unfamiliar to the authority. Additionally, any person, not only the authority, could invoke a persdelict. Take for instance the case involving local Chinese authority. The daily Keng Po was hit with a persdelict because a former Capitan Cina (a local Chinese official appointed by the colonial authority) in Cirebon filed a complaint. As cited in Sin Jit Po, Keng Po had carried an article accusing the Chinese official of embezzlement. “Toean Oeij Thiam Tjoan gelapken f 3600—poenja pakoempoelan Hoa Ho Siang Kiok (Mr. Oeij Thiam Tjoan embezzled f 3600—the money belongs to the association of Hoa Ho Siang Kiok).”7

6 This view is derived from the reading of colonial documents, especially IPO, rather than from a close reading of local newspapers. For the conventional view of persdelict, see Maters (2003, 218–30). 7 Sin Jit Po, September 17, 1925, Th. 3, No. 60, L2–1.

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Another case involved an influential Chinese family. Chief editor of Sin Jit Po, Th. H. Phoa, was tried for a persdelict for a serialized story that the newspaper published. The story was based on an actual murder account of a certain man named Oei Siem Nio. Beginning with the October 25, 1925 issue, “Drama di Hotel Oranje kamar No. 33: Pemboenoehan Oei Siem Nio: Ditoetoerken menoeroet katerangan jang sah” (Drama in Room No. 33 of Oranje Hotel: The Murder of Oei Siem Nio: Recounted on the basis of legitimate sources) was serialized.8 For this story and other related accounts,9 the wife of the murder victim filed a law suit against Sin Jit Po. Mrs. Oei Siem Nio and her friends were reported to testify at court.10 The case regarding religion and colonial authority provides yet another example of the various persdelict cases. In June 1926, Mr. Wardi, editor of the weekly magazine Soerapati, was questioned for his phrase in an article, “Agama dipake kedok” (Religion used as mask), published on October 3, 1925.11 He was interrogated under persdelict because the authority suspected that the phrase conveyed hatred against the regent of Bandung. Journalists were well acquainted with the far reaching tentacles of the Political Intelligence Service (Politieke Inlichtingendienst, PID). The PID was organized in 1919 and became a powerful tool of the colonial government to suppress radical and anti-colonial movements. It was a public agency, with local offices, that employed a large number of spies and informers. If Balai Poestaka used the monitoring approach to censor potential subversion, the PID dealt with actual people and organizations in the field. Interestingly, this supposedly “secret force” communicated with and through the press in its dealings. Journalists were often summoned to the local PID station for interrogation. All journalists knew who the local PID officers were. Sin Jit Po, for instance, mentioned the receipt of letters from the PID, which disputed its article on the Political Intelligence Service.12 In this way the readers were made aware of the existence of the PID and it was, to a great extent, no longer “secret.” By making its existence so visible, Sin Jit Po, October 25, 1925, Th. 3, No. 90, L2–3. Sin Jit Po, November 4, 1925, Th. 3, No. 98, also put the announcement of new story of “Hikajat Kakedjian” (Story behind Brutality), which investigated the background of the same murder case. 10 Sin Jit Po, December 8, 1925, Th. 3, No. 127, L1–2. 11 Sin Jit Po, June 22, 1926, Th. 3, No. 134, L2–2. 12 Sin Jit Po, November 5, 1925 , Th. 3, No. 99, L1–2. 8 9

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the PID might have tried to control the press and other “wild voices” in the society. The persdelict also provided the opportunity for journalists to “establish” (and perhaps “demonstrate”) a sense of journalistic gallantry. Court hearings on persdelict issues gave them a chance to make fun of the authorities13 not only for injustices, but also for their ignorance regarding local language and knowledge. Many persdelict cases led to prison terms for journalists as most of them refused to pay the fine, and chose instead to go to jail for a period of weeks, months, even a year. On the other hand, journalists who chose to pay the fine in order to avoid imprisonment were often derided by other newspapers as “cowards.” Thus in spite of many persdelict cases against it, Sin Jit Po and its personnel were proud of their tenacious attitude as a sign of commitment against the colonial government’s repression of the press. This tradition of anti-authority is also reflected in a number of articles on Boven Digoel the newspaper featured from early December 1926 onward. The first news of the communist movement (later it was called communist uprising by the colonial authority) in West Sumatra was reported in Sin Jit Po on December 3, 1926 with the title “Gerakan kaoem Communist in Sumatra Barat: Keadaan di Djawa hendak ditjontoh” (Communist movement in West Sumatra: Trying to emulate Java), with a follow-up article “Rahasia Communist di Soematera Barat, terboeka: Pemboenoehan di Kamang” (Secrets of Communist in West Sumatra exposed: The murder in Kamang) on December 24, 1926. Unfortunately, the issues of Sin Jit Po from the year of 1927 were missing from the Cornell University Kroch Library archive, so I could not follow subsequent articles and news of the period. Yet in the article “Kota Digoel” (Digul Town) of April 17, 1928, Sin Jit Po featured information on the situation in Boven Digoel, which distinguished it from other newspapers. The cases of persdelict and related articles inform us about the culture of citation among newspapers. As I have discussed above, the liberal-minded Sin Jit Po attracted the readers’ attention. Its articles

13 Making fun of authorities at courts was a common strategy by nationalistic leaders since the late 1910s. On one of the first cases, see Semaoen (1919) and Yamamoto (1997b).

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attracted other newspapers, too. In order to meet consumers’ demands newspapers and periodicals needed to cover a wide range of news and stories, as well as dig into details not provided by their own correspondents. This tendency gave way to the culture of citation among newspapers and created a kind of imagined community of journalists. A Journalist Network: The Case of Liem Koen Hian The culture of citation worked efficiently thanks to good personal networking, and in turn led to a quasi-national journalist community. One could say that journalist networks reinforced this culture of citation. Dictated by the nature of their work, it is common for journalists to have collegial networks in different territories, institutions, or language groups. Personal relations played important roles to establish working alliances with others. Shared discourses naturally gave rise to bonds between journalists, but disagreements provided the occasion for more intensive exchanges among them. As a matter of fact, journalists established their own association in October 1925 in Batavia. On October 16, 1925, Sin Jit Po carried an article on the establishment of the Association of Journalists of Asia ( Journalistenbond Azie).14 The choice of word “Azie” was political, although the association itself had a pure journalistic intention. “Azie” implied Asian people—the indigenous and the Chinese—as opposed to Western people. It did not matter if one worked for government organizations or private ones; rather, what mattered was if one was on the side of Asia or not. Tabrani from Hindia Baroe and Kwee Kek Beng from Sin Po served as the executive board; W.R. Soepratman from press bureau “Alpena” as chairperson; Boen Joe On from Perniagaan as secretary; and R.S. Parindih from press bureau “Berita” as treasurer. The committee was organized by Parada Harahap from Bintang Hindia, Ling Ying Ching and Bee Giauw Tjoen from Sin Po, Khoe Boen Sioe from Keng Po and Achmad Wongsosewojo from Balai Poestaka. A week later, the structure was altered slightly.15 Tabrani was appointed as the chairperson, Kwee Kek Beng as the vice-chairperson, W.R. Soepratman became the secretary, Bong Jong On the first treasurer,

14 15

Sin Jit Po, October 16, 1925, Th. 3, No. 82, L2–2. Sin Jit Po, October 24, 1925, Th 3, No. 89, L3–1.

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and R.S. Parindih the second treasurer. The committee members were Ling Yin Chen, Parada Harahap, Khoe Woen Sioe, Achmad Wongsosewojo, and Bee Giauw Tjoen. All these people were leading journalists of the time. Both indigenous and Chinese journalists were included and represented in the association. In a way the association reflected Furnivall’s thesis on the plural society—that interaction among different races in the colony did not exist except in the market (Furnivall 1939)—because newspapers relied on the market to develop its business. Thus we find this association representing a journalistic community, irrespective of race, in the 1920s. In fact, since the inauguration of Sin Jit Po, R.M. Bintarti had served as one of its two editors. To know more about the journalist network in the Indies, let us look at the career of Liem Koen Hian (1896–1952).16 I chose Liem Koen Hian because he was among the most prominent Chinese journalists of the time and represented a peculiar political position in the Chinese community of the 1920s and 1930s. Liem Koen Hian was born in 1896 in Banjarmasin, East Kalimantan. His father, Liem Ke An, was a well-to-do Chinese businessman. He went to a Dutch primary school in Banjarmasin and later studied law in Batavia. In Banjarmasin he started working as a writing staff for the weekly Penimbangan (Banjarmasin) and Tjoen Tjioe, a magazine from Surabaya. He was also correspondent for the daily De Locomotief (Semarang), and contributed articles in the Soerabaiasche Handelsblad (Surabaya); both were Dutch language newspapers. In 1917 he published a short-lived weekly of his own, Soo Lim Poo, in Surabaya. After more than a year of doing business in Aceh, between December 1918 and 1921 he found himself in Padang as the editor-in-chief for Sinar Sumatra, which was considered a radical Sino-Malay newspaper like Sin Po in Batavia. In 1921 he became an editor for Pewarta Soerabaia, a weekly owned by The Kian Seng, and then from May 1925 until 1929 he was an editor for Soeara Poeblik (Surabaya). In 1929, when Sin Jit Po went bankrupt and Sin Tit Po was established, he became the editorin-chief of the new daily. In Surabaya he collaborated with moderate Indonesian nationalists, such as leaders of the Indonesian People’s Party (Partai Bangsa Indonesia, PBI) headed by Dr. Sutomo.

16 The description of Liem Koen Hian’s career mainly relies on Tjamboek (2004) and Suryadinata (1993, 56–84).

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In 1932, Liem Koen Hian established the Partai Tionghoa Indonesia (Indonesian Chinese Party, PTI), and was elected its chairperson. Sin Tit Po became its semi-official organ. In early 1933 he quit Sin Tit Po after a quarrel with the owner. He then joined Kwee Hing Tjiat at the daily Mata Hari owned by Oei Tiong Ham’s son, and became a Surabaya correspondent. The Oei Tiong Ham Concern was known to have a close link with the Chung Hwa Hui (Chinese Association, CHH), which in the conventional categorization of Indies Chinese differed politically from Liem’s PTI.17 Then he went to Batavia to attend the Law School (Rechtshoogeschool ), and while there directed Timboel magazine with Sanusi Pane, a prominent indigenous literati. He also assisted Siang Po, a newspaper owned by Phoa Liong Gie, a lawyer who left Chung Hwa Hui in 1934. In Batavia he established connections with radical indigenous nationalists such as Muh. Yamin, Sanusi Pane, and Amir Syarifuddin. These nationalists published a newspaper, Kebangoenan, which was printed by the Siang Po Printing Press and shared news items and articles with the Siang Po daily. In 1936 Liem became the chief editor of Panorama magazine, whose editorial board included Ahmad Subarjo, Amir Syarifuddin, and Muh. Yamin, Phoa Liong Gie, and Sanusi Pane. In April 1937 Liem left Siang Po and became the editor-in-chief of Kong Hoa Po, which was also published by the Siang Po Printing Press. In November 1938 he left the Kong Hoa Po at the invitation of Dr. Tjoa Sik Ien, the new president of the PTI Surabaya branch and the proprietor of Sin Tit Po. In January 1939 he returned to serve as editor-in-chief for Sin Tit Po, but soon was replaced by Tan Ling Djie to continue his study of law in Batavia. Liem Koen Hian’s personal networks present to us several interesting points. First, he rarely stayed in one place while pursuing his journalistic career. He started his career in Banjarmasin, and then moved to Surabaya, Padang, Semarang, and Batavia. Second, over time Liem worked as editor-in-chief for several newspapers. He edited Sinar Sumatra, Soera Publiek, Sin Jit Po, Sin Tit Po, Mata Hari, Siang Po, Panorama, and Kong Hoa Po. These included both Chinese and indigenous-owned newspapers and magazines.

17 For the classic categorization of peranakan political orientations, see Suryadinata (1981).

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Third, Liem Koen Hian worked with journalists of different political orientations. Journalists like The Kian Seng, Hauw Tek Kong, Kwee Hing Tjiat, and Phoa Liong Gie did not share Liem’s own political beliefs and were affiliated with different organizations. Yet, networked Chinese journalists appeared to have some kind of a system of mutation among them. For example, Oei Kie Hok retired from his editorial position at Sin Jit Po, and Tan Kien Lian (ex-editor of Sin Bin, Bandung) and Lie Sin Thian (ex-chief editor of Tjhoen Tjhioe and Pelita, Surabaya) replaced him.18 A few days later, Liem Djit Seng and Oei Kie Hok (who left Sin Jit Po) took up the position of editor at Warna Warta (Semarang). In this manner, prominent journalists traveled around major newspapers and cities in the Indies, as Liem Koen Hian’s career clearly shows. The mutation of editors worked because journalism was supposed to work on a regular basis, and the operation of the press depended on such networking. Fourth, Liem Koen Hian connected with indigenous journalists and nationalist leaders, such as Dr. Sutomo, Sanusi Pane and Amir Syarifuddin. As the Association of Journalists of Asia indicates, it was not unusual that Chinese journalists networked with indigenous journalists. Additionally, Kwee Hing Tjiat had connections with Parada Harahap, Saerun, and Bakri Suraatmadja, while Kwee Kek Beng as a director of Sin Po employed W.R. Supratman and D. Kusumaningrat. Thus personal networks intertwined and provided the basis for a journalistic community in the Indies. Apart from Liem Koen Hian’s story, disagreements among journalists—often in the form of polemics—provided the opportunity to communicate and to build shared discourses through the media. In August 1934, for instance, Kwee Hing Tjiat wrote “Baba Dewasa” (A Mature Baba) in the first issue of Mata Hari. In it, he proposed that the Baba group, the indigenized Chinese, assimilate entirely into indigenous communities. The political status of the Babas as Sons of Indonesia is based not only on moral rights, which will cure all their confusion and dualism, but on vital economic interests as well. [. . .] I also feel that within one generation or thirty years, with the exception of a few bawling Chinese who should be kicked out, Babas would

18

Sin Jit Po, May 28, 1926, Th. 3, No. 114, L1–2.

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nobuto yamamoto be assimilated into the [indigenous] Indonesian population, just like the case [of the Chinese] in the Philippines, Thailand, and other places.19

The term “sons of Indonesia” drew comments from indigenous intellectuals and journalists. Dr. Sutomo, Singgih, and Dr. Satiman agreed with Kwee Hing Tjiat’s argument. With a supportive but slightly bitter tone, Sedio Tomo, a daily newspaper in Yogyakarta, wrote: If such stream [of thought] really comes out of a pure heart, proven with the willingness to fulfill all duties towards Indonesia, and the attitude towards sons of the soil is similar to that towards the Baba, we believe that we Indonesians will open our door as widely as possible to accept them.20

But the same phrase also received critical reviews from indigenous media such as Syamsudin’s newspaper Bahagia (Semarang), the daily Oetoesan Indonesia (Yogyakarta), Sanusi Pane’s Soeara Oemoem (Surabaya), and Saerun’s daily Pemandangan (Batavia) (Surayadinata 1993, 25–26). Bahagia wrote: [L]et the Peranakan remain sons of China; they do not need to become sons of Indonesia. We are Indonesians, you are Chinese! We really have different nationalities, but we are both . . . Asians! (Suryadinata 1993, 26)

The above illustrations show that journalists shared a language and a space for communication. Through a common language and their printed exchange, they created an imaginary community. Even if they disagreed with each other, they still engaged each other in the form of public communication. Their disagreements, in fact, were often the starting point of their writings, which indicates further that newspapers depended on a network that allowed journalists to read, quote, or argue against each other. Thus, ironically, polemics revealed interdependency among journalists and network of associations. However, in the 1930s, the more peranakan debated about the status of the Chinese, the more they were detached from Indonesian nationalist discourse.

Kwee Hing Tjiat, “Baba Dewasa” [A Mature Baba], Mata Hari, August 1, 1934, translated in Suryadinata (1979, 62–63). Translation is modified by the author. 20 Djawa Tengah Review (August 1934), p. 611, cited in Suryadinata (1993, 25). Translation is modified by the author. 19

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The Chinese in Question In order to make sense of the above mentioned quasi-national journalist community in the Indies, one needs to evaluate conventional views on the Chinese in the Indies and its categorizations. Then one can situate this journalist community of the Indies, get the picture of how it developed over time, and recognize the important roles the Chinese journalists played. The latter question sheds new light on the ways in which the Chinese in the Indies were categorized in historiographical works. Two types of categorization of the Chinese deserve further examination. In this field, we have become accustomed to use the “peranakan vs. totok” dichotomy for a socio-cultural categorization of the Chinese. We are also familiar with the three political streams of the Chinese—namely the Sin Po group, the Chung Hwa Hui (Chinese Association) group, and the PTI (Indonesian Chinese Party) group—all representing different institutional and political alliances. However, we fail to reconcile the two categorizations—social and political. More specifically, the two types of categorization fail to account for each other. Where did, for instance, a peranakan stand in regard to his political allegiance? The categorizations fail to explain how the socially dichotomic Chinese relate to three types of political streams. As it is, two fundamental questions are likely to emerge, that is if the conventional categorizations of the Chinese can account for a socio-political reality; was the social really that distinct from the political? The other question is if the categorizations were even accurate to represent the Indies Chinese political temperaments. In order to answer these questions we need to reconsider the two dominant categories of Chinese in the Indies. First the peranakan-totok dichotomy. It is generally accepted that there were two kinds of Chinese in the Indies—peranakan and totok.21 These categories are usually understood as groups of people having different socio-cultural characteristics. In particular, scholars have paid 21 American scholars produced many works on the Chinese in Indonesia in the 1950s and the 1960s. Special attention was paid to socio-cultural aspects of the Chinese in order to grasp why the Chinese (both peranakan and totok) in Java did not assimilate into the local society like their counterparts in Thailand. Among others, William Skinner’s review article (Skinner 1961) remains influential. In it Skinner refers to the peranakan as “local-born Chinese who no longer speak their ancestors’ Chinese dialect and who consider Java their permanent domicile,” and to totok as “culturally pure Chinese” (Skinner 1961, 356–7).

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attention to “the language that they spoke at home.” It goes that peranakan were “Indonesia (Indies)-born and spoke one of the Indonesian vernaculars or a variant of Bahasa Indonesia known as Bahasa Melajoe Tionghoa (Chinese Malay or Batavian Malay).” The totok, on the other hand, were those “who used Chinese as the medium of communication in the family, though they were Indonesia (Indies)-born” (Suryadinata 1981, xiv). These dichotomous categories presumably encompass all Chinese in the Indies regardless of their education, social status and income level. But this peranakan-totok dichotomy does not seem to reflect the social reality in the Indies. Even as early as 1930, Vandenbosch (1930) had posed a question on this categorization. He uses instead legal categorizations when writing about the Chinese in the Indies: singkeh (totok) are Chinese subjects, while peranakan are Indies subjects. It is quite natural to assume that at least until 1930 legal distinctions matter when Westerners dealt with the Chinese in the Indies. In his writing, Vandenbosch remarks that beginning in 1919 the Chinese were subjected to European laws with exceptions in inheritance and family laws. In this case what he referred to as the “Chinese” were actually the singkeh, which did not include peranakan. But this distinction was not quite accurate either because, Vandenbosch continues, the “relation between the singkeh, or Chinese subjects, and the peranakan is so close that if the government grants singkeh the right to be tried before European courts it cannot withhold the same privilege from the peranakan” (Vandenbosch 1930, 1013). His admission indicates that both singkeh and peranakan were too closely intertwined to be subjected to different sets of law. Even Leo Suryadinata, whose scholarly works are credited with categorizations of the Chinese, admits that his finding “does not mean that there was a sharp separation between totok and peranakan politics” (Suryadinata 1981). In other words, it is difficult to draw lines between totok and peranakan Chinese to distinguish them in legal or political terms. The other oft-cited categorization concerns the three political streams among peranakan. As early as August 1932, Liem Koen Hian gave a talk in Surabaya about the political streams (Suryadinata 1979, 51–55). It suggests that there were the China-oriented Sin Po group, the Netherlands Indies-oriented group (CHH), and the Indonesiaoriented political party (PTI). Eventually, the three stream theory was widely accepted among the Chinese. Dutch and foreign scholars also adhered to the grouping. In their files from the 1930s, the Dutch secret

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mail reports made reference to the categories.22 In 1946 an American scholar, George Kahin, remarked that “three principal political groupings were distinguishable among the Chinese population of Indonesia, although between them were various transitional stages” (Kahin 1946). Suryadinata, too, established his classification of peranakan Chinese based on these claims (Surayadinata 1981). The so-called first group, Sin Po, started to publish daily newspapers in Batavia since 1911 and played a significant role in shaping a Chinese community that was relatively pro-China. The Sin Po group accepted its position as aliens in the Indies and refused to become “Dutch subjects.” It appeared to advocate allegiance to the government in China and always took sides with China whenever it was under foreign assault. The second, CHH, was set up in August 1926 in Semarang and on June 6, 1928 received official acknowledgement from the Indies government; thus it operated within the colonial legal framework. The leadership of CHH comprised business tycoons and landowners, residual Kapitans (Chinese officials appointed by the colonial authority), and conservative intellectuals. Its programs tended to support the colonial policy and the status quo. Lastly, the PTI was founded on September 25, 1932 in Surabaya with Liem Koen Hian— the previously discussed journalist—as chairperson and Kwee Thiam Tjing as secretary. It strongly supported China during the troubled relations with Japan. Many of its leaders were journalists of the daily Sin Tit Po in Surabaya. Yet, as our discussion on the much traveled Liem Koen Hian suggests, the categories did not quite hold when it came to networking among journalists. Liem himself, chairperson of PTI, worked with journalists and served newspapers belonging to (supposedly) other groups. As Vandenbosch suggests, such categories were only useful for practical purposes. In reality, individuals habitually switched their institutional affiliations. The Indies government adopted the categories in its secret mail reports because this allowed it to see Chinese politics in groups. The government naturally paid more attention to groups and was concerned more with organizations than with individuals. To the authorities, organization connotes movement.

22 NA, Vb. 11–02–1933–R2/MR nos. 211x/1935 and 255x/1936; and NA, Vb. 17–02–1937–3 (Pluvier 1953, 88, 92).

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How then should we understand the differences among peranakan associations? Two factors deserve to be mentioned—cultural affiliation and class (ideology). Do they follow the lines of the political associations? The following discussion on the educational background of the Chinese affiliated with Sin Po, PTI, and CHH groups will prove my point. The main supporting organization of the daily Sin Po was the Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan (Chinese Association, THHK). THHK was founded on March 17, 1900 in Batavia and in 1901 started to operate Western-style schools. Their language of instruction was Mandarin with the purpose of resinicizing peranakan. Because of THHK, the Sin Po group belonged to a generation of resinicized peranakan who understood Chinese written language because it was taught at the THHK schools. Their socio-political influence spread rapidly, as shown in the number of THHK schools; fifty-four by 1908 and reaching 450 by 1934. On the other hand, PTI members, like those of the CHH, usually had a Dutch education. The Dutch-Chinese Schools (HollandschChineesche Scholen, HCS) were opened in 1908 for Chinese students. Their curriculum followed the one in The Netherlands and their students spoke and read Dutch. By 1930 more than 31,000 students went to schools with Dutch instruction (Furnivall 1939, 377). Thus, roughly speaking, due to their language (education) differences, the way in which Indies Chinese perceived their political situations also varied. The Sin Po group was closer to totok Chinese, whereas the PTI and CHH Chinese were Western-minded. Yet this cultural difference did not cause major conflicts or hostile rivalry among them. The second factor is perhaps more crucial, that is class (ideological ) difference. The disparity concerns the PTI and CHH groups more than the other. The CHH was based in Semarang where an old peranakan community was already established and served as the center for peranakan big business. It was in a sense a rightwing peranakan party. CHH’s leaders like Kan Hok Hoei (HH Kan) and Tan Tjiang Ling were usually criticized as being pro-Dutch. The Oei Tiong Ham Concern, one of the biggest conglomerates in colonial Southeast Asia, was a big supporter of CHH. The association itself was often condemned in the peranakan newspapers as neglecting the Chinese poor. On the other hand, PTI was “known as the party of the less wealthy strata of peranakan society” (Lohanda 1996, 164). In fact, PTI constituted of a small minority of peranakan, relatively leftwing

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professionals and journalists. It sought for a political assimilation of the Chinese with indigenous society. The members’ political orientation was generally anti-colonial and supported the Indonesian nationalist movement. Even the party’s pro-China stand was essentially based on anti-Japanese imperialism. In this sense, PTI’s political stand differed from Sin Po’s pro-China stand, which emphasized affinity with the motherland. Therefore, while Sin Po often invited its readers to assist China in times of trouble, Sin Tit Po paid more attention to changing political situations in China and to anti-Japanese movements in and outside of China. The timing of the establishment of PTI is worth to be noted. It was established in 1932, five years after the Partai Komunis Indonesia (Indonesian Communist Party, PKI) was disbanded. After 1927, no Indonesian political parties accepted Chinese as members due to what happened with the PKI. From its early days, the communist party bases were largely located in Semarang and Surabaya, which often received support from local Chinese, especially Chinese workers. In 1924 PKI appointed its first Chinese executive member, Kho Tjun Wan. When Sun Yat-sen passed away in 1925, PKI expressed sympathy for the Indies Chinese and the Kuomintang. Api, the PKI organ, also contributed to Sin Po (McVey 1965, 224–230). At the same time, Chinese people who were suspected of connections with the indigenous communist movement were deported. For instance, five Chinese were deported in September 1925. Three of them worked for Thien Sung Yit Po: two editors, Wei Thien Yoe, twenty-four years old, and Tjoeng Koeng Yim alias Tjoeng Koe Yit alias Tjoeng Sie Hie, forty-nine years old, and the director, Gouw Kong Hoe (Foe), forty-seven years of age. Two others worked for the Soe Po Sia Company; Tjia Tjiok Min, twenty-nine years old, was vice president of the company as well as the director of Miauw Njap trading company, and Ho Sit Kioen (Kin), thirty-five years of age, was a secretary of the company.23 But the suppression of PKI also eliminated the political channel for left-wing journalists and professionals like Liem Koen Hian. Not only did radical political parties disappear from the political arena, but Indonesian parties also refused to accept Chinese as their members, despite the fact that most pro-China peranakan were pro-Kuomintang. Peranakan journalists and activists were thus cut off from the nascent

23

Sin Jit Po, September 9, 1925, Th. 3, No. 53, L3–1.

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Indonesian politics and were forced to stay within their own Chinese circles. Even under these circumstances, journalists kept communicating with each other through their culture of citation, and through their personal networks. It was not an organized political association that stirred politics among the Indonesian population, but rather printed words with a broad market reach. This was how journalists related to the nationalist movement in the 1930s. The political situation changed again a decade later. It was not until around 1938 when the left-wing party Gerakan Rakyat Indonesia (Indonesian People’s Movement, Gerindo) opened the door for Chinese to get involved in politics (Suryadinata 1981, 164–166). Gerindo leaders, like Amir Syarifuddin and Muh. Yamin—both prominent journalists— had close connections with Liem Koen Hian through their journalistic network. Once this door was opened, Liem Koen Hian immediately abandoned PTI and joined Gerindo. Now journalists were back into Indonesian party politics. Conclusion Social categories may help to grasp organizational activities and networks, but they often overlook personal and social networks which set organizational activities in motion. Until the late 1930s, few peranakan as well as Indonesians could imagine that Dutch colonialism would come to an end in their life time. My analysis of the journalistic tour of duty, networking, and its culture of citation has illustrated how rigid distinctions along organizational and political lines cannot be maintained on personal level. More importantly, they obscure the dynamics across culture and class associations. Regardless of such tight and indispensable networks among journalists, we are today confronted with the fact that peranakan journalists are left out from Indonesian national history. As I have discussed in the chapter, this is not because they were not involved in the nationalist movement, but rather because they were excluded from the indigenous formal (organizational ) politics. As an institution, however, peranakan journalism was pivotal in the development of the Indonesian nationalist movement between the 1920s and 1930s; this was the time when newspapers and other printed materials became socio-political media for an emerging urban literate class in the Dutch colony. The case of Sin Jit Po was exemplary. In fact, because peranakan journalism

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was closely intertwined with the development of the newspaper in the Indies, one might say that it laid the foundation for indigenous nationalists to imagine an autonomous community of Indonesia. Bibliography Abeyasekere, Susan. 1976. One Hand Clapping: Indonesian Nationalists and the Dutch, 1939– 1942. Clayton: Monash Papers on Southeast Asia, No. 5. Adam, Ahmad B. 1995. The Vernacular Press and the Emergence of Modern Indonesian Consciousness (1855–1913). Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Anderson, Benedict. 1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Chandra, Elizabeth. 2006. National Fictions: Chinese-Malay Literature and the Politics of Forgetting. PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley. Furnivall, John S. 1939. The Netherlands India: A Study of Plural Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harahap, Parada. 1924. Journalistiek: Pers-en Spreekdelictenboek. Weltevreden: Uitgevers Maatschappij Bintang Hindia. ——. 1926. Dari Pantai Kepantai: Perdjalanan Ke-Soematra October–Dec. 1925 dan Maart– April 1926. Weltevreden: Uitgevers Maatschappij Bintang Hindia. ——. 1941. Pers dan Journalistiek. Medan: Handel Mij. Indische Drukkerij. Kahin, George McT. 1946. The Chinese in Indonesia. Far Eastern Survey 21 (October): 326–9. Kompas. 2002. Beberapa Segi Perkembangan Sejarah Pers di Indonesia. Jakarta: Kompas. Kwee Kek Beng. 1948. Doea Poeloe Lima Tahon Sebagi Wartawan. Batavia: Penerbit “Kuo-Batavia.” Lohanda, Mona. 1996. The Kapitan Cina of Batavia 1837–1942. Jakarta: Djambatan. Maters, Mirjam. 2003. Dari Perintah Halus ke Tindakan Keras: Pers Zaman Kolonial antara Kebebasan dan Pemberangusan 1906–1942. Jakarta: Hasta Mitra. McVey, Ruth. 1963. The Rise of Indonesian Communism. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Mrazek, Rudolf. 2002. Engineers of Happy Land: Technology and Nationalism in a Colony. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Pluvier, J.M. 1953. Overzicht van de ontwikkeling der nationalistische beweging in Indonesië in de jaren 1930 tot 1942. ’s-Gravenhage, Bandung: N.V. Uitgeverij W. van Hoeve. Pramoedya Ananta Toer. 1985. Jejak Langkah. Jakarta: Hasta Mitra. Said, Tribuana. 1988. Sejarah Pers Nasional dan Pembangunan Pers Pancasila. Jakarta: CV Haji Masagung. Semaoen. 1919. Persdelict Semaoen. Semarang: Sarikat-Islam Sekarang. Shiraishi, Takashi. 1990. An Age in Motion: Popular Radicalism in Java, 1912–1926. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Siegel, James T. 1997. Fetish, Recognition, Revolution. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Skinner, William. 1961. Java’s Chinese Minority: Continuity and Change. The Journal of Asian Studies 20 (3): 353–62. Suryadinata, Leo, ed. 1979. Political Thinking of the Indonesian Chinese 1900–1977: A Sourcebook. Singapore: Singapore University Press. ——. 1981. Peranakan Chinese Politics in Java 1917–1942. Singapore: Singapore University Press. ——. 1993. Peranakan’s Search for National Identity: Biographical Studies of Seven Indonesian Chinese. Singapore: Times Academic Press.

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Tjamboek Berdoeri. 2004. Indonesia dalem Api dan Bara. Malang: ELKASA. Vandenbosch, Amry. 1930. A Problem in Java: The Chinese in the Dutch East Indies. Pacific Affairs, III-11 (November 1930): 1001–17. Van Niel, Robert. 1960. The Emergence of the Modern Indonesian Elite. Chicago: Quadrangle Books. Williams, Lea E. 1960. Overseas Chinese Nationalism: The Genesis of the Pan-Chinese Movement in Indonesia, 1900–1916. Glencoe, Illinois: The Free Press. Yamamoto, Nobuto. 1995. Colonial Surveillance and ‘Public Opinion’: The Rise and Decline of Balai Poestaka’s Press Monitoring. Keio Journal of Politics, 8: 71–100. ——. 1997a. Hanpatsu to Juyo [Repellence and Acceptance], Hogaku Kenkyu 70 (3) (March 1997): 43–84. ——. 1997b. Reading and Placing Semaoen’s Hikajat Kadiroen: A Thought on Political Discourse and Institutional Politics in Early Indonesian Nationalism. Keio Journal of Politics, 9: 49–80.

CHAPTER SIX

THE LOA JOE DJIN-CASE: A TRIGGER TO CHANGE Patricia Tjiook-Liem Introduction In 1909 Loa Joe Djin, a Chinese shopkeeper in Batavia, was found guilty of accessory to theft and subsequently sentenced. There was nothing unusual in this fact in itself; it was a routine job in the daily practice of the police-court. But it was the aftermath that would prove to be of great influence on the lawmaking policy of the Indies government. After having served his sentence Loa took action. We do not know his motives, but it is possible that he wanted some kind of rehabilitation for the slur on his reputation due to what he felt was an unjust verdict pronounced in a deficient criminal procedure. With his actions he succeeded in drawing national and international attention, while at the same time the flaws of the lower criminal administration of justice for the Natives and their equated1 (the police-court) and the unsatisfactory legal position of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies caught the spotlight. It resulted in pressure that would influence the colonial government in its decision to abandon the existing administration of justice for minor criminal offences for the indigenous people of the Netherlands East Indies and their equated. In 1914 the administration of justice before the police-court was replaced by the institution of the landrechter, a professional judge who administered justice for minor criminal offences for all population groups without distinction. Loa Joe Djin’s story, apart from being an exceptional case in which an individual Chinese not only stood up against the colonial Equated to the Natives means having the same legal position as the Natives. Equated to the Natives were Arabs, Moors, Chinese, and all Mohammedans and heathens (art. 109 RR 1854). In colloquial speech these equated were also known as Foreign Orientals. 1

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government and its administration of justice, but also found ways to arouse national and international attention, is also a story of how in those years that government had to reckon with internal and external political pressure in its policy making, in this case its lawmaking policy regarding the Chinese. The Loa-case was part of that pressure, and because of its unusual character it may have even functioned as a trigger in the reform of the administration of justice before the police-court. To put the case of Loa Joe Djin in perspective, this essay will start with a short introduction of the legal position of the Chinese, then deal with the administration of justice for minor criminal offences for the Natives and their equated (most of them Chinese), and conclude with a background sketch of the political situation between 1900 and 1910. The complexity of these aspects, especially of the political situation, regretfully demands a selection to preserve the focus. The Legal Position of the Chinese In 18482 one of the most important principles of the legislation for the Netherlands East Indies, a dual legal system, was laid down in the General Provisions of Legislation for the Netherlands East Indies.3 A few years later, in 1854, this principle was anchored in art. 109 of the Government Regulations (art. 109 Regeeringsreglement), which Regulations were considered to be the Constitution of the Netherlands East Indies.4 Article 109 divided the population of the Netherlands East Indies into two main groups, the Europeans and the Natives (Inlanders), who were each subjected to their own legal system. Each main group had a subgroup, being those who were equated either with the Europeans or with the Natives. Arabs, Moors, Chinese, and all others who were Mohammedans or heathens were equated with the Natives. The dual legal system meant that laws, regulations, and administration of justice for Europeans and their equated were different from those for the Natives and their equated. The principle of concordance, one of

2 On May 1, 1848, the years of codification of the laws for the Netherlands East Indies ended with the coming into force of these laws. 3 Art. 6–9 General Provisions of Legislation for the Netherlands Indies (Algemeene bepalingen van wetgeving voor Nederlandsch-Indië ), Ind. Stb. 1847 no. 23. 4 Art. 109 Government Regulations (Regeeringsreglement), Ind. Stb. 1855 no. 2.

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the principles of the codification of the laws for the Netherlands East Indies in 1848, required the legal system for the Europeans to follow that of the motherland as closely as possible. In that way it would provide them with an administration of justice, which would meet the same standards as in the homeland. In criminal law—and with respect to the subject in this essay we will deal only with the administration of justice regarding minor criminal offences—Europeans were brought before the residency-court, while Natives and their equated had to appear before the police-court. The main difference between these two kinds of administration of justice was the presence, respectively absence of sufficient guarantees for a fair administration of justice by respectively the residency-court and the police-court. The Administration of Justice before the Police-Court (Politierechtspraak, Politierol) The administration of justice before the police-court was the administration of justice by a magistrate who was not a professional judge, but an administrative officer. The police-court was notorious for its arbitrariness. The institution dated back from before the codification. Actually, it used to be the administrative decision by the resident5 of all the cases which he considered to be improper or unlawful and at the same time not to be important enough to be brought before a court. When, however, punishment for the Natives for such cases was considered to be necessary—even if it would only serve to maintain authority of the administration—such a punishment would be administered by an administrative decision (Blerkom, van 1916, 6). In the years before the codification the codification-committee considered a transfer of this kind of administration of justice (“an administration of justice outrageous under a civilized administration,” as the chairman of the codification-committee wrote) to an independent professional judge.6 Then, separation of powers would be established. For the Natives and their equated such a transfer would mean a Administrative head of a district or region. Chairman codification committee to Minister of Colonies, 31-08-1845, National Archives The Hague, Archives Scholten van Oud Haarlem, inv. 48. National Archives The Hague hereafter as NA. 5 6

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considerable improvement. However, the scales turned in favor of those who wanted to hold on to the police-court as it functioned. They considered it of the utmost importance that the administrative officer should keep his competency to administer justice. In that way he would be able to use that power as an important instrument to force the indigenous people to serve the economic goals of the government. These economic goals ran concurrently with the proceeds of the then operational Culture-system and had top priority. So it happened that in 1848 the police-court acquired a legal foundation in art. 110 of the Regulations for the Judicial Organization (Reglement voor de Rechterlijke Organisatie). In minor criminal offences Natives and their equated were brought before the magistrate of the police-court, who at the same time was an administrative officer. Of the main characteristics of the police-court we mention: 1. There was, as already mentioned, no separation of powers. In principle the magistrate was an administrative officer, the resident, who could delegate his competence to the assistant-resident or the controleur.7 Usually, the assistant-resident was also the head of the police (Blerkom, van 1916, 31–51). 2. There were no or very few rules of criminal procedure to guarantee adequate criminal proceedings (Blerkom, van 1916, 62–69). 3. There were no rules for evidence. The magistrate could pass judgment at his own discretion, as he saw fit (Blerkom, van 1916, 108, 112). 4. He had no duty or obligation to motivate his judgment. Should he be bound to motivate his sentence, then he would have to show how he had arrived at his judgment. Usually registering the sentence in the records sufficed (Blerkom, van 1916, 88–94). 5. There was no appeal. The magistrate was the judge from first to last instance. No one could change the sentence, not his superior, e.g., the resident, not even he himself, nor the High Court of the Netherlands East Indies. The High Court was only responsible for the supervision of the quarterly registers of the police-court and the only thing the Court could do was to comment on these registers (Blerkom, van 1916, 95–106).

7

Controleur: the lowest in rank in the colonial administration.

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Once sentenced the only thing the convicted could do to escape punishment was to ask the Governor-General for mercy. The latter could decide for moderation of the sentence or acquittal of the punishment. While in the nineteenth century immediate execution of the sentence followed the magistrate’s decision, after the turn of the century execution was more often suspended awaiting the decision of the Governor-General. When mercy was granted, punishment had sometimes already partly of wholly been carried out. In the first case the convicted did not have to undergo the punishment further. Then, as one author said, mercy had the character of an expression of regret, a declaration of sympathy. However, the sentence of being guilty of the offence he was accused of remained. By granting mercy, the Governor-General as the highest representative of the Queen had actually become a judge of appeal. The right to grant mercy had then been used for another purpose than what it was meant for (Blerkom, van 1916, 98–104). Apart from its arbitrariness, the police-court (Tjiook-Liem 2009, 395) was also feared for the humiliating way defendants were tried and punished. The magistrate could impose a fine up to of twenty-five guilders or labor at the public works for food without pay for a maximum of ninety days. Cane-beating and locking in the block were abolished in the nineteenth century (Tjiook-Liem 2009, 396–398). Defendants who were brought to the police-court were tied to each other by a rope on their upper arms. For many people, especially people of some social standing, it was a nightmare to be brought up like that, and after having been sentenced, to have to walk the streets behind a garbagecart and undergo the punishment of labor at the public works. Sometimes death by suicide was preferred above punishment (Ruyter de Wildt, de 1917, 450–451). In 1909, the year of the Loa-case, about forty years after the end of the Cultivation System, this situation was basically unchanged. The Political Situation in the First Decade of the Twentieth Century The turn of the nineteenth into the twentieth century marked the beginning of a new episode in the history of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies. It is impossible and with respect to the Loa Joe Djin case it would go too far to deal extensively with all aspects and

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factors which in a larger or lesser degree influenced or may have influenced this new period. To give an idea of the complex situation in those years of change we will mention at random a number of these factors. On the side of the Chinese these were for instance: the changed relations between the Chinese and the Indies government since the end of the opium and other farms; the question of leadership of the Chinese in the eyes of the Chinese communities themselves; the equation of the Japanese with Europeans by the Japanese law of 1899, which accentuated the feeling of discrimination of the Chinese; the quest for emancipation, especially for better education and a better legal position, the rise of nationalism and China’s support, the rise of a Malay and Chinese press. The government on the other side had to reckon with: the awakening of the East with a powerful and victorious Japan and an upcoming China; the discontentment of the Chinese with their legal position, starting with their efforts to have the pass and zoning system abolished; the rise of Malay and Chinese newspapers in Netherlands East Indies, the interest of the international press, especially the press in China in matters concerning the legal position of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies; the demands of China to appoint consuls in the Netherlands East Indies; the Law on Dutch Citizenship (Wet op het Nederlandsch Onderdaanschap) to establish authority over the Chinese, an urgent matter after the Dutch and Chinese Nationality Acts of respectively 1892 and 1909; the rise of Indonesian nationalism by the founding of Budi Utomo and last but not least the need of preserving prestige of the Dutch and Indies government. We will focus on three aspects, which, in connection to the Loacase, were of direct influence either on the Chinese or on the Dutch and Indies governments and their policy. The first one is the quest for emancipation and the rise of nationalism among the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies. The second one is the growing interest of China for the overseas Chinese, whom it more and more claimed as his subjects. And the third is the change of policy of the Dutch and the Indies governments. The period of emancipation8 for the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies started at the end of the 19th century. The founding of the

8 We follow Van Dale’s definition of emancipation as the liberation from legal, social, political, or intellectual restrictions and limitations, as the assignment of equal

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Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan (THHK, Chinese Association) in 1900 is generally considered to be the official start of what is coined by Fromberg as the “Chinese movement” (Chineesche beweging), a movement struggling for a better legal position (Fromberg 1926, 450). Actually, in those early years the goal of the THHK was aimed at a re-orientation on Confucianism. However, to be able to understand the teachings of Confucius, it was necessary to have a command of the Chinese language, which most of the peranakan Chinese who were born in the Netherlands East Indies and who had lived there for generations, had lost. So in the following year the next step of the THHK was to set up schools for the Chinese children, in which the Chinese language was part of the curriculum (Kwee 1969, 15–16). These schools proved to be a great success, notwithstanding the fact that the Indies government abstained from any support (Govaars-Tjia 1999, 64). In 1908 fiftyfive THHK schools were functioning with 5,500 pupils (Govaars-Tjia 1999, 73). The realization of a common and practical goal, education for the Chinese youth, also united the Chinese population (Williams 1960, 66). This reorientation on Confucianism, called by Suryadinata “cultural nationalism” (Suryadinata 1999, xiv), was soon followed by the pursuit for the abolition of various grievances. Of these grievances we will only mention the two most important ones. The first serious grievance was the pass and zoning system (het passen en wijkenstelsel). This system meant in practice that for Chinese the freedom of movement and of choosing a place to live and settle down was restricted and regulated by various ordinances. The second grievance was the administration of justice before the police-court. Although the Chinese quest for a better legal position started with the efforts for the abolition of these restrictive, discriminating and humiliating regulations, in the end it was equation they wanted, a legal position equal to that of the Europeans, the same position as the Japanese had acquired in 1899. Actually, the Japanese in the Netherlands East Indies did not meet the two official criteria for equation as mentioned in art. 109 of the Government Regulations: race and religion; they were neither Europeans nor Christians. And although their number was small and their social position low, and although they had never expressed a

rights and as equation before the law (Van Dale Groot Woordenboek der Nederlandse Taal, 1992).

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wish for equation, they were nevertheless equated with the Europeans in art. 109 Government Regulations of 1899. It was considered to be a political move, but all the same the Chinese felt it to be an insulting discrimination.9 Sino-Malay newspapers started appearing in 1901 and they gave voice to the ambitions of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies. They contributed to the development of a pan-Chinese movement aimed at the unification of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies and at a cultural and political orientation on China (Suryadinata 1981, 6). Some of them, as for instance the Kabar Perniagaan and later the China-oriented Sin Po became very influential. Also in that first decade Chinese commercial organizations as the Siang Hwee and the Chinese reading clubs Soe Po Sia were set up. The Siang Hwee functioned as a Chamber of Commerce with direct contacts with China and contributed to a closer connection with that country. The Soe Po Sia, which initially focused on educational activities, became more and more politically orientated (Govaars-Tjia 1999, 69–73; Williams 1960, 95–109). The Indies government had not only to deal with these developments in the Netherlands East Indies itself, she had also to face a growing interest from China for the Chinese. A connection of the Chinese in Netherlands East India with the ancestral homeland was established when the THHK schools needed teachers for the Chinese language. These teachers were recruited from Singapore, Japan, and China and the connection with China resulted in an active interest from the Chinese government. The latter even set up a school in Nanking to continue the THHK-education of these Chinese students (Govaars-Tjia 1999, 64–65). Starting in 1906 government officials and others such as school-inspectors were sent by China to inspect the Chinese schools, although such an inspection was also used as a pretext for other interests, commercial as well as political. At first visiting officials from the Chinese government were received cordially by the Indies government. But this soon changed when the frequency of these visits increased and when these visitors arrived accompanied by navy vessels and even warships. The positive and enthusiastic feelings of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies for these visitors from China were in profound contrast to their negative attitude to the Indies

9

See for the realization of this amendment, Tjiook-Liem (2005, 192–208).

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government. China’s interest led, to use the phrase of Williams, to Chinese nationalism (Williams 1960, 88–91, 151–158). The press in China also kept a watchful eye on what went on in the Netherlands East Indies and would not hesitate to complain about or expose the discriminatory regulations and the unsatisfactory legal position of the Chinese in general.10 Pressure was also felt in The Hague, where the Chinese ambassador Lou Tseng Tsiang frequently brought China’s concern and complaints to the attention of the Dutch Minister of Foreign Affairs. Policy of the latter usually was to bide some time by answering that he had to consult his colleague the Minister of Colonies first, who in his turn had to contact the Governor-General in Batavia. It was not until 1906 that the government in The Netherlands as well as in the Netherlands East Indies realized that the pressure, especially on account of the changed political relations in Asia, asked for another policy. The two main things that were decided upon was that the demands of the Chinese for Dutch education and a better legal position had to be met and that a dam should be raised against China’s influence and interference in what was considered Dutch internal affairs.11 In 1908 the Indies government opened the first Dutch-Chinese schools. Reform of the pass and zoning system had become urgent, delay could no longer be tolerated. Actually, plans for reform were already made at the end of the nineteenth century, but they had not yet materialized in a draft, due to opposition from and disagreement among some leading high officials in Batavia.12 Another concern of the Netherlands Indies government was that the impression should be avoided as much as possible that the new policy was the outcome of pressure (which it actually was). In January 1909, the month in which Loa Joe Djin was sentenced, no steps were taken concerning the other serious grievance, the administration of justice before the police-court. The government acknowledged and admitted that this kind of administration of justice was

10 Dutch chargé d’affaires in Peking to Minister of Foreign Affairs, 14-07-1909 no.880/216, NA, Vb.15-10-1909, R.20/inv.114. 11 Minister of Colonies to Governor-General, 03-11-1905-46, NA, Vb.03-11-1905/ inv.342; Governor-General to Minister of Colonies, 09-08-1906-59/1 confidential, NA, Vb. 15-10-1909, R.20/inv.114. 12 Governor-General to Minister of Colonies, 09-08-1906-59/1 confidential, NA, Vb.15-10-1909, R.20/inv.114.

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“unsatisfactory” and the complaints of the Chinese justified, but there was no sense of urgency. The Loa Joe Djin-Case: Two Sides of a Coin On January 16, 1909, Loa Joe Djin, a Chinese shopkeeper in Batavia, was sentenced by the magistrate of the police-court of that town to the maximum punishment of ninety days hard labor at the public works for food without pay. Loa was found guilty of being an accessory to theft of a number of gramophone records. His petition for mercy was denied by the Governor-General on the fifth of March of that year. Loa served his sentence. At the court session the following testimony of a Dutch lady, Mrs. Hoolboom, confirmed by her friend Mrs. van Veem, was decisive. In December 23, 1908 Mrs. Hoolboom missed a box containing gramophone records. She assumed that they were stolen by a Chinese housepainter, whom she had called in from the street to do some odd jobs in the house. A few days after having reported the theft to the police Mrs. Hoolboom decided to conduct a search for the records herself. Accompanied by her friend Mrs. van Veem, she first went to look for them in a pawnshop. There they advised her to go to Pasar Senèn. The second shop she visited there was the shop of Loa Joe Djin. Loa sold several things, among which second-hand gramophone records. Both ladies browsed through the records, but the missing ones could not be found. According to her own testimony, Mrs. Hoolboom then, without Loa’s permission, opened a cupboard, in which she found a box with ten gramophone records. Although the lid of the box was missing (and on that lid she herself had written down her name), she identified the box and the records as hers. The dent13 on one of the records, the Caruso record (equal to one of her missing records), convinced her that these records were hers. Without confronting Loa with this discovery and after telling Loa that she intended to buy some records and would come back for them later she left the shop to phone her husband and the bailiff. When Mrs. Hoolboom returned a short time later, accompanied by the two men, box and records were not to be found. Loa denied having other records than those in his shop.

13

“Dent” is used here for the Malay word “somplak.”

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Even after a house search (which in the case of Chinese and other non-European people could be done without a search warrant), box and records did not surface, according to Mrs. Hoolboom because Loa had sent his employee after her to spy on her when she was looking for a telephone to warn husband and bailiff. (The employee, Tan Keng Tjiang, admitted having gone to the pawnhouse, where Mrs. Hoolboom went to telephone, but not by order of Loa). The bailiff gave credit to Mrs. Hoolboom’s testimony and concluded that Loa should be brought before the police-court magistrate. He believed that Loa liked to occupy himself with fencing (ia soeka djadi toekang tadah), buying and selling stolen goods in close collaboration with his employee. Against these two statements Loa testified that, when Mrs. Hoolboom came to his shop to buy some gramophone records, he showed her the records he had, and that when she decided not to buy, he did not send his employee after her. When she returned he had shown the bailiff the records Mrs. Hoolboom intended to buy. He denied having other gramophone records in his possession or having hidden any. The magistrate found Loa guilty of accessory to theft and subsequently sentenced him to the maximum punishment of ninety days of hard labor at the public works for food without pay.14 In his petition for mercy to the Governor-General, Loa persisted in his innocence. He based his petition on the following grounds: 1. The magistrate’s competence. Loa doubted the magistrate’s competence to hear his case, as the value of the stolen goods had not been established before the court session and that value actually could not be established as the corpus delicti was missing. If the value had been decided on twenty-five guilders or more, the case would be heard by another court, the “landraad.” Then a professional judge would administer justice on legal and convincing proof, while the police-court magistrate administered justice on his subjective conviction, without any guarantee for an objective investigation and without an adequate defense for the accused. 14 Statements of Mrs. Hoolboom, the bailiff of Tanah Abang Hekman and Loa Joe Djin; sentence of the assistant-resident signed by the inspector of police Van der Meer June 16, 1909, as noted in the Register of the Police-Court Batavia; assistantresident to resident of Batavia Jauary 29, 1909. The summary of Mrs. Hoolboom’s testimony by the assistant-resident W.J. Ketjen in his letter to the resident of Batavia January 29, 1909, deviates in some respects from her statement, NA, Vb.02-10-1909, X.19/inv.113.

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2. Loa further stated that he was sentenced solely on the testimonies of the two ladies, who were not under oath and testified in each other’s presence. Mrs. van Veem confirmed Mrs. Hoolboom’s story and helped her when her friends’ memory let her down. 3. The dent on the Caruso record, which had been accepted as the convincing proof that the record was one of the stolen records of Mrs. Hoolboom, was, according to Loa, of no significance. This dent was due to a technical impairment, which could be found on all records of that edition. Mrs. Hoolboom’s ownership of the records had therefore not been established, so there was no proof of fencing. 4. Loa also put forward that he himself had not been given the opportunity either to have his own witnesses heard or defend his case at the court’s session as, immediately after Mrs. Hoolboom had testified and Mrs. van Veem had confirmed this testimony, sentence was passed. 5. About himself, Loa claimed that during the sixteen years that he ran the shop he had never been in trouble with the law. He had even been helpful to the police and had always had a good reputation. He was not afraid of any inquiry by any authority, policeofficial or Chinese district-chief. On being asked, the inspector of police Van der Meer, who at the same time administered justice in Loa’s case, confirmed to Loa’s solicitor, Mr. Hoorweg, that nothing unfavorable was known about Loa. 6. Loa further stated that, notwithstanding that his solicitor had repeatedly told him that, if he delivered the records, he would not be punished and would get off scot-free, and that the magistrate had given him the opportunity to do that within eight days, it was impossible for him to do so as he did not have and never had the records. He persisted in his denial of having other records than those in his shop or having sent his employee after the ladies. 7. He was prepared to swear in the most ceremonious and solemn way the most terrible oath for Chinese. This would mean that, should he be really guilty, his descendants up to the seventh generation would be cursed and doomed. 8. Loa also brought forward that if he, as a man not without means and being a member of a respectable family of merchants, should have to undergo hard labor on the public works for food without pay on such loose grounds, he would become forever impossible in the eyes of his fellow citizens. For more than sixteen years he

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had been a decent taxpayer and his reputation had so far been unblemished.15 To his petition Loa added a statement by his wife, his brother-in-law and a coolie-foreman, made before a notary public. In this statement these three persons said that after Loa’s conviction the two ladies went to Loa’s house to ask Loa’s wife for a compensation of one hundred guilders for the lost records. This statement was seriously doubted by the assistant-resident, who choose to believe the two ladies. Mrs. Hoolboom and Mrs. van Veem admitted having gone to Loa’s house after the sentence (and as the assistant-resident himself wrote: “bragging triumphantly that they had Loa punished and thereby causing a crowd”) to try to recover the records. When Loa’s wife told them she did not have the records, the ladies said that Mrs. Loa instead offered them one hundred guilders to put in a good word for Loa with the inspector of police.16 The advices, which the Governor-General received from the authorities involved, were negative without exception and were mostly concentrated on the criminal procedure that had been followed. They said that the case had been dealt with entirely in accordance with the law. There had been no miscarriage of justice, therefore there was no reason for complaints. In his advice to the resident of Batavia the assistant-resident went through the case again,17 thereby mentioning that after the sentence had been pronounced, Loa’s solicitor, Mr. Hoorweg, in the presence of the two ladies, the djaksa18 and the magistrate, had declared that he himself, after the session and the given testimonies, was convinced of Loa’s guilt. The assistant-resident concluded that there were no mitigating circumstances, and that the defendant made the impression of being an exceptionally sly and

15 Loa’s petition for mercy 29-01-1909, NA, Vb.02-10-1909, X.19/inv.113. Only Loa’s most important arguments are used here. 16 About this statement see: assistant-resident to resident Batavia, NA, 29-01-1909 no.498/4, pp. 4, 7 and 8, NA, Vb.02-10-1909, X.19/inv.113. 17 The assistant-resident Ketjen denied the arguments which Loa put forward in his petition for mercy. It is not clear whether Ketjen himself or the inspector of police Van der Meer acted as magistrate. 18 Native prosecutor.

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cunning person. A strict example should be made to other fencers. The petition for mercy was denied on the fifth of March.19 June 1909 So far the Loa-case was everyday practice at the police-court. It was justice as usual. In June 1909, after having served his sentence, it turned out that Loa did not have the intention to rest his case. He published an article in the Malay newspaper, Kabar Perniagaan, in which he wrote that he had been wrongly accused and innocently sentenced on the false testimonies of two Dutch ladies. He also mentioned that he had sent telegrams to the Chinese Minister of Foreign Affairs in Peking, the viceroy of Nanking, and the Chinese ambassador in The Hague. In these telegrams he explained his case and stated that he had been sentenced without due process, without been given the opportunity of executing his right of defense. He concluded his telegrams with the remark that he would prefer to be financially ruined on the costs of his rehabilitation, than to be submitted to such an unfair and arbitrary administration of justice. The telegrams cost him 600 guilders, which in those days approached the monthly salary of a judge in the Netherlands East Indies with ten years of service.20 With these actions Loa made the front pages of the Dutch press in the Indies. It resulted in three leading articles, two in the Bataviaasch Nieuwsblad and one in De Locomotief. These newspapers also reported that the Chinese Council of Batavia had stepped into the case. It was reported that in their meeting the members of the Council demanded that in the future the Chinese should be heard before a real court and not before an inspector with a clerk (een controleur met een djoeroetoelis).21 In the wake of the Bataviaasch Nieuwsblad and De Locomotief other Dutch

19 Assistant-resident to resident Batavia 29-01-1909 no.498/4; advices to the Governor-General of the resident Batavia 08-02-1909 no.23442/4; Attorney-General at the High Court 11-02-1909 no. 461; High Court 16-02-1909; Government’s Decision 05-03-1909 no. 42, all in NA, Vb.02-10-1909, X.19/inv.113. 20 At that time a Dutch judge with ten years of service would enjoy a monthly salary of 700 guilders. Council of the Netherlands East Indies to Governor-General 29-03-1910-XXXVII, p. 4, NA, Ministery of Colonies, file no. 934. 21 Articles in Bataviaasch Nieuwsblad March 6, 1909 and April 4, 1909; in the Locomotief April 6, 1909; in resident Batavia to Governor-General 22-06-1909-156 F, confidential, NA, Vb.02-10-1909, X.19/inv.113.

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and Malay newspapers picked up the item. In their comments they all disapproved of the existing administration of justice, which, apart from the question of guilt, was considered a mockery of justice.22 In June 1909 the local administrative officers brushed aside the news about the Chinese Council with the remark that their meeting was of no importance and the news coverage a matter of exaggerated and distorted interpretation, possibly far from the truth.23 In its petition the Chinese Council requested the Indies government to equate the Chinese with the Europeans, as far as the criminal administration of justice was concerned, or at least to be withdrawn from the administration of justice before the police-court. Contrary to the local administration the request was taken seriously by the Director of Justice. The government decided that for the moment a formal answer meant to put oil in troubled waters and to bide some time for more concrete plans, would do. The petition, so the government answered, would be considered in the discussion around the already existing plans of the government to reform the administration of justice, including that of the police-court. At that moment there were no plans in Batavia, just ideas how to cope best with the political pressure. Even so, realization dawned in government circles that with the given answer the appearance of having given in to pressure would not be taken away.24 In The Hague the Chinese ambassador Lou Tseng Tsiang, after having received Loa Joe Djin’s telegram, lost no time. He requested an investigation, which the Minister of Foreign Affairs, R. de Marees van Swinderen, passed on to his colleague, the Minister of Colonies, A.W.F. Idenburg. To the last de Marees admitted that ambassador Lou’s remark held some truth. Lou remarked that a small merchant as the complainant would not go to such high costs by sending his

22 Newspaper cuttings June 1909 from the following newspapers: Bintang Soerabaia, Pewarta Soerabaia, Pantjaran Warta, Pemberita Betawi, Soerabaiasch Handelsblad; in NA Archives Ministery of Foreign Affairs concerning citizenship Netherlands East IndiesChinese 1892–1903, file no. 38. 23 Assistant-resident to resident Batavia 22-06-1909-4572/4; resident Batavia to Governor-General 22-06-1909-156 F, NA, Vb.02-10-1909, X.19/inv.113. 24 Undated petition of the Chinese Council (probably submitted between June 22 and August 11, 1909); Director of Justice to Governor-General 07-06-1909-174, most confidential; Director of Justice to Governor-General 11-08-1909-266 confidential; Council of the Netherlands East Indies to Governor-General 27-08-1909-XXIII, Government Decision 05-09-1909-5, NA, Vb.10-10-1911, 91/inv.869.

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telegram, if he were not innocent and sure about his unjust conviction.25 But Idenburg, on the contrary, suspected that the ambassador again was meddling improperly with Dutch internal affairs26 and that in that case not much store should be set at the matter of the high costs.27 He attached more importance to the question of Loa’s citizenship than to the question of his guilt. Should Loa fulfill the requirements for Dutch citizenship according to the draft of the Dutch Citizenship law—which law was soon to beproclaimed—then Loa would fall under Dutch authority, and China’s request could be declined. In Batavia the minister’s request for full information forced the officials involved to render an account of the justice administered. The Loa-case that until then had been an internal and normal affair in the Netherlands East Indies had drawn the attention of the government in The Hague and beyond. The Ideas of Idenburg and Nederburgh about Reforms In 1909 and 1910 the two main actors in the decision process regarding the reform of the administration of justice before the police-court were A.W.F. Idenburg, Minister of Colonies and subsequently Governor-General and I.A. Nederburgh, Director of Justice in Batavia. In August 1909 Idenburg turned over his office of Minister of Colonies in The Hague to his successor J.H. de Waal Malefijt, to become Governor-General for the Netherlands East Indies. There he took over office from Governor-General J.B. van Heutsz on the December 18, 1909 (Wal, van der 1964, 694). Both Idenburg and Nederburgh were very concerned about the political situation. Although they were not in direct contact with each other, they shared the same view regarding the political situation in 1909. However, they had a different solution in mind. Already in April

25 Minister of Foreign Affairs to Minister of Colonies 04-06-1909 no. 11362, enclosing a translation of Loa’s telegram, NA, Vb.09-06-1909, P.2/inv.110. 26 The activities of the Chinese ambassador Lou Tseng Tsiang in 1908 and 1909 in matters regarding the legal position of the Chinese and their nationality were considered by the Minister of Colonies Idenburg to be improper meddling and most irritable, Minister of Colonies to Minister of Foreign Affairs, 28-05-1909 no.W.11 in Vb.28-05-1909, W.11/inv.110. 27 Minister of Colonies to Minister of Foreign Affairs 09-06-1909-P.12 no. 50 confidential, NA, Vb.09-06-1909, P.12/inv.110.

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1909, before he was informed about the Loa-case, Minister of Colonies Idenburg had developed some ideas of how to meet the demands of the Chinese. On account of the political implications the government could no longer close her eyes and ears to the complaints against the administration of justice for the Foreign Orientals. Next to the pass and zoning system, the Chinese and the Arabs held the most serious grievances against this institution. After the letters of the Dutch ambassador in Peking, F. Beelaerts van Blokland, the information of the advisor of Indian and Arab matters C. Snouck Hurgronje, and the articles in the press in Java, something had to happen. Idenburg considered it good policy not to wait until circumstances would force the government to concessions. At this moment reform could still be done with the appearance of good will. Therefore Chinese and other Foreign Orientals, who were already for the greater part subjected to European civil law and the connecting civil procedure,28 should be equated with Europeans without delay, at least on the field of criminal administration of justice. Although Idenburg foresaw that such an equation would lead to ill feelings among the educated indigenous people, such objections would have to make way for the political necessity. If the equation of administration of justice of the Foreign Orientals were to be followed with plans to improve the administration of justice for Natives, then the offensiveness of that measure—should it really exist—would be reduced to very small proportions (“zou het kwetsende van de eerstbedoelde maatregel, als het al werkelijk mocht bestaan, toch tot zeer geringe afmetingen zijn teruggebracht” ).29 Also the usually insurmountable objections and stumbling blocks for such measures—big sacrifices for the state coffers and extension of judicial personnel—would have to make way for the huge political importance, as Idenburg wrote.30 In April 1909, under the pressure of the political situation, Idenburg was prepared to give in to the demands of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies and equate the Foreign Orientals with the Europeans for the entire criminal administration of justice.

Stb. 1855 no. 79. Minister of Colonies Idenburg to State Committee, and Minister of Colonies to Governor-General 08-04-1909 no. 35, NA, Archives Ministery of Colonies, file no. 930. 30 Minister of Colonies to State Committee, and Minister of Colonies to GovernorGeneral 08-04-1909-35, NA, Archives Ministery of Colonies, file no. 930. 28 29

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A few months later, in July 1909, for Idenburg the political necessity had become a political urgency, most probably on account of the Loa Joe Djin-case. He urged the State-committee, to whom he had commissioned the working out of his ideas into drafts to speed up.31 For Nederburgh, at the other side of the world, in Batavia, the developments in the Netherlands East Indies did not come unexpectedly. Already in 189832 he had expressed his views that sooner or later a new situation with equal rights for Europeans and non-Europeans would come and that it would be wise to be prepared. After the amendment of the Government Regulations in 1899, by which the Japanese were equated with the Europeans, he had pleaded for the abolition of the racial distinction to “reef the sails before the storm.”33 In August 1909, facing the national and international turmoil caused by the publication of the Loa Joe Djin-case, the petition of the Chinese Council, and the request of the Minister of Colonies for a full report, he expressed the following views to Governor-General J.B. van Heutsz. Although in itself the publications in the press may not be of great importance, as the local administration considered, it was a different matter put in connection with the growing resentment about the existing situation of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies and in China. Nederburgh believed that it would only be a matter of years before the colonial policy and the connecting “old-fashioned situation” would come to an end. He characterized the situation at that very moment as “periculum in mora.”34 Waiting any longer would weaken the position of the Indies government against China and the Indies Chinese. Now already the appearance of enforcement could not be wholly avoided. Should the government be forced in the future to acknowledge equal rights again and again, which she could have acknowledged earlier in an honorable way and of her own accord, then each time such enforcements would mean a blow in the face and a slur on prestige and national honor. He did not expect the Chinese to stop until the reason of their discontentment would have been taken away and until they were given a fair place in the Netherlands Indies

31 Minister of Colonies to State Committee 14-07-1909-44, NA, Archives Ministery of Colonies, file no. 930. 32 Nederburgh (1896–1898, 333, 335). 33 Nederburgh (1903, 54, 62). 34 Mortal danger.

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society. In contrast to Idenburg, he did not favor the idea of equating only the Foreign Orientals with Europeans as far as it concerned the administration of justice, while at the same time keeping the existing situation for the Natives. He saw the solution in the establishment of an equal and fair administration of justice for the whole population of the Netherlands East Indies, especially the administration of justice for minor offenses before the police-court, which, he admitted, was not “satisfactory.” Further, by letting the information slip to the public that the Department of Justice in Batavia was already working on a draft for a total reform of the administration of justice before the police-court, the government would be saved from the appearance of having given in to pressure. In doing so she would not only have met the existing demands, but at the same time troublemakers would be disarmed.35 Three birds would then be killed with one stone. In office in December 1909, Governor-General Idenburg wasted no time. He took up Nederburgh’s idea only to reform i.c. to unify the administration of justice before the police-court. The principle of concordance in the new art. 75 Government Regulations did not prove to be an obstacle. It allowed Europeans to be submitted to the criminal procedure for Natives and their equated, although for Europeans it would mean a leveling down (“nivellering”). To make the administration of justice in minor criminal offences for Natives and their equated acceptable for Europeans it had to be upgraded.36 The year 1910 showed a growing political pressure in the Netherlands East Indies and abroad. In Batavia Idenburg’s office faced petitions from individual and groups of Chinese for abolishment of the administration of justice before the police-court and of the pass and zoning system. There were rumors about a secret circular calling on Chinese teachers, the Chinese Chamber of Commerce and other Chinese associations to take action. Petitions, eventually followed by telegrams were to be sent to several authorities in China and to the Chinese ambassador in The Hague. These actions were to continue

35 Director of Justice Nederburgh to Governor-General Van Heutsz 07-06-1909 no.174, most confidential, NA, Vb.10-10-1911, 91/inv.869. 36 Governor-General to Minister of Colonies 23-04-1910-26/1 confidential, NA, Archives Minister of Colonies file no. 934, Governor-General to Minister of Colonies 11-06-1910-37/1 confidential, NA, Archives Ministery of Colonies, file no. 932, Minister of Colonies to Governor-General 19-01-1911-41, Minister of Colonies to State Committee 25-07-1911-22, NA, Archives Ministery of Colonies, file no. 933.

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and if necessary to be expanded, until the Chinese would be satisfied with the measures taken by the government.37 Idenburg’s letters and telegrams to the Minister of Colonies to get the latter’s agreement for the reform breathed the sense of urgency. Even after De Waal Malefijt’s agreement to the reform plans Idenburg did not slow down. He requested the Minister of Colonies, although detailed plans were not ready yet, to ask parliament beforehand for a fundamental decision and subsequently make these plans public. The minister refused. For Idenburg the political urgency was huge. China would soon send consuls to the Netherlands East Indies. Undoubtedly they would bring forward the grievances of the Chinese population. Should the plans for reform of the administration of justice before the police-court become known after these complaints, then it would look as if the reform were an achievement of these consuls.38 The mills of government could not grind faster. In spite of Idenburg’s efforts, it lasted until January 1914 before the administration of justice before the police-court was replaced with the institution of the landrechter. Starting that year a professional judge would administer justice in minor criminal offences to Europeans, Natives, and Foreign Orientals without distinction. On that level of criminal administration of justice unification had been established. Concluding Remarks Due to the timing and the ways Loa tried to get attention for his case, its effects must be considered important. The timing was unintentional, but the Loa-case occurred in the midst of a period of great discontent about the legal position of the Chinese in general and the mentioned grievances in particular. The time was ripe—the case fell in fertile grounds due to Loa’s resourcefulness in choosing the stages to present his case. In such a situation it could function as a trigger, as it did. 37 Governor-General to Minister of Colonies 26-10-1910-68/1 confidential; Dutch ambassador in Peking to Governor-General 27-10-1910 no. 1536/370, NA, Vb.2012-1910, 22/inv.789. 38 Governor-General to Ministery of Colonies 11-06-1910-37/1 confidential, NA, Archives Minister of Colonies, file no. 932; Governor-General to Minister of Colonies 10-08-1911-1037/11, NA, Vb.10.10.1911-91/inv.869; Telegram Governor-General to Ministery of Colonies 12-06-1911-444 and Telegram Minister of Colonies to Governor-General 13-06-1911-42, NA, Vb.13-06-1911, 42/inv.834.

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The Loa-case very clearly illustrated the complaints of the Chinese in the Netherlands East Indies. By making the flaws of a poor administration of justice visible in a concrete case it increased the impact. At the same time the case was implicitly a complaint against the passiveness of the government. The latter acknowledged the poor quality of the administration of justice, but it was a bridge too far for her to take steps to improve or abolish this institution. There was no political need and in those days fair administration of justice for Natives and their equated was just not a matter of course. The importance and subsequently the priority to change government’s policy came only under political pressure. Several aspects of foreign (especially in connection to China) and domestic policy, fear of loss of prestige in the eyes of press and public were decisive. Whether Loa found some satisfaction in the course of events, we will never know. What he did was quite unusual. His case showed the powerlessness of a defendant in the existing system. Powerless as he was in and outside the courtroom, he must have realized that in the Netherlands East Indies itself he would not stand a chance to be taken seriously by the government. Only political pressure from outside, from China, and support from the press and the public would help, and that is what Loa decided upon. Bibliography Blerkom, M. van. 1916. De ontwikkeling van de politie-rechtspraak in Nederlandsch-Indië, PhD diss., Leiden University. Fromberg, P.H. 1926. Verspreide geschriften. Leiden: Leidsche Uitg. Mij. Govaars-Tjia, M.T.N. 1999. Hollands onderwijs in een koloniale samenleving, de Chinese ervaring in Indonesië, 1900–1942. PhD diss., Leiden University. Kwee Tek Hoay. 1969. The Origins of the Modern Chinese Movement in Indonesia, translation of Asal moelahnja timboel pergerakan Tionghoa jang modern di Indonesia by Lea F. Williams. Ithaca: Cornell University. Nederburgh, I.A. (1903) Recht van Nederlandsch-Indië. dl. 80. —— 1896–1898. Wet en Adat I–III. Batavia: Kolff & Co. Ruyter de Wildt, C.F. de. 1917. Politierol en landgerecht, Voordracht gehouden voor de Nederlandsch-Indische Bestuursacademie 11 januari 1917. Koloniaal Tijdschrift, jrg.6, band I: 433–66. Suryadinata, Leo. 1999. Political Thinking of the Indonesian Chinese 1900–1995, A Sourcebook. Singapore: Singapore University Press. ——. 1981. Peranakan Chinese Politics in Java 1917–1942. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Tjiook-Liem, Patricia, 2009. De rechtspositie der Chinezen in Nederlands-Indië 1848–1942, Wetgevingsbeleid tussen beginsel en belang, PhD diss., LUP Dissertations, Leiden University Press.

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——. 2005. Feiten en ficties bij het ontstaan van de Japannerwet. Rechtsgeleerd Magazijn Themis 166 (4): 192–208. Wal, S.L. van der. 1964. De Volksraad en de staatkundige ontwikkeling van Nederlands-Indië. Groningen: J.B. Wolters. Williams, Lea. 1960. Overseas Chinese Nationalism, The Genesis of the Pan-Chinese Movement in Indonesia, 1900–1916. Illinois: Glencoe.

PART IV

SURVIVAL AND CREATIVITY: CHINESE BUSINESS RESPONSES TO REGIME CHANGE

CHAPTER SEVEN

CRISIS MANAGEMENT AND CREATIVE ADJUSTMENT: MARGO-REDJO IN THE 1930s Alexander Claver Introduction In 1931 the International Colonial Exhibition was held in Bois de Vincennes near Paris. The Netherlands spent nearly 2.5 million guilders on a magnificent pavilion, which shows how much the Dutch government valued its colonial image even at a time of severe economic distress. In portraying the Netherlands Indies special emphasis was placed on the colony’s economic achievements. Visitors were informed about the different means of transportation, the road and railway network, the density of telephone, telegraph, and postal services, as well as the electricity grid. Attention was also paid to such topics as export agriculture, money and finance, engineering, the trade balance, etc. The Dutch made creative use of sophisticated means of representation, such as illuminated maps with motion indicators, stuffed animals and colorful dioramas. The so-called “stairs of abundance” (trap des overvloeds) was one successful example as the worldwide distribution of the colony’s export produce was symbolized by little figurines each carrying a product down the stairs. With a map of the Indonesian archipelago as the diorama’s point of departure, the figures multiplied before reaching a map of the world, their symbolic destination. This forceful—though rather misleading—impression of affluence illustrated the many economic accomplishments of the Netherlands Indies (Bloembergen 2002, 271–316; Taselaar 1998, 348–358).1 However, it was neither an accurate nor truthful depiction of the actual state of affairs, because at the beginning of the 1930s world It therefore seems rather symbolic, that on June 28, 1931 the Dutch colonial pavilion burned to the ground. The decision to rebuild was quickly made and in a tour de force a new, though far less conspicuous, pavilion was constructed and officially opened on August 17. 1

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market prices had plunged as a result of the worldwide economic crisis. With the income of the Netherlands Indies determined largely by export revenues, economic decline had almost immediately set in, forcing the colonial government to re-enter the economic scene after decades of abstinence. Trading enterprises were severely hit by the steep fall in prices, and the resulting sharp decline of turnover threatened their profitability and even survival. A return to prosperity seemed at hand with improved economic conditions after 1936. Unfortunately, within a few years political turbulence in Europe and Asia put an end to the economic recovery of the Netherlands Indies. The economic depression of the 1930s encouraged the imposition of a range of trade barriers, as import regulations and initiatives aimed at economic autarky were speedily implemented. International trade was crippled. The commercial relationships of the preceding decades were increasingly difficult to maintain, as evidenced by the measures taken by the colonial administration against the encroachment of Japanese business. But traders could not rely on government support alone. A more professional business organization was needed to meet the requirements of a commercial sector faced with global market forces beyond control. The basis of the colonial trading system itself—the delicate balance between the different (ethnic) participants—was, however, not fundamentally altered. Cooperation remained crucial and, as will be seen in the following pages, this was well understood by all parties involved. This chapter describes the business experience and survival strategy of Margo-Redjo (a Chinese-owned coffee company based in Semarang) during the economic crisis of the 1930s. The severe worldwide economic crisis constituted a regime change which seriously affected people’s everyday life. The Chinese living and working in the Indies archipelago were forced to deal with significant changes—whether political, economic, legal or socio-cultural—in the system, administration and/or institutions surrounding them. This confronted entrepreneurs with major problems and left them little room for maneuver. However, the range of possibilities differed strongly between firms. Large wealthy companies could employ survival strategies unavailable to those with less capital at their disposal. The example of MargoRedjo shows how a smaller Chinese-owned enterprise survived the crisis by analyzing its business environment and adopting a clever marketing policy.

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Before focusing in detail on the adjustment of Margo-Redjo, some information concerning the economic depression of the 1930s will be given with special reference to the economic situation of the Netherlands Indies within a changing global environment. This is followed by a section on the policy response of the Dutch colonial administration. A response aimed at achieving greater economic independence as a result of the encroachment of Japanese business and worldwide economic protectionism. Against this background the survival strategy of Margo-Redjo is described and analyzed in detail, in an attempt to show the versatility and creativity of entrepreneurial conduct in times of crisis. Reversal of Fortune: The Economic Experience of the 1930s In October 1929, the New York Stock Exchange on Wall Street collapsed with devastating economic consequences. From 1929 till 1932, Wall Street’s industrial stock would lose about eighty-two percent of its value, accompanied by a drop in America’s industrial output of no less than fifty-four percent. ([Atlas] 1987 II, 145). The severity of the crash shook people’s confidence in the real economy, which manifested itself in declining orders and investment. The resulting economic contraction accelerated the existing decline in commodity prices. Since the late 1920s a serious oversupply of primary commodities, such as rubber and sugar, had started to affect world market prices long before Wall Street tumbled. With no effective means of price restoration at their disposal producers had sought to compensate for the resulting loss of revenue by raising output. Though understandable, this strategy merely served to exacerbate the existing fall in prices and when world demand shrank due to the Wall Street crash the impact on commodity prices proved disastrous.2 In the case of the Netherlands Indies, export prices fell by 7.1 percent annually between 1920 and 1928 (See Tables 1 and 2). However, export volumes rose by 7.7 percent over the same period, while the 2 The economic crisis of the 1930s and its impact on the economies of Southeast Asia, including the Netherlands Indies, have been well documented. The following publications provide an excellent introduction: Boomgaard (2000), Booth (1998, 39–47, 105–16, 154–61, 203–22), Dick et al. (2002, 153–62), Taselaar (1998, 363–422).

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alexander claver Table 1. Annual Average Growth in Major Economic Aggregates, 1874–1940

Period

1874–1900 1885–1900 1901–1928 1920–1928 1928–1934 1934–1940

GDP (per capita) – – 1.7 2.3 – 3.4 2.5

Export volume 3.1 3.9 5.8 7.7 – 3.9 2.2

Money supply1 of trade2 2.7 1.6 3.6 4.8 – 2.2 3.8

Terms

4.2 4.1 5.3 6.8 – 6.9 2.2

coins, notes, and bank deposits. indicating the relationship between export and import prices. Source: Booth (1998, 18).

1 2

colony’s terms of trade continued to improve by an average of 6.8 percent. (In other words, prices for imports fell even more than for exports.) At the beginning of the 1930s commodity prices took a real nose-dive. From 1928 till 1934 export prices fell by almost twenty percent on an annual basis. The decline was so steep that—despite falling import prices—the colony’s terms of trade then turned negative, decreasing 6.9 percent on average. In addition, there was no production growth to balance the difference, since export volume fell by 3.9 percent during these years. The economic crisis was also apparent in the colony’s money supply, which declined by 2.2 percent, clearly reflecting the reduced number of money transactions within the colony. These indicators point to a general decline in economic output. This conclusion is supported by a fall in GDP per capita of 3.4 percent between 1928 and 1934, in sharp contrast with the increase in GDP of 2.3 percent during the period 1920–28 (Booth 1998, 18). Heavily dependent on the export of primary products, the Netherlands Indies economy was very vulnerable to price fluctuations. Rubber and sugar alone accounted for fifty-two percent of total export earnings in 1925. This figure breaks down into thirty-two percent for rubber and twenty percent for sugar, representing a money value of 582,210,000 guilders and 367,312,000 guilders respectively. However, by 1932 rubber exports were only a mere five percent of the peak value in 1925. Sugar experienced an equally dramatic price fall between 1923 and 1934 with a drop in value of eighty-seven percent.

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Table 2. Price Index Numbers, 1870–1940 (1913=100)

1870–1879 1880–1889 1890–1899 1900–1909 1910–1919 1920–1929 1930–1940

Import products

Export products

Freights

World market prices

x

s

x

s

x

s

x

s

232 155 113 108 150 182 95

17 15 11 7 47 24 23

126 115 105 84 135 234 61

14 32 13 7 45 44 28

329 191 86 58 744 164 110

24 50 28 34 140 51 27

115 90 78 86 145 168 106

9 9 6 5 39 26 10

x = average index number. s = standard deviation indicating the relative importance of the fluctuations [expressed as percentage of the average index numbers]. Source: Korthals Altes (1994, 15, 159–166).

Increasing output failed to absorb these downward price movements. Between 1925 and 1929, rubber production increased by twenty-four percent, whereas export values fell by sixty percent. Sugar production expanded no less than fifty-two percent during the period 1923–29, but total export value nonetheless decreased by thirty-eight percent. In the early 1930s production increases were finally dismissed as a way of maintaining revenue. In 1932, the output of rubber had fallen twenty percent, while sugar output was fifty-three percent lower in 1934.3 The most striking feature of the crisis of the 1930s was the loss in value of the colony’s most important export commodities, i.e. sugar, rubber, tobacco, copra, and oil (Korthals Altes 1991, 20). In 1925 the export of these commodities accounted for no less than 75.2 percent of total export earnings (Booth 1998, 208). Compared to the average price level of the 1920s, export prices dropped to twenty-six percent during the 1930s (Korthals Altes 1994, 19) (See Table 2). As a result, total export value during the first half of the 1930s completely collapsed and only started to recover after 1935 (See Table 3 and Figure 1). When corrected for the extreme fall in commodity prices the export economy kept performing reasonably well until 1932, only to fall back and stabilize around the 1913 level during the late 1930s. This was

3 See Dick et al. (2002, 155), Van der Eng (1993, 202–205), Khudori (2005, 21, 34–6), Lindblad (1988, 278–9, 286–9), Lindblad (2000, 132).

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Table 3. Imports and Exports of Java and Madura, 1929–1940: Values (at constant prices x ƒ 1,000) and Index Numbers (1913=100) Import Value 1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940

717,784 568,327 411,045 262,314 224,075 193,165 179,182 183,637 317,733 319,308 360,078 299,246

220 175 126 81 69 59 55 56 98 98 111 92

Export

Real value1 475,354 400,230 367,004 291,460 312,917 261,034 248,864 248,158 324,217 339,689 379,029 264,819

Value 146 123 113 89 96 80 76 76 100 104 116 81

714,916 572,407 379,667 299,827 226,499 215,435 191,681 211,445 298,232 230,608 278,395 294,353

203 163 108 85 64 61 55 60 85 66 79 84

Real value1 525,674 629,019 666,082 749,568 612,159 478,744 425,958 358,381 363,809 397,600 371,193 387,307

149 179 189 213 174 136 121 102 103 113 106 110

deflated import and export values. Source: Korthals Altes (1991, 46–56, 66–75), Korthals Altes (1994, 159–66).

1

mainly due to the delayed reduction of the high production levels for sugar and rubber. Total import values, whether measured in current or real prices, likewise dropped and did not bottom out until 1935 (See Table 3 and Figure 1). When compared to the preceding decade, import prices on average nearly halved during the 1930s (Korthals Altes 1994, 19) (See Table 2). In 1934, for instance, the Batavia cost of living index was only fifty-eight percent of its 1928 value, whereas the rural Java food price index stood at forty-one percent (Booth 1998, 40; Dick et al. 2002, 156). This remarkable price fall partly restored international competitiveness and helped cushion the decline in income of the population. The explanation given for the rapid deflation is the adherence of the Dutch to the gold standard until 1936. According to Booth, a sharp internal deflation was the only way to bring about the necessary real depreciation of the guilder, when faced with deteriorating terms of trade and a nominal appreciation in the exchange rate (Booth 1998, 40).4

More information concerning the adherence to the gold standard in The Netherlands can be found in Griffiths (1987) and Korthals Altes (1979). The “colonial” 4

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250

Index numbers

200

150

100

50

0

1929 1930 1931 1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 Years Import

Import (deflated)

Export

Export (deflated)

(1913=100)

Figure 1. Index numbers of imports and exports, Java and Madura 1929–1942. Source: Table 3.

From the mid-1930s onward, the economy of the Netherlands Indies started to show distinct signs of recovery (Boomgaard and Brown 2000, 4–5) (See Table 1). Export prices improved by 7.8 percent annually after 1934, accompanied by a growth in export volume of 2.2 percent. The colony’s terms of trade once again turned positive and would remain so for the rest of the decade. Business transactions and investment picked up strongly as indicated by an average increase in the money supply of 3.8 percent. The rapid resurgence of the economy also manifested itself in a significant rise of GDP per capita of 2.5 percent per year during the period 1934–40 (Booth 1998, 18). This change of fortune can be attributed to the following factors. First, food crop agriculture performed well during the latter part of the decade as did smallholder production of important cash crops; especially rubber. Second, international conditions slowly improved. stance regarding this issue is detailed by Taselaar in his study on the Dutch colonial lobby (Taselaar 1998, 371–80).

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When demand from the industrialized countries started to rise again, world market prices improved and with it the Netherlands Indies’ economy. Third, the partial economic recovery was aided by the growth in industrial output. Between 1931 and 1939 the contribution of manufacturing to GDP jumped from eight percent to twelve. A development closely linked to the Dutch reaction to the success of Japanese business at the height of the crisis (Booth 1998, 41–3, 46–7, 86; Dick et al. 2002, 161). Japanese Threat and Dutch Response Industrialization and the so-called “Japanese threat” constituted the two main themes of the administration’s economic policy during the 1930s. The latter, however, received far more public attention as the economic strength of the Japanese was increasingly considered a threat to the colonial economic and political system.5 Japanese trade had boomed during the First World War: the country’s share of imports into the Netherlands Indies climbed from two percent in 1914 to twenty-two percent in 1918. After the end of the war, this percentage would drop to eight percent by 1922, only to climb back to twelve percent at the end of the decade. From 1928 onward, Japanese exports to the Netherlands Indies experienced a vigorous growth, soaring to a peak of thirty-two percent in 1934, at which point it nearly exceeded combined imports from European countries. Japan owed this achievement to the fact that it manufactured a range of consumer goods, such as garments, household utensils, and bicycles. This was especially true of textiles and garments after the Japanese textile industry managed to reduce its production costs through the adoption of new technologies (Booth 1998, 209–10). These were popular as they were cheap and appealed to indigenous taste. In addition, during the 1920s and 1930s, Japanese companies built up their own marketing and distribution network throughout the Indonesian

5 See Post (1991, Chapter 7 and 9) for the Japanese economic activity in the Netherlands Indies during the 1930s. Of special interest are also the articles published by Dick (1989) and Booth (1994). More information regarding the political implications of the Japanese presence in the colony is provided by De Graaff (1997, 260–70). Japanese espionage activities are dealt with in Haslach (1985, especially 107–33, 151–2, 174–5).

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archipelago, aided by the economic ties with the Chinese business community. This allowed them to operate independently and develop a business strategy based upon a large clientele and characterized by rapid turnover and small profits. The lasting importance of Chinese networks for Japan’s economic expansion in Southeast Asia should not be obscured. Japanese companies continued to work closely together with influential business groups within the Chinese commercial community. These personalized Japanese-Chinese economic networks, established prior to and during the First World War, had a positive effect on Japan’s economic advance throughout the 1920s and 1930s (Fukuda Shozo 1995, 228–46, especially 228–9; Post 1995 and 2004). Equally positive was the devaluation of the yen against the guilder by almost sixty percent in December 1931. Thereafter, Japanese products became even more sought-after. As a result, Japanese business clientele multiplied which helped increase turnover and simultaneously spread the commercial risk (Booth 1998, 209–11; Dick 1989, 251–3; Dick et al. 2002, 158–9). At first, the reaction to the ongoing encroachment of Japanese business was rather mild. In the eyes of the administration, cheap Japanese imports provided a fortuitous cushion against falling living standards. Likewise, the deficit in bilateral trade with Japan, aggravated by lagging Japanese demand for the colony’s exports, was not considered particularly disturbing. However, this attitude was replaced by a deep concern for the loss of the colonial export market for Dutch products and the growing threat of the Japanese presence to the colonial distribution system. The response was the Crisisinvoerordonnantie (Crisis Import Ordinance) of September 1933, which allowed the government to impose import quotas and discriminate by country of origin. Regulation also took the form of import bans—with rice being the most important commodity to be protected by a ban—and widespread price control. This complex system of restrictions would ultimately affect almost forty percent of all imports. Although officially denied, these measures were primarily intended to reduce Japanese imports. This goal was achieved by 1937, when Japan’s overall share of imports had been cut successfully from thirty-two to fifteen percent.6

6 See Booth (1998, 219–21), Dick (1989, 253), Dick et al. (2002, 158–9), Fukuda Shozo (1995, 135–45), Panglaykim (1963, 8–12).

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The Japanese protested fiercely against these measures, which resulted in tough and protracted trade negotiations between 1934 and 1937. Besides reducing Japan’s import share, two more issues were at stake. In an attempt to rein in the Japanese system of direct distribution the Dutch insisted that no more than twenty-five percent of Japanese imports be handled through Japanese living in the Netherlands Indies. In addition, they also objected to the growing share of Japanese shipping on the route between Japan and the Indies archipelago. The diplomatic bickering concerning these topics finally led to the conclusion of three agreements: a shipping agreement in 1936 and two trade agreements in 1937 (the Hart-Ishizawa agreement) and 1938 (the Van Mook-Kotani agreement). On the whole, these agreements benefited the Dutch more than the Japanese. Renewed negotiations, lasting from September 1940 till June 1941, ultimately failed because of the extreme demands put forward by the Japanese.7 The export sector did not escape regulation either. Apart from the dramatic slump in export prices, the 1930s saw a curtailment of traditional export markets due to worldwide protectionism. Since The Netherlands failed to provide a substantial market for the colony’s products, most Netherlands Indies’ exports were sold in unprotected markets and therefore price sensitive. These unfavorable circumstances forced the Dutch to reconsider their economic policy and persuaded them to embark on a strategy of production restriction in an attempt to make the colonial economy less vulnerable to price fluctuations on the world market. The domestic production of export crops was regulated either unilaterally (kapok, cinchona, coffee, and copra), or by joining international commodity stabilization programs (sugar, rubber, tea, and tin). Although the outcome of these different schemes varied considerably, each had a profound impact on the lives of all those involved. The harsh restrictions turned out to have far-reaching consequences for both the European and the indigenous population.8

7 See Duynstee (1980, 148–54), De Graaff (1997, 267–8), Haslach (1985, 84–90, 99, 144–8, 156–7, 164–7), De Jong (1984 Vol. 11a, 671–6), Post (1991, 245–8), Taselaar (1998, 410–12). 8 A first-hand account of this confrontation can be found in a curious, yet very interesting book entitled Indisch getij, Hollandsche bakens. Through an intriguing blend of fiction and non-fiction the authors—A. Voortland and W.G.N. de Keizer—offer a fascinating glimpse of the economic hardship people had to endure during the 1930s and the bitter sacrifices they were obliged to make (Voortland and De Keizer 1944).

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Sugar provides a good example of the depressed situation of the 1930s. As a result of the crisis the sugar importing countries introduced measures to safeguard their high-cost producers of beet sugar against the competition of cheap cane sugar. Java as an exporter was especially vulnerable, for the small size of the Dutch market meant that it was heavily dependent on unhampered international trade. When, in addition, China, Japan, and India—traditionally the main buyers of Javanese sugar—started to protect their markets by means of import regulations, the industry found itself in dire straits (Wiseman 2001, 216–312). In 1932 the international Chadbourne Scheme was agreed upon, which allotted to each participating country a sugar export quota and provided for a reduction in the acreage of sugar worldwide. However, the agreement did not include the British Empire, the United States, Japan, and the Soviet Union and it therefore failed to achieve the results hoped for. In 1937 the International Sugar Council was set up to allocate export quotas and the fortunes of the industry slowly improved, although this was partly attributable to stockpiling caused by the threat of war, rather than to the restrictive measures ([ Javasuiker] 1932–1933). Intervention of this kind signaled the end of the colony’s traditional free trade policy and initiated a strategy of domestic self-sufficiency by means of import substitution and industrialization. The authorities started to actively support industrial development by initiating capital works programs and establishing research centers to upgrade technology and management. In the meantime, the protection offered by the new trade regulations contributed significantly to the rapid diffusion of modern technologies.9 The textile industry around Bandung profited strongly from these efforts, which resulted in a significant modernization of the sector. With the help of a strong demand for locally woven sarongs, the number of modern handlooms rose spectacularly from 500 in 1930 to 49,000 in 1941. Most industrial activity, however, was drawn to Batavia, where several new industries were established, including automobiles (General Motors), rubber tires (Goodyear), margarine (Unilever), and shoes

9 See Booth (1998, 156, 218–19), Dick et al. (2002, 159), Haccoû (1947, 17–30, 141–54, 215–56), Sato (2004, 21), Taselaar (1998, 380–400, 472–83), Voortland and De Keizer (1944, 88–99).

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(Bata). Other projects initiated in the late 1930s included the production of consumer goods (light bulbs, bicycles, rubber sandals, metal fittings, and soap). The late colonial industrialization achieved some degree of import substitution, but only in a narrow range of mainly consumer goods.10 It was only after the occupation of The Netherlands by the Germans in 1940 that domestic demand was shifted to local heavy industry. For two years, the metal, machinery, and chemical industries operated at full capacity, because of government contracts in anticipation of war with Japan. In addition, a crash program for the development of heavy industry was announced, which aimed to free the Netherlands Indies from dependence on foreign supplies of essential industrial inputs. Unfortunately, many of the projects under consideration had barely left the drawing board when the Pacific War broke out in 1942 and none would ever be completed. Margo-Redjo11 Since the crisis of the 1930s left companies little room to maneuver, they had to formulate a survival strategy which explored all the leeway management could find. With the exception of companies like Internatio—one of the largest general trading houses in the colony— most entrepreneurs had little or no capital at their disposal and therefore could not afford the costly reorganization and investment strategy chosen by their giant counterpart.12 They had to look for other, less expensive options within their more limited range of possibilities. The coffee firm Margo-Redjo in Semarang, Central Java, provides an interesting example of how a smaller enterprise dealt with the problems it encountered. (See Box 1) Margo-Redjo was owned by the 10 See Booth (1998, 156–7), Dick et al. (2002, 159–62), Keppy (2001, 35–40), Segers (1987, 27–38). 11 The following section is based upon research of the private archive of MargoRedjo kept in Semarang for which permission was kindly granted by W.B. Dharmowiyono (Tan Tjoan Pie). More information was obtained during three interviews held with W.B. Dharmowiyono on June 19, 1999, December 4 and December 13, 1999. Additional information was provided by Tan Tjoan Ik in an interview conducted on October 18, 2000 and W.W. Dharmowiyono (Tan Swie Ing) in a letter dated November 11, 2005. 12 The survival strategy of Internatio during the 1930s can be found in detail in Claver (2006, 371–80) and Claver (2007, 305–26).

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Chinese entrepreneur Tan Tiong Ie, a distant descendant of a certain Tan Bing who had arrived in Java at the end of the eighteenth century (Claver 2006, 60–2).13 Tan Tiong Ie was born in 1883 in Semarang where he went to a Hokkien school to receive a Chinese education. Initially, he ventured into the salt business, but according to family history this business endeavor failed. The government salt lease he had acquired left him completely broke. According to the family history, his debts were so large that he even contemplated going to prison voluntarily. Fortunately, loans from friends and acquaintances helped him repay his debts and saved him from serving jail time. He then took his family to Bandung, West Java, to start over in all anonymity. Initially, he operated a small bakery and wood business which met with little success. However, the family could make ends meet and in 1916 he decided to try his hand in coffee by establishing the Eerste Bandoengsche Electrische Koffiebranderij “Margo-Redjo.” After a number of years, Tan Tiong Ie returned to Semarang with his business. The small ice factory he subsequently founded would not make him rich, but in the end Margo-Redjo turned out to be his stroke of luck. Margo-Redjo—Javanese for “prosperous road”14—was active both in coffee production and coffee trade. The company roasted coffee beans, packaged the finished product, and subsequently sold the coffee to wholesale and retail traders. Since no account books appear to have survived, nothing can be said about the company’s establishment and/ or growth. No data exist concerning the first two decades of its existence. How the necessary starting and working capital was obtained remains unknown. The interviews conducted with family members suggest two possible scenarios which, unfortunately, cannot be verified. First, family members of Tan Tiong Ie’s wife, who came from the wealthy Kwee family in Ambarawa, Central Java, might have

13 This assertion is confirmed by two genealogies of the Tan family in possession of the author, which were kindly provided by Tan Tjoan Ik and Kwee Hui Kian, respectively. See also Tan Tjoan Ik’s personal account Op zoek naar Tan Bing (“In search of Tan Bing”) written in 2002. His account can be found in the library of the Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (KITLV) in Leiden. 14 See Vleming (1926, 25–8) for the Chinese practice of giving enterprises and brands a well-sounding name. The fact that Tan Tiong Ie selected a Javanese name for his company appears to have been a deliberate choice. From a marketing point of view, the name Margo-Redjo certainly served its purpose, since the company catered predominantly to the Javanese population during the first years of its existence.

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furnished the capital needed. Second, Tan Tiong Ie might have obtained a substantial bank loan, although this last option seems less likely. It would have required some sort of collateral, which sharply contradicts Tan Tiong Ie’s sorrowful financial state at the time.

Box 1. Margo-Redjo. Source: Private archive Margo-Redjo.

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Notwithstanding these questions, Margo-Redjo turned out to be more than successful. In the 1920s, Tan Liang Ho—one of Tan Tiong Ie’s sons—could study law in Leiden at one of the most prestigious universities in The Netherlands. Tan Tiong Ie himself earned an entry into a Who’s Who of well-known Chinese entrepreneurs in Java published in 1935, which portrayed him as the first Chinese entrepreneur to export coffee to other countries. According to the entry, this export business amounted to one million kilos of coffee each year (Orang-orang Tionghoa 1935, 142). Margo-Redjo had by then become the largest coffee roaster in Java employing tens of laborers. How did Margo-Redjo manage to achieve this at a time of severe economic distress?15 Since Tan Tiong Ie had started from scratch and did not operate other businesses—disregarding a hardly profitable ice factory—it seems unlikely that he had large capital funds at his disposal. Surviving letters indicate that the Nederlandsch-Indische Escompto Maatschappij (NIEM) financed some of his business, but only for small amounts. The Borneo-Sumatra-Handel-Maatschappij (Borsumij) was among Margo-Redjo’s coffee bean suppliers, and though some money might have been advanced, there is no reason to assume that huge sums were involved. However, the small archive still in the family’s possession gives another possible explanation for Margo-Redjo’s success during a period of economic hardship. The key to the company’s success appears to have been its clever marketing strategy, of which Tan Liang Ho was the driving force. He had a keen interest in production and marketing techniques, and kept himself informed of the latest developments by buying specialist magazines and books. He also came up with original and creative ideas for marketing and public relation campaigns. The private archive of Margo-Redjo contains many notes as well as sketches of new advertisements, flyers, and posters he evidently drew himself. The results of his ideas and efforts were manifold. First, MargoRedjo produced different qualities of coffee, which were sold under different brand names. The lesser the quality, the cheaper the brand. Tjap Grobak Idjo was the cheapest, while Tjap Margo-Redjo was the most expensive. In between there were other brands, such as Tjap Pisau, Tjap

15 Naturally, the crisis also affected Margo-Redjo since another son of Tan Tiong Ie was forced to leave the company and had to seek employment elsewhere during the years 1930–35.

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Orang-Matjoel, Koffie Sentoso, Koffie Mirama, and Koffie Sari-Roso (See Box 5 for an example). Second, Margo-Redjo stressed the fact that it customized the packaging size of its coffee. After all, the needs of wholesale traders, retail traders, and individual customers strongly differed. This proved a strong point since this strategy was not yet common practice. Third, the distribution network of Margo-Redjo was well developed. Not only did it reach as far as Singapore, Makasar, and Lampung, but in Java especially it reached the smallest of places. This was seen as an important factor in the company’s success. Moreover, retail traders received their order with special labels giving their names, so that each package sold added to their reputation as well. Finally, Margo-Redjo put much time and effort into advertising its different products, placing ads in newspapers, participating in exhibitions, etc. But more was required in order to build a relationship with the customer in the street. Retail traders were therefore encouraged to combine sales by promising customers a free item, such as milk, when they bought one of Margo-Redjo’s brands. Another tactic was to hand out a coupon whenever a customer bought a specific brand; five coupons earned the customer a tea cup, seventy-five coupons a kebaja, 150 coupons obtained a kain batik aloes, or a very fine piece of dyed batik cloth, and so on. At the Pasar Malam held in Semarang in 1930, a contest was organized offering a price of one hundred guilders for the person that had collected most labels of Tjap Orang-Matjoel. By using these methods Margo-Redjo enhanced its reputation and increased its turnover. Given the small margins on coffee, profitability rested primarily upon a high sales level. Maintaining this was of the utmost importance, and the marketing strategy aimed to do just that. The more people knew about Margo-Redjo’s coffee and the more they appreciated its quality, the more coffee would be sold. After all, many purchases of relatively small amounts would boost sales and thereby help achieve sufficient turnover. Though lacking the financial resources of companies like Internatio, Margo-Redjo’s creativity thus paid off. Colonial Marketing and Sales Techniques This well-designed marketing strategy put Margo-Redjo in the forefront of a development that was slowly changing the way of doing business in the Netherlands Indies. The importance of building a relationship with (potential) customers had always been acknowledged by

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businessmen, especially in the trading sector where competition was particularly intense. It was a well-established strategy to protect sales figures. However, the aim of increasing turnover by matching product and client through a concerted marketing effort was something new, which received special impetus in the 1930s because of the prevalent economic crisis. With less and less money to spend, consumers needed to be enticed into the shop and convinced that they could not make a better buy anywhere else. However, simply advertising the existence and/or superior quality of certain products, while occasionally offering discounts, would not do the trick. Catering to the needs of the consumer at a time of economic hardship required a complete marketing concept, which necessitated a break with past business methods as well as a different mentality. During the 1930s Japanese retail traders in Java excelled at this new marketing approach, to their great benefit. Their remarkable success was met with a mixture of fear and curiosity on part of the Chinese and Dutch business communities. To assess the changing situation, Internatio’s management ordered an investigation into the activities of Japanese retail traders in Java.16 E.F.J. Nater and W. Folkers— deputy managers at the Batavia office—were assigned this task, and traveled all over Java to conduct interviews with Chinese and Japanese businessmen alike. In June 1933 they submitted their report in which they made several interesting observations. According to them, Japanese shops managed to attract more public for a number of reasons, such as the use of alluring displays, a bigger choice of products, and low fixed prices. More aware of the need to appeal to the taste of the consumer, Japanese shopkeepers actively searched for the right combination, concentrating on the needs and wishes of potential customers in order to get as many people as possible to pass their doorstep. Chinese shopkeepers took a more passive stance, convinced that customers would come to their store anyhow. As a result of these differing attitudes, Japanese shops differed sharply from Chinese. Most Chinese shop houses were rather scruffy, badly maintained, and hardly inviting. Inside, chaos loomed as products were piled haphazardly, making it impossible for customers to move freely and look at the merchandise before deciding what to buy. Frequently, goods were unavailable as stocks were only replenished

16

Bank Indonesia, Archive of De Javasche Bank, 3354 No. 28.

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when they had run out. In addition, prices often needed to be negotiated. By contrast, the Japanese shop looked neat and clean. Goods were priced and usually displayed in windows and glass cases, allowing the customer to walk around and get an idea of the available products. Furthermore, most Japanese shopkeepers sold their merchandise at fixed prices and, if possible, kept large stocks (Post 1991, 252–3, 255; Post 1993, 149; Post 1996, 307–9). These visible distinctions were very important, but Nater and Folkers also stressed that the Japanese business mentality fitted the prevailing economic conditions better than the Chinese. According to one of their Japanese interviewees, Chinese shopkeepers were primarily interested in making a quick profit. When a potential client entered their shops they would immediately ask themselves how much he or she might be worth and whether or not he or she was aware of the prevailing prices. The Japanese, on the other hand, followed a different tactic. They focused on winning the trust of all their clients, including the smallest ones.17 After all, a customer buying for only a cent could come back another day with more than one cent in his pocket. The ambiance of the shop (neat and clean with goods displayed attractively) and the fact that prices were fixed were of crucial importance in earning this trust. As a result, Japanese shops attracted many customers, mostly at the expense of the Chinese, at a time when every client was highly valued in order to keep turnover high. The fact that Japanese retailers did much better than their Chinese counterparts was swiftly recognized, but initially their example was hardly followed. Although complaining loudly, the Chinese business community was slow to react. Many voiced the opinion that little could be done against the Japanese since they were part of a giant organization supported by the Japanese government.18 This conspiracy theory fitted the growing general attitude in the Netherlands Indies which considered every Japanese citizen a potential spy (Haslach 1985, 107–33, especially 125–6; Post 1991, 243–4). In addition, at the height of the crisis most Chinese businessmen were more concerned

17 As early as June 17, 1922, the Batavia newspaper Kabar Perniagaan criticized the surliness and indifference with which the Chinese treated their customers contrary to the Japanese who attracted much more consumers—especially from the indigenous population—because of their friendliness (Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia/Archive Binnenlandsch Bestuur 656 Nr. V). 18 Ibid.

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with surviving the economic slump than dealing with growing Japanese competition. Still, there were exceptions to this rule as the case of Margo-Redjo clearly shows. Another example of a change in Chinese business perception can be found in the publication of a new magazine in Batavia by Liem Kha Tong in 1932: Maandblad Reclame & Efficiency Dagang, or “Monthly Magazine for Advertising & Efficiency in Trade.” (See Box 2) RECLAME & EFFICIENCY DAGANG Soerat kabar boelanan boeat sasoeatoe orang jang ingin madjoe dan dapet succes die Doenia Dagangan, Peroesahan dan Pengidoepan. Boeat besarken Kaoentoengan! Madjoeken Peroesahan! Tambah Pendjoealan! Dapetken Langganan-langganan baroe! Ketjilken Onkos-onkos! Tambah Kehasilan! ADVERTISING AND EFFICIENCY IN TRADE A monthly magazine for the person that wants to move ahead and become successful in the World of Trade, in Business and in Life. Increase your profit! Advance your Business! Increase sales! Get new Customers! Decrease your Costs! More Result!

In January 1933 the name and subtitle of the magazine were changed into: EFFICIENCY Maandblad boeat orang-orang jang Actief. Efficiency (batja: ef-fi-si-en-si) adalah Pengetahoean jang paling baroe, jang toedjoeannja: dengen tenaga atawa onkos jang paling ringan, dapetken hasil jang paling besar. Efficiency perloe digoenaken dalem Pengidoepan dan Perdagangan boeat dapetken: Succes, Keoentoengan, Kemadjoean dan Kebroentoengan. EFFICIENCY A monthly magazine for Active people. Efficiency (read: ef-fi-si-en-si) is the latest Knowledge with the purpose of achieving the best result with the least energy and cost. Efficiency is needed in Life and Trade in order to achieve: Success, Profit, Progress and Luck. Box 2. Names and subtitles of Efficiency magazine. Source: Efficiency, 1932, 1933, and March 1937.

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The magazine offered its readers articles on marketing and finance, with the aim of informing them of the latest developments and newest insights in “salesmanship, window dressing, personnel training, efficient management, etc. [. . .]”. (Orang-orang Tionghoa 1935, 199–200).19 For instance, advice was given on how to improve the lighting of products within a shop. In the words of Liem Kha Tong: Penerangan jang baek bisa bantoe menambah pendjoealan [. . .] Di bawah ini ada 12 nasehat boeat perbaekin penerangan dalem toko. (“Good illumination can help to increase turnover [. . .] Below are 12 tips on how to improve the illumination inside the shop.”).20 Other series of articles focused on the acquisition of capital for trading purposes, the increase of turnover as an important source of profit, or how small shops could maintain profitability and carve out an existence alongside the larger department stores.21 Wholesale traders took note of these new initiatives. As we have seen, Internatio investigated the success of Japanese retailers. Geo. Wehry & Co. (like Internatio counted among the largest general trading companies of the Netherlands Indies) took a different approach by actively encouraging its clients, i.e. Chinese retail traders, to modernize their business along the lines described in Efficiency, starting its own trade magazine with the name Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih in January 1933. (See Box 3) GEO. WEHRY & CO. TSA CHIH Soerat-kabar jang diterbitken 14 hari sekali oleh firma Geo. Wehry & Co. goena mengenalken itoe perhoeboengan persobatan dengen iapoenja sobat2 dan langganan-langganan. GEO. WEHRY & CO. TSA CHIH A magazine published every two weeks by the firm Geo. Wehry & Co. to show the friendly relations it possesses with friends and long-standing customers. Box 3. Name and subtitle of Geo. Wehry’s trade magazine. Source: Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih, I 1 ( January 1933).

19 20 21

Maandblad Efficiency, March 1935. Ibid. October 1934. Ibid. March 1935, April 1935 and May 1935.

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Unsurprisingly, the first issue opened with an article on retail trade: Sedikit Nasehat oentoek Perdagangan Etjeran (“Some Tips regarding Retail Trade”).22 According to the unknown author, retail trade constituted the most important field of work for the Chinese, and one in which they had held a monopoly for many centuries. However, lately there had been signs of change and a strong warning was issued: Biarpoen detailhandel sekarang boeat bagian jang paling besar masih berada dalem tangan Tionghoa, toch soeda kanjata’an, bahoea itoe monopolie jang doeloe begitoe tegoeh, skarang soedah moelai goempoer. Bangsa Indonesier, bangsa Blanda, dan teroetama bangsa Djepang, sekarang lagi bergiat boeat mendapatken kadoedoekan boeat karoegiannja bangsa Tionghoa. Although the retail trade at the moment is still for the greatest part in the hands of the Chinese, the reality is that this monopoly, which used to be so strong, is now starting to waver. Today, the Indonesians, the Dutch, and above all the Japanese are eager to take over the position lost by the Chinese.

To prevent this, a change of course was urgently needed and Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih provided some of the tools required. In the magazine series of articles were published dealing with law (Kehakiman oentoek Soedagar), window dressing (Kita poenja Etalage), or marketing in general (Toean Toko . . . Awas! ) which discussed such aspects as the proper use of display cases, good lighting, and advertising.23 Geo. Wehry & Co. also paid specific attention to its Langganan-langganan, or long-standing clients, whose custom was considered of vital importance to maintaining current turnover levels.24 Although their loyalty had been appreciated before, it was at the time valued even more because of the bad economic situation. To celebrate the loyalty

Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih, I 1 ( January 1933). Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih, I 1 and 2 ( January 1933); Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih, I 12 ( June 1933). 24 See Willmott (1960) for the importance of the langganan system in establishing trust relations. Willmott defines a langganan as a regular client/customer or his opposite, the regular dealer/supplier. According to him the langganan businessman and his client enter into an explicit or implicit agreement to trade exclusively with each other in a certain field, as a result of which they develop a prolonged acquaintance, mutual obligations, considerable trust and even friendship (Willmott 1960, 70–1). Confirmation of the above can be found in Leiden at the oral history project of the Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (KITLV) entitled Stichting Mondelinge Geschiedenis Indonesië (SMGI). See for instance SMGI, Boer 1170.1–3. 22 23

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of these men and women, each issue of Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih printed a photograph of a client with whom the company had traded for more than twenty years (See Box 4). These wonderful portraits showed the proud owner of a shop with the following text in Malay: Sobat2 dengen siapa kita soeda berdagang lebih dari 20 taon (“Friends with whom we have traded for more than 20 years”). With some, Geo. Wehry & Co. had maintained business

Box 4. Langganan-langganan Geo. Wehry. Source: Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih, I 12 ( June 1933).

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relationships for over forty years. Djie Hong Swie, a trader in textiles from Surabaya, held the record, having traded with Geo. Wehry & Co. for forty-five years. According to the text under his picture, he was a personal friend of the partners and highly respected by all.25 To what extent these and other endeavors mentioned above managed to turn the tide remains unknown, but their contribution, however small, to the survival of trading business in general cannot be denied. Margo-Redjo’s success during the height of the crisis testifies to this. However, there were many other forces at play during the 1930s and some were of greater and more direct consequence. The competition of Japanese traders, for instance, was successfully curbed by the introduction of the Crisis Import Ordinance of 1933, which reduced Japan’s share of imports from thirty-two percent to fifteen percent in 1937. It would have been impossible for an invigorated Chinese business mentality to achieve the same result in such a short period of time. Still, the importance of government measures was exceeded by the worldwide improvement of economic conditions during the second half of the 1930s. Once price levels started to climb, trading soon recovered its profitability. This could not have been achieved by good illumination, nice show cases, or courses on window dressing alone. However, under the improved economic circumstances it seemed as if the promise of these new initiatives could finally be fulfilled. Unfortunately, the occupation of the Netherlands Indies by the Japanese in 1942 prevented this. The relatively short period before the war failed to see the successful implementation of the many new ideas within the trading sector at large. More time was needed for people to change the way they conducted their business. Margo-Redjo’s lead over the competition could have served as an example, but with the arrival of the Japanese any advantage the company had once enjoyed immediately vanished.26 The disruption of its business was initiated in February 1942 when the Dutch destroyed most of the firm’s machinery as part of a planned scorched earth policy. Following the defeat of the Dutch, all goods in storage were looted and never returned.27 Outstanding debts could Geo. Wehry & Co. Tsa Chih, I 12 ( June 1933). Private archive Margo-Redjo; Interview B. Dharmowiyono, December 4, 1999. 27 See for a general description of the chaotic events in Java and more specifically Semarang during the Japanese attack Brugmans et al. (1960, 102–3, 119–28, 253–83), 25 26

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no longer be collected and were largely written off. Margo-Redjo’s business activities thereby came to a halt. When the war ended the company had to be built again from the ground. Operated by W.B. Dharmowiyono (Tan Tjoan Pie), a grandson of Tan Tiong Ie, the company today is still producing coffee under the old brand name Mirama. (See Box 5) No compensation was ever obtained from the Dutch government for the loss of its machinery.

Box 5. Margo-Redjo’s coffee Mirama. Source: Private archive Margo-Redjo.

De Jong (1984 Vol. 11a, 649–50, 978–83) and Twang Peck Yang (1998, 70–4). A graphic presentation of the Japanese conquest of the Netherlands Indies can be found in Cribb (2000, 150).

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Concluding Remarks As seen, Margo-Redjo dealt with the economic crisis effectively. The company managed to survive and grow until, by the mid-1930s, it had become the largest enterprise in the coffee roasting business in Java. A remarkable achievement since the economic tide would seem to provide little incentive for enterprising conduct. But this is only one way of looking at the difficult economic circumstances of the time. People respond strongly to strong incentives, especially when their livelihood is threatened. The economic crisis of the early 1930s constituted such a threat, as it appeared to be random, all pervasive and out of everyone’s control. An incentive can be defined as a means of urging people to act. The possibility of going bankrupt or—taken more positively—the chance of surviving the worldwide economic onslaught urged Margo-Redjo’s management to reconsider its entrepreneurial conduct by making use of novel marketing and sales techniques. These new insights did not necessarily conform to conventional wisdom and required a break with some well-honored (Chinese) practices of doing business. Though not necessarily true, conventional wisdom—first coined by the economist John Kenneth Galbraith—is simple, convenient, comfortable, and comforting. Given these traits it is difficult to break away from old beliefs, something Geo. Wehry & Co. realized by attempting to change the business outlook of its customers and transform conventional wisdom through the publication of its own trade magazine. In general, the acceptance of the required trade-off depends upon the degree to which it affects people’s well-being as well as the ease with which a new idea may be understood. Obviously, Margo-Redjo’s management perceived the required trade-off as beneficial and was therefore willing to change course. The company’s main leverage, however, appears to have been Tan Liang Ho, who had studied at Leiden University and kept himself informed of the latest developments by buying specialist magazines and books. Margo-Redjo thereby enjoyed access to better information at an earlier stage than most other companies. In the parlance of economists, such a case is known as an information asymmetry and it can only be concluded that Margo-Redjo managed to exploit this situation to its fullest advantage.

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[Atlas]. 1987. Sesam, Atlas bij de wereldgeschiedenis. 2 vols. Apeldoorn: Van Walraven. Bloembergen, Marieke. 2002. De koloniale vertoning. Nederland en Indië op de wereldtentoonstellingen 1880–1931. Amsterdam: Wereldbibliotheek. Boomgaard, Peter. 2000. Surviving the Slump. Developments in Real Income during the Depression of the 1930s in Indonesia, Particularly Java. In Weathering the Storm. The Economies of Southeast Asia in the 1930s Depression, ed. Peter Boomgaard and Ian Brown, 23–52. Singapore and Leiden: ISEAS/KITLV Press. Boomgaard, Peter and Ian Brown, ed. 2000. Weathering the Storm. The Economies of Southeast Asia in the 1930s Depression. Singapore and Leiden: ISEAS/KITLV Press. Booth, Anne. 1994. Japanese Import Penetration and Dutch Response. Some Aspects of Economic Policy Making in Colonial Indonesia. In International Commercial Rivalry in Southeast Asia in the Interwar Period, ed. S. Sugiyama and M.C. Guerrero, 133–64. New Haven: Yale University. ——. 1998. The Indonesian Economy in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. A History of Missed Opportunities. Basingstoke/New York: MacMillan Press/St. Martin’s Press. Brugmans, I.J. et al. 1960. Nederlandsch-Indië onder Japanse bezetting. Gegevens en documenten over de jaren 1942–1945. Franeker: T. Wever. Claver, Alexander 2006. Commerce and Capital in Colonial Java. Trade Finance and Commercial Relations between Europeans and Chinese, 1820s–1942. PhD diss., Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. ——. 2007. Crisis, Response and Survival. Internatio in the 1930s. Economics and Finance in Indonesia (Ekonomi dan Keuangan Indonesia) 55: 305–26. Cribb, Robert. 2000. Historical Atlas of Indonesia. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press. Dick, Howard. 1989. Japan’s Economic Expansion in the Netherlands Indies between the First and Second World Wars. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 20 (2): 244–72. Dick, Howard et al. 2002. The Emergence of a National Economy. An Economic History of Indonesia, 1800–2000. Crows Nest (NSW)/Leiden: Allen & Unwin/KITLV Press. Duynstee, T.J.B.M. 1980. De reis van Hart naar Tokio in het licht van de economische verhouding tussen Nederlands-Indië en Japan in de jaren 1934–1935. Jaarboek van het Departement van Buitenlandse Zaken, (1979–1980): 148–54. Eng, P. van der. 1993. Agricultural Growth in Indonesia since 1880. Productivity Change and the Impact of Government Policy. PhD diss., Rijksuniversiteit Groningen. Fukuda Shozo. 1995. With Sweat and Abacus. Economic Roles of Southeast Asian Chinese on the Eve of World War II. Originally published in 1939 in Japanese as Kakyo Keizai-Ron. Singapore: Select Books. Graaff, B. de. 1997. Kalm, temidden van woedende golven. Het Ministerie van Koloniën en zijn taakomgeving 1914–1940. Zutphen: SDU Uitgevers. Haslach, R.D. 1985. Nishi no kaze, hare. Nederlandsch-Indische inlichtingendienst contra agressor Japan. Weesp: Van Kampen & Zn. Jong, Lou de. 1984. Het Koninkrijk der Nederlanden in de Tweede Wereldoorlog. 11a Nederlands-Indië I. ‘s Gravenhage: Staatsuitgeverij. Keppy, Peter. 2001. Hidden Business. Indigenous and Ethnic Chinese Entrepreneurs in the Majalaya Textile Industry, West Java, 1928–1974. PhD diss., Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Khudori. 2005. Gula Rasa Neoliberalisme. Pergumulan Empat Abad Industri Gula. Jakarta: LP3ES. Korthals Altes, W.L. 1991. Changing Economy in Indonesia. 12a. General Trade Statistics 1822–1940. Amsterdam: Royal Tropical Institute. ——. 1994. Changing Economy in Indonesia. 15. Prices (non-rice) 1814–1940. Amsterdam: Royal Tropical Institute.

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Lindblad, J. Thomas. 1988. De handel tussen Nederland en Nederlands-Indië 1874– 1939. Economisch en Sociaal-Historisch Jaarboek 51: 240–88. ——. 2000. Structural Origins of the Economic Depression in Indonesia during the 1930s. In Weathering the Storm. The Economies of Southeast Asia in the 1930s Depression, ed. Peter Boomgaard and Ian Brown, 123–42. Singapore and Leiden: ISEAS/ KITLV Press. Panglaykim, J. 1963. Some Notes from the History of Marketing. Indonesia from 1933 to the B.E. System of 1957. Ekonomi dan Keuangan Indonesia 16 (2): 5–12. Post, Peter. 1991. Japanse bedrijvigheid in Indonesië 1868–1942. Structurele elementen van Japans economische expansie in Zuidoost Azië. PhD diss., Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. ——. 1993. Japan and the Integration of the Netherlands East Indies into the World Economy 1868–1942. Review of Indonesian and Malaysian Affairs 27 (1–2), 134–65. ——. 1995. Chinese Business Networks and Japanese Capital in Southeast Asia, 1880–1940. Some Preliminary Observations. In Chinese Business Enterprise in Asia, ed. Rajeswary Ampalavanar Brown, 154–76. London: Routledge. ——. 1996. Characteristics of Japanese Entrepreneurship in the Pre-War Indonesian Economy. In Historical Foundations of a National Economy in Indonesia 1890s–1990s, ed. J. Thomas Lindblad, 297–314. Amsterdam: Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences. ——. 2004. Dutch and Japanese Encounters with Chinese Commercial Networks in Indonesia 1920s–1960. A Comparison. Unpublished research paper NIOD, Amsterdam. Segers, W.A.I.M. 1987. Changing Economy in Indonesia. 8. Manufacturing Industry 1870– 1942. Amsterdam: Royal Tropical Institute. Tan Tjoan Ik. 2002. Op zoek naar Tan Bing. Amstelveen: s.n. Taselaar, A. 1998. De Nederlandse koloniale lobby. Ondernemers en de Indische politiek 1914– 1940. Leiden: CNWS. [Tionghoa]. 1935. Orang-orang Tionghoa jang terkemoeka di Java (Who’s Who). Solo: The Biographical Publishing Centre. Twang Peck Yang. 1998. The Chinese Business Élite in Indonesia and the Transition to Independence 1940–1950. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Vleming, J.L. ed. 1926. Het Chineesche zakenleven in Nederlands-Indië. Weltevreden: Landsdrukkerij. Willmot, D.E. 1960. The Chinese of Semarang. A Changing Minority Community in Indonesia. New York: Cornell University Press. Wiseman, R. 2001. Three Crises. Management in the Colonial Java Sugar Industry, 1880s–1930s. PhD diss., University of Adelaide.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE OEI TIONG HAM CONCERN AND THE CHANGE OF REGIMES IN INDONESIA, 1931–1950 Peter Post Introduction The central decades of the twentieth century posed tremendous challenges for ethnic Chinese family firms in Indonesia. During this period the late colonial Dutch regime was forcefully replaced by a short-lived but highly significant Japanese military administration and followed by the independent Republic of Indonesia. Each of the regime transitions was accompanied by widespread anti-Chinese violence resulting in many deaths and great material damage to Chinese shops, trading firms, manufacturing industries, and agricultural enterprises. Since each of the regimes professed different economic policies and created highly different sets of economic institutions (partly because of the changes in the global economic environment, partly because of different ideologies), ethnic Chinese firms were forced to adapt and adjust themselves constantly in order to sustain their businesses. Some were successful, others failed. The mechanisms underlying the various Chinese business responses towards the enforced institutional changes during these crucial decades in Indonesian history have so far hardly been studied, let alone understood. The major reason seems to be that most writings on the ethnic Chinese experience during the Japanese military administration and the Sukarno regime have used political frameworks, rather than business perspectives. The powerful nation-state paradigm fitted the indigenous bourgeoisies and U.S. hegemonizing efforts in the region. In the post-war debates on modernization, development and nation-state building simplified dichotomic frameworks ruled the dice, and within these frameworks no need was felt to delve deeper into the experiences of the ethnic Chinese business elites, since they were simply seen as collaborators and profiteers of an unjust colonial order and exploiters of the indigenous populations, actually preventing their emancipation rather than supporting it. This collaboration-resistance

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dichotomy has dominated the post-war research agenda for decades, although it was termed differently in different regions. Regarding motivations and business strategies of Chinese capitalists in wartime China, North American scholars have recently started to question the usefulness of the collaboration-resistance framework, pointing out that matters were far more complex and fluid (Coble 2003; Brook 2004; Cochran 2006). Similarly, in regard to Chinese business responses in Yogyakarta under the Japanese military regime, Kwartanada (2002, 257) has argued, that they were confronted with “three major issues: competition against the emerging Indonesian entrepreneurs and Japanese business expatriates; patriotism towards their ancestral land China in fighting against Japanese aggression; and collaboration with the new regime run by their former enemy, the Japanese.” Except for Twang (1998) and Kwartanada (2002), little research has been done into the way Chinese family businesses in the Netherlands East Indies coped with the period of intense and often extremely violent regime changes when Western colonial rule was swept aside by Japan’s military power and subsequently by nationalist forces resulting in the decolonization of the region. This essay aims to fill this gap by looking at the fates and fortunes of the Oei Tiong Ham Concern (OTHC), the largest ethnic Chinese conglomerate in pre-war Asia, during the reign of Oei Tjong Hauw.1 Unlike many other ethnic Chinese businesses in pre-war Indonesia, OTHC was able to survive the regime changes fairly well, and by the mid-1950s was once again rated as the largest ethnic Chinese business conglomerate in Asia. This essay

1 The Kian Gwan trading firm, predecessor of the Oei Tiong Ham concern, was established in Semarang by Oei Tjie Sien in 1863. Under the directorship of the legendary Oei Tiong Ham (1866–1924), son of Oei Tjie Sien, the company grew into a multinational corporation. After Oei Tiong Ham’s death, the company was first directed by Oei Tjong Swan (1899–1944), son of Oei Tiong Ham’s third wife, from 1925 until 1930, and subsequently by Oei Tjong Hauw (1904–1950), eldest son of Oei Tiong Ham’s fifth wife. The latter steered the corporation through the depression years and the Japanese period. There are several articles and books on the development of the Oei Tiong Ham Concern and more specifically on the achievements and entrepreneurial cunning of Oei Tiong Ham. See for example, Liem (1979), Koo (1943 and 1975); Tjoa (1963); Panglaykim and Palmer (1970). Yoshihara (1989) brings sections of these books and articles together. In addition, Yoshihara added contributions by Onghokham (on Chinese capitalism in Java) and Charles Coppel (on Liem Thian Joe’s unpublished History of Kian Gwan) and included two extensive interviews with Oei Tjong Tjay and Oei Tjong Ie. But as Coppel noticed in his contribution to the Yoshihara volume, little is known about the Oei Tiong Ham Concern during the central decades of the twentieth century.

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studies these business responses of OTHC during the 1930s–1950s from the perspective of its main protagonists and will argue that the strategies employed during the Japanese period were part and parcel of a long-term strategy that was aimed to keep family control intact, spread business risks, and lessen the dependence on Indonesia for the survival of the conglomerate. The essay is arranged chronologically, focusing respectively on the late Dutch colonial period, the Japanese interregnum, and the Sukarno period. The First Decade of Oei Tjong Hauw’s Rule, 1931–19422 When Oei Tjong Hauw (1904–50) took full control of OTHC he was only twenty-six years old. It is difficult to imagine what he must have felt like taking over a multinational conglomerate with some 25,000 people in the Netherlands East Indies on its payroll, a bank, a steamship company, sugar factories, an enormous wholesale business, and a well-known international trading firm, as well as branch-offices in Singapore and London, and over ten branches in the Indies. There is little information about his early life, and although he entered the HBS there is no evidence that he completed this higher education. According to most written and oral sources, he received only little training from his father. Until the age of seventeen he most probably

In writing this essay I greatly benefited from a large number of interviews conducted with members and close associates of the extensive Oei Family. Unfortunately, some of them have recently passed away. I am most grateful to Oei Tjong Ie ( Jack, 1918–2007), Oei Tjong Tjay (Benny, 1924), both sons of Oei Tiong Ham, and to Tan Swan Bing (1908–2004) for sharing their thoughts and detailing their life-histories with me. Also to Oei Ing Swie (Billy, 1924–2005), eldest son of Oei Tjong Hauw, who in his e-mails was kind enough to share his views. Moreover, I would like to thank Ms Dr Yve Boen San Tjiang and Ms Lieke Oei Tiang Han (daughters of Tan Tek Peng), Oei Hwaij Liem and Oei Tiang Han, for kindly providing me with a rare 1959 manuscript on the History of Kian Gwan written by Tan Tek Peng, and for detailing their personal experiences during the Japanese occupation and the Sukarno period. In addition I have talked to many peranakan Chinese living in The Netherlands and Singapore, who had married into the Oei family or who were otherwise connected to them. I gained much insight into the complicated Oei family structure through a close analysis of a number of private photo albums. I would like to thank Kwee Kiem Han, Oei Tiang Han, and Khoe Liong Hoey for allowing me to use their family photoalbums. I am moreover grateful to Ms Twie Marinkelle-Tan for introducing me to the Oei Family and the late Mr Tan Swan Bing. I would like to emphasize that the ideas expressed in this essay are mine only and do not necessarily reflect the thoughts of the people interviewed. 2

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led a life of leisure and pleasure befitting his status as one of the heirs of OTHC. Most of his early education he apparently received from his mother Ong Mie Hoa Nio. In 1921 his father took him into the business and made him chief of the loan and mortgage department, mockingly called the “Bank Oei Tiong Ham” (Tan 1959). At the age of twenty he married Be Hien Nio, youngest daughter of the famous major-titular of Solo, Be Kwat Koen. Through this marriage Oei Tjong Hauw became member of a highly influential and respectable peranakan family that had close ties and intimate relations with the Central Javanese royalties and the Thai royal family.3 Being at the helmet of OTHC at this young age, he relied most heavily on the knowledge and business experience of some of the concern’s most talented professional managers. First among these was Tan Tek Peng (1896–1969), who had joined Kian Gwan in 1917 and served as its executive director from 1924 to 1952. Tan was born in Bandung and was a brilliant student in bookkeeping. He finished the Dutch high school (HBS-B, which until the early 1970s was the major higher education for a business career in The Netherlands) and became chief bookkeeper in 1920. After Oei Tiong Ham moved to Singapore in 1924 he promoted Tan to executive director of the trading department of the conglomerate. Although he himself was not directly related to the Oei family, a niece of Tan Tek Peng was married to Oei Tjong Liam, half-brother of Tjong Hauw.4 Under Tan’s leadership the trading interests of the company greatly expanded. During the 1920s, when Oei Tjong Swan’s directed the conglomerate, Tan opened branches in Calcutta (1925), Bombay (1926), and Karachi (1928) to buy jute sacks for the packing of sugar, and in the early thirties set up offices in Bangkok, Canton, Tsientsin, and Amsterdam. The Bangkok office was mainly engaged in the export of rice to Java, whereas the China branches dealt in a wide range of goods. Tan Tek Peng became a well-known figure in Javanese business circles. He was small (1.60m.), good humored, and was known as the Little Napoleon of OTHC. In the mid-thirties he was

Be Kwat Koen was a nephew of Be Biauw Tjoan and heir to the Be fortunes. Interview Yve Boen, November 2004. Dutch archive sources mention that Tan Tek Peng was an illegitimate son of Oei Tiong Ham, which according to these sources was one of the reasons that Oei Tiong Ham favored the young boy so much. A close associate of Tan Tek Peng, Mr Tan Swan Bing (1905–2004) saw no reason to deny this “rumor.” 3 4

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vice-chairman of the Semarang Chamber of Commerce as well as the head of Chinese Chamber of Commerce. He was active in the Chung Hwa Hui (CHH), the peranakan political party that favored a closer integration of the Indies with The Netherlands; he wrote extensively in the Semarang newspaper De Locomotief regarding matters pertaining to the Indies economy in general and Chinese business in particular. At the eve of the Japanese occupation he, together with Oei Tjong Hauw, was the undisputed leader of Kian Gwan. Although his command of the Chinese language was good, he was mainly responsible for communication with the Dutch and other Western business relations of OTHC and as such was indispensable for Oei Tjong Hauw. Relations and communications with the Chinese business community, the native labor force, and the native ruling elites were generally in the hands of two other confidants of Tjong Hauw, e.g. Tjoa Soe Tjong and Lie Hoo Soen. Tjoa Soe Tjong was formally director of the N.V. Bankvereeniging Oei Tiong Ham and he had good relations within East Asia and the singkeh Chinese business circles in Java and Sumatra. Between 1932 and 1937 he traveled with Oei Tiong Hauw to Hong Kong, Shanghai, Kobe and Tokyo looking for investment and trading opportunities. When in 1934 OTHC opened an alcohol factory in Shanghai, in collaboration with the Chinese government, Tjoa became its sales manager. Later he became the manager of Kian Gwan’s Shanghai branch and during the Japanese occupation he would head the main office in Semarang. In 1952, after Tan Tek Peng’s retirement, he became executive director of Kian Gwan. Lie Hoo Soen was in charge of what might be called the “native department” of the conglomerate. Oei Tjong Hauw and Lie Hoo Soen probably knew each other from a very young age, as—according to all informants—throughout his life Tjong Hauw’s closest and most trustworthy friend was Lie Hoo Soen. He entered the concern in 1925 and stayed until 1961. First he started in the agricultural department and later was appointed as manager of the real estate division. Lie was the mata-mata (“spy”) of OTHC and he was the only one that could enter Tjong Hauw’s office without making an appointment. Although he held an official position as manager, his main task was to infiltrate in labor unions, bribe native—and later Indonesian—officials, put the screws on bad debtors, and deal with labor union leaders. People in and outside OTHC were afraid of him, since nobody knew exactly what his position was, whether he could be trusted or not, and how

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close he was with the son of Raja Gula (Sugar King) Oei Tiong Ham. Managing-directors like Tjoa and Tan Tek Peng hardly had any idea what kind of deals Lie Hoo Soen actually made for the company. And in a way they didn’t care. When there was labor unrest or a large debtor needed to come forward, they knew that Lie Hoo Soen would successfully take care of it, but how he handled these cases, nobody— except for Oei Tjong Hauw—knew.5 When in the 1930s the Depression hit the Indies hard and the sugar industry in particular was affected, Tjong Hauw and his executive directors started to look for new investment possibilities and new markets for Indies produce. In this they showed great creativity and innovativeness. In 1933 they moved into the rubber remilling industry in South Sumatra by renting a rubber mill in Palembang owned by the Dutch Rubber Union. Together with the Singapore based, Lee Rubber Company, which rented the rubber mill of Internatio, Kian Gwan came to play a pioneering role in transforming South Sumatran rubber exports from slabs to blankets, and by 1936 half of Palembang’s rubber exports were blankets. At this stage Kian Gwan decided to rubber sheet production and set up collecting agencies in the interior. Since hand mangles were essential to the production of small holder sheet rubber, the company also encouraged their import and distribution selling them mainly to warung holders. Lee Rubber and also Nomura East Indies (the largest pre-war Japanese investor in the Indies) did the same, and in 1941 a total of 31,000 tons of sheet rubber (thirty-six percent of exports) went out from Palembang. To create new markets for its rubber Tan Tek Peng traveled to New York and would soon find important clients. He negotiated a special arrangement with the Dutch shipping line KPM whereupon Kian Gwan started to export blankets (and later sheets) directly to the United States, thereby breaking the monopoly of

5 Benny Oei Tjong Tjay, who took over OTHC Indonesia in 1950, confided to the author that Lie generally scared him and that he did not know how to deal with him. He too avoided Lie as much as possible and just handed money whenever Lie requested it; knowing too, that whatever Lie did, it was always in the interest of the firm. Authors interview Benny Oei Tjong Tjay, November 4, 2004. Little is known about Lie Hoo Soen. But he is most probably related to Lie Siong Hwie who headed the Kian Gwan Surabaya branch after 1907 and had been involved in the company for more than twenty years. Lie Siong Hwie was president of the Surabaya Chinese Chamber of Commerce at the time. Wright (1909, 547–8).

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Singapore as the entrepot center for South Sumatran rubber. Kian Gwan’s remilling factory sold 2,000 to 3,000 blankets per month, making this venture a big success. In the next decades rubber, rather than sugar, would be the mainstay of Kian Gwan’s business. Tan Tek Peng’s trip to New York had another effect on the company’s business diversification. Noticing that the tapioca market in the U.S. offered good possibilities for expansion, the company founded its own tapioca factory in Krebet and started shipping tapioca flour directly to that country. In doing so, it became a fierce competitor of the Dutch-owned Handelsvereeniging Amsterdam (HVA), which until that time had monopolized this trade. The U.S. became also an important market for other products Kian Gwan handled.

Figure 1. Tan Tek Peng. Courtesy: Mrs Lieke Oei Tiang Han.

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Whereas Tan Tek Peng took the responsibility to open up markets in the Western hemisphere (Europe and the United States), Tjong Hauw and Tjoa Soe Tjong looked for new opportunities in East Asia, especially China and Japan. As has been said above, between 1932 and 1937, Oei Tjong Hauw—together with Tjoa Soe Tjong—traveled extensively to Hong Kong, Shanghai, Kobe, and Tokyo looking for investment possibilities and new trading opportunities. China and in particular Shanghai had Tjong Hauw’s great attention. This roaring city had a big appeal to young, handsome, and powerful ethnic Chinese tycoons from Southeast Asia like Tjong Hauw. Its cosmopolitism was highly attractive when one wanted to escape the rumor and gossip and the strict social norms of peranakan Chinese society in Java. And Oei Tjong Hauw had every reason to escape gossip-rich Java. He was still married to Be Hien Nio, who had given him three children, and the couple lived together. But he had fallen in love with a beautiful young Eurasian woman, who had become his mistress, and both of them wanted to spend time together. She was getting bored and increasingly frustrated with their life in Java, especially since she felt that the two of them were always being watched, gossiped about, and could hardly spend time together. She therefore urged Tjong Hauw to buy an apartment in Shanghai so that the two of them could go out unhindered and “dance the night away” without being watched and criticized by the colonial elite. So when in Shanghai Tjong Hauw was invited by Chen Kung Po, mayor of Shanghai and later to become minister in the Japanese puppet regime of Wang Ching Wei, to jointly set up an alcohol factory near Shanghai in 1934, he was eager to respond positively to this request. The company took care of the management of the factory and the sale of alcohol. In due course the alcohol factory became the largest of its kind in Southeast Asia with a production capacity of 4,000 gallons of industrial alcohol per day. Tjoa became the factory’s first sales manager. Oei Tjong Hauw had managed to combine successfully private and business motives, and was able to offer his mistress the kind of life she was looking for.6

6 In a personal interview Tjong Hauw’s half-brother, Oei Tjong Ie, insisted that Tjong Hauw’s main motivation, however, was to bring his mistress to Shanghai and that business motivations were only secondary. Post (2004, 14).

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Tjong Hauw’s association with Chen Kung Po coincided with a general shift in peranakan Chinese attitudes towards Dutch colonial (economic) policies of the time and Republican China. In September 1933 the Dutch colonial office had instituted the Crisis Import Ordinance to ward off the Japanese penetration of the Indies economy and to protect the Dutch textile industry from severe Japanese competition in the Indies market.7 The regulations implemented were designed to protect the interests of not only Dutch textile industry but also the large Dutch trading companies and Dutch shipping in the foreign trade of the Indies. Since the colonial export economy was in a terrible state, getting actively involved in the Japan-Java trade was about the only way for large trading firms like Kian Gwan to make profits. However, the Crisis Import Ordinance was designed in such a way that major ethnic Chinese trading firms like Kian Gwan, Kwik Hoo Tong Trading Co., and Liem Bwan Seng Co. were unable to reap the benefits of the increasing demand for Japanese textiles in the Indies markets. The Dutch banks in the Indies, and especially the Java Bank which financed much of Kian Gwan’s and also Kwik Hoo Tong’s trade, working in tandem with the colonial government, forced the major ethnic Chinese trading firms not to step into the lucrative Japan trade, but rather to stick to their traditional export trade of Indies produce.8 This type of “Dutch-first” economic policies caused much resentment on the part of Oei Tjong Hauw, his managing-directors, and the Semarang Chinese business community at large. There was a general feeling that if they were not allowed to engage actively in Japan’s export trade towards the Indies, they would look to Republican China and to develop the Indies market for Chinese products. To achieve this, a closer cooperation between the singkeh economic elite and the Chung Hwa Hui (CHH), the major peranakan political party in Central Java, was sought for. The CHH was mainly financed by the See Alex Claver’s contribution to this volume. Since increasing sugar exports to Japan were part of the bilateral deal made between the Japanese government and the Dutch colonial office in 1933–34 and Dutch trading firms were not particularly equipped to handle huge amounts of sugar, the pressure on the large Chinese trading firms to focus only on their traditional export trade, rather than to step into the import trade from Japan, might have been good policy from the Dutch colonial authorities point of view. But the powerful ethnic Chinese business class thought otherwise. According to them they could have easily developed both trades successfully. This, however, would have had an even more negative impact on the role of Dutch trading firms and hence on the carefully structured social economy the Dutch colonial government wanted to protect. 7 8

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OTHC and membership of the CCH mostly consisted of employees and agencies of the concern. It was said that of one hundred CHH members in Semarang, ninety were related to the vast business empire of the Oei Family (Lohanda 2002, 155). Following Oei Tjong Hauw’s travels to Shanghai, in 1933 Kan Hok Hoei (HH Kan), chairman of the CHH and member of the People’s Council (Volksraad ), went to China to negotiate closer cooperation with the Republican government. Subsequently, in 1934 Oei Tjong Hauw invited Chen Kung Po to visit the Netherlands East Indies and to initiate, together with the Chinese Consul General in Batavia, the establishment of a Federation of Chinese Chambers of Commerce in Batavia. The office of this federation was in the same building as the CHH office and the office of the main division of the KMT. HH Kan became the first president of this Federation (Lohanda 2002, 115). In the meantime, Tjoa Soe Tjong organized a large China Fair in Semarang, which drew much attention and attracted large crowds. Although the Dutch colonial office was wary of the increasing collaboration between the Semarang Chinese business community (CHH and OTHC) with Republican China, Oei Tjong Hauw received much support from Mangkunegoro VII, one of the four rulers of the Native Principalities in Central Java.9 Mangkunegoro VII, who was very close with Be Kwat Koen (majortitular of Solo), the father-in-law of Oei Tjong Hauw, had a great interest in Tjong Hauw’s China ventures.10 As ruler of the Mangkunegara he was particularly keen in developing native agriculture and modernizing the local economy and traditional Javanese society. In introducing modern technologies and new agricultural techniques he looked to both the West (The Netherlands) and the East.11 During his years in Shanghai Tjong Hauw regularly wrote letters to Mangkunegoro VII informing him about the political and economic situation in

9 The following is drawn from the private correspondence of Mangkunegoro VII with Chinese from Central Java covering the period 1916–44. I am grateful to Madelon Djajadiningrat-Nieuwenhuis for making these sources available for the project. 10 The special relation between the Be Kwat Koen and Mangkunegoro VII is dealt with in Post (2009). 11 In her recently published Vorst tussen twee werelden [Monarch between two worlds] (Schoorl: Uitgeverij Conserve, 2006) Madelon Djajadiningrat-Nieuwenhuis looks specifically at the relations between Mangkunegoro VII and Dutch intellectuals. In this illuminating study, which has been written in the form of a novel, Ms Djajadiningrat makes extensive use of private letters and memoirs of MN VII and his intimate Dutch intellectual friends.

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China and sending him Chinese goods to be introduced in his domain. With the support of Mangkunegoro VII, Oei Tjong Hauw was able to create new markets in Central Java for Chinese manufacturers, which at the same time benefited Kian Gwan Trading Co. By calling on a variety of different ethnic networks, Tjong Hauw and his senior-directors skillfully managed to expand into different global regions, the U.S. and China. Their motives to do so were purely commercial and in the interest of the family business. These motivations also lay at the background of their expansion towards Japan. OTHC and Japan’s Pre-War Expansion into East and Southeast Asia In the pre-war period Japan’s rise as an industrial and military power in Asia greatly affected the region’s economic and political balance of power. After the First World War the country extended its shipping, trading, and financial networks towards colonial Southeast Asia and its export industries began to conquer colonial markets. Japanese zaibatsu and large trading firms invested heavily in the region’s resources, especially rubber, sugar, and in the late 1930s bauxite, tin, forestry, and fisheries. In this economic expansion Japanese shipping, trading firms and banks cooperated closely with Chinese business networks in Makasar, Semarang, Singapore, Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Taiwan. Oei Tiong Ham was one of the most powerful ethnic Chinese entrepreneurs in Southeast Asia who worked intensively with Japanese businesses. He assisted Japanese merchants with capital and connections in the pre-World War One period and during that War provided secret funds to set up the Japanese-controlled China & Southern Bank in Taiwan together with another famous pre-war Chinese capitalist, Kwik Djoeng Eng (Post 2002). Whereas many Southeast Asian Chinese firms resorted to occasional anti-Japanese boycotts due to Japan’s acts of aggression in China, Oei Tiong Ham never took part in this. And due to his power and influence in Semarang and Central Java, the Semarang Chinese community almost never joined such a boycott movement. Oei Tjong Hauw shared this attitude of his father. Although the company did not engage in direct imports from Japan, it did, however, distribute Japanese goods in the Indies and had a large export trade with the country, mainly rubber and sugar. Kian Gwan was a major exporter of sugar (since 1926) and rubber to the Land of the Rising Sun, but in the 1930s—when other ethnic

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Chinese firms in Southeast Asia became increasingly involved in antiJapanese boycotts—the company saw new possibilities. From the early thirties onward it started to export maize from East Java to Japan and in due time it would almost monopolize this trade. In 1939, after Germany’s invasion of Poland, Kian Gwan opened a branch office in Tokyo. This office was headed by a certain Hayashi who was the manager of Senda & Co. Ltd., a large Japanese trading firm in Surabaya.12 Hayashi’s main task was to find clients for the export products Kian Gwan handled at the time and he did so quite successfully. In Surabaya he also came to head the maize department of Kian Gwan. That the conglomerate was not willing to support the anti-Japanese boycott movements and only meagerly financed the National Salvation Movement after the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War in 1937 aroused bitter feelings among Singaporean and Malaysian Chinese as well as among pro-China groups in the Indies. Given the fact that under Japan’s military rule the OTHC apparently cooperated heartily with the new masters, this “Japan issue” continues to be hotly debated. But to Oei Tiong Ham, Oei Tjong Hauw, and the company’s managing directors, it has always been a policy that business rationality should not be hindered by politics and or “emotions.” That they, however, were anxious about Japan’s expansionist policies is clear from the following. In the early 1930s OTHC started its own and successful newspaper, Matahari, in Semarang.13 To keep track of political and economic developments and expansionist ideas in Japan it send out its correspondent, Ahmad Subarjo, to Tokyo. Subarjo, who later became Indonesia’s first foreign minister, stayed in Japan for about two years and afterwards regularly went there in the same capacity. His main task was to inform the board of OTHC about Japan’s southward intentions and military build-up. Subarjo had no connections in Japanese business circles and did not become involved in OTHC business activities in the country.14 After 1933 OTHC was quite anxious about Japan’s political course and possible military advance and to what extent this could affect its business interest in Japan and China. Interview Tan Swan Bing, January 2003. The Matahari was to become the most profitable newspaper in the Netherlands East Indies. 14 Authors interview with Tan Swan Bing, December 2004. 12 13

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This anxiety and cautiousness became also apparent in their negotiations with the large Japanese banks. The company’s main bank was the Nederlandsch-Indische Handelsbank (NIHB). The people here were considered knowledgeable and businesslike, unlike the NI Escomptobank, which was considered highly incapable with incompetent staff. OTHC had for many decades build up a trustworthy and profitable relation with the NIHB. But in the 1930s other banks, particularly American and Japanese, started to offer services that were more lucrative and seemingly more profitable. In the case of the Japanese Yokohama Speciebank (YSB), OTHC generally declined their offers, since it was afraid that it might end up in YSB’s financial web, which when war broke out would be quite difficult (and maybe impossible) to untangle.15 Also in the private sphere, the members of the Oei family and its management expressed their anxiety and antipathy for Japan’s fascism and military aggression. There was a general feeling that Japanese militarism and expansionist ambitions were bad news and this message was also brought to their children, especially after the Nanking atrocities became known.16 In general, the OTHC management made a clear distinction between business interests, private feelings, and political viewpoints with regard to Japan. It was felt that economic decisions should not be based on political ideas or “emotions,” but should be calculated and rational in the interest of the firm and family. To the group as a whole it was clear that an anti-Japanese boycott would have no effect whatsoever on Japan’s industrial development and economic (and possible military) expansion, and to try so would be pure nonsense and a waste of money.17

15 Interview Tan Swan Bing and Benny Oei Tjong Tjay. December 2004. However, recently Ms. Yuko Kudo, a PhD graduate of Tokyo University, discovered that at least in the second half of the 1920s, OTHC did make use of the financial services of the YSB. To what extent this relation continued in the 1930s needs to be scrutinized further. 16 Tan Tek Peng, for example, forbade his daughters to go to school and learn Japanese culture and language during the Japanese period in Indonesia. They were forced to stay inside and keep out of sight. Interview Yve Boen and Lieke Oei, daughters of Tan Tek Peng, May 2007. 17 Interview Tan Swan Bing. The late Mr. Tan, voicing the opinions of others in the company, was very clear and outspoken about this. He considered the antiJapanese actions by Tan Kah Keh and other prominent leaders of the wide-spread National Salvation Movement as highly irrational and ineffective.

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The expansion since the late 1920s demanded an adaptation of the company’s structure and a modernization of its administrative apparatus. To that effect Tan Tek Peng in 1933 brought in a young and talented assistant-accountant, Tan Swan Bing (1906–2004). He gradually transformed the administrative department into a sound, mechanized, and modern accounting section, which also became an advisory department in matters of finance, economy, and taxes. Tan Swan Bing, among other innovations, introduced the modern punch-card system into the company, the first of its kind to be used in the Indies.18 The extension of the trading business also led to the formation of different departments and divisions within Kian Gwan Trading Co.19 In 1930 a new department was established, the Primex (Product Import and Export), which concentrated on the import of rice from Thailand, cloves from Zanzibar, and tea from Formosa,20 while it exported sugar, rubber, coffee, kapok, and maize. The Primex department gave special attention to sugar sales for local consumption and succeeded in obtaining more than sixty percent of these sales which for the whole archipelago meant a yearly turnover of more than 200,000 tons. In addition, Primex came to supervise two important branches, e.g. Palembang (rubber) and Makasar (maize and copra). In 1931 Kian Gwan started a separate import business for consumer and luxury goods, the Kian Gwan Import Department, and in 1932–35 two other departments were created, e.g. the Hide & Skin Department and the Insurance Department. This last department was strictly speaking an insurance pool where the Kian Gwan’s interests were insured with a fixed share of participation by large British, Australian, and American insurance companies. In establishing these different departments within Kian Gwan Trading Co., Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng wanted to spread their risks, and especially the risks involved in the speculative sugar trade. The establishment of a separate Import Department turned out to be a blessing in the 1930s when the export trade collapsed and in the 1950s when the Indies market needed huge amounts of foreign articles.

Interview Tan Swan Bing, December 2003. Details in these sections come from Tan (1958). 20 As might be recalled this was the tea business Oei Tiong Ham Concern had taken over in 1926 from the Kwik Hoo Tong Trading Society. 18 19

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The wide-spread interests and the vast staff and diverse labor force demanded further attention to the personnel front to ensure commitment, loyalty, and harmonious working relations throughout the conglomerate. To achieve this, the staff members, in consultation with the directors, formed in 1939 the Sarpoci (Sarikat Pegawai Oei Tiong Ham Concern Indonesia). The head-committee of the Sarpoci was located in Semarang, whereas in the main branch-offices side-committees were formed. In these committees directors and staff members regularly got together to explain business decisions, to discuss salary scales and old-age provisions, leave regulations, and staff housing problems. The creation of Sarpoci contributed to feelings of “belonging” to the concern, and it tended to alleviate feelings of competition and antagonism between staff members of the industrial and commercial departments. Table 1. Corporate Diagram In 1932 the Oei Tiong Ham Concern consisted of the following legal entities:21 1. Kian Gwan Trading Company (capital 3 million guilders) Directors: Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng Main Indies offices: Semarang (manager Oei Tjoen Hui) Surabaya (manager Li Siong Hui) Batavia (manager Tan Kim Say) Foreign offices: Kian Gwan Western Agency Ltd. (London, est. 1910) Kian Gwan Malaya Ltd. (Singapore, est. 1914) Kian Gwan India Ltd. (Calcutta, est. 1925) Kian Gwan Bombay Office (est. 1926) Kian Gwan Karachi Office (est. 1928) Kian Gwan Shanghai Branch (1929) 2. Algemene Maatschappij tot de Exploitatie der Oei Tiong Ham Suikerfabrieken (capital 40 million guilders) Director: Oei Tjong Hauw; Vice-director: Dr Djie Ting Ham Overseas office: Oei Tiong Ham Concern Bangkok Office (est. 1932) 3. Sugar factory Redjo Agoeng (capital 600 thousand guilders) Director: Oei Tjong Hauw 4. Sugar factory Tanggoel Angin (capital 600 thousand guilders) Director: Holding Company OTHC Sugar Factories

21 The details in this section come mainly from the Handboek voor Cultuur- en Handelsondernemingen (Batavia: De Busy, 1930 and 1933). I would like to thank Drs. Herman Kwak for thoroughly scrutinizing these materials.

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5. Sugar factory Pakkies (capital 600 thousand guilders) Director: Holding Company OTHC Sugar Factories, Oei Tjong Hauw 6. Sugar factory Ponen (capital 600 thousand guilders) Director: Holding Company OTHC Sugar Factories 7. Sugar factory Krebet (capital 1 million guilders) Directors: Oei Tjong Hauw and Dr Djie Ting Ham 8. Tapioca factory Krebet (capital 600 thousand guilders) Director: Holding Company OTHC Sugar Factories 9. Bank Association Oei Tiong Ham (capital 15 million guilders) Directors: Oei Tjong Hauw and Dr Djie Ting Ham 10. Heap Eng Moh Steamship Company (registered in Singapore) General manager: Lee Hoon Keong (grandfather of Lee Kuan Yew) 11. NV Midden Java Veem (wharehousing) 12. NV Bouwmaatschappij Randoesari (real estate) Director: Bank Association Oei Tiong Ham 13. Grond & Huizenbedrijf Oei Tiong Ham (family real estate) 14. Matahari (newspaper)

On the organizational level we see that by the end of the 1930s the OTHC operated a highly modern and well-structured multinational business enterprise with tasks and responsibilities of the different departments and divisions clearly defined. Mainly due to this rationalization the conglomerate had been able to overcome the pitfalls of the world depression and successfully entered new lines of business in the Netherlands East Indies and other parts of the world. Overall control in the company rested firmly with Oei Tjong Hauw, who was respected by everyone and had shown himself to be a capable successor to his father. Since the OTHC was the only ethnic Chinese conglomerate in pre-war Indonesia that operated on such a grand scale and was so influential worldwide, the company was envied by many in the Chinese business circles in Southeast Asia and in Java specifically. The Japanese Occupation The 3.5 years of Japanese military rule had a large impact on the Chinese business communities in Indonesia. Many well-established large peranakan firms that were closely integrated in the Dutch colonial economy found themselves in disarray, and not being able to cope with the changing business environment, lost much ground to singkeh

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Chinese firms.22 Soon after the Japanese troops landed popular unrest loomed quickly and Chinese firms and shops were its main targets. Within a couple of days many firms, shops, and factories all over Java were plundered, its owners and personnel beaten and sometimes murdered, leading to sizable damage to Chinese assets in the Indies. Once the Japanese forces had established their military administration, it took a firm stand towards plunderers and offered protection and shelter for the Chinese population groups. Damage to Chinese property was also caused by Dutch demolition troops. As part of the scorched earth policies, Dutch military forces destroyed strategic harbor facilities and the big oil refineries, along with many Chinese-owned factories (Touwen-Bouwsma 2002, 57; Twang 1998, 70). One of the sugar factories destroyed was the Ponen factory in Semarang of the OTHC. In a similar way the Oei family lost the Palembang rubber remilling factory. The Chinese losses in Indonesia during the first weeks of the occupation, by both popular violence and Dutch demolition forces, have been estimated at 100 million guilders (Twang 1998, 71). Despite the fact that the premises of the Oei family and managing personnel of the company were also attacked and its buildings, lands, and factories partly plundered, the Oei Tiong Ham Concern and its senior staff unlike most other large peranakan firms fared relatively well under Japan’s military administration and did comparatively better than many other ethnic Chinese firms during the period. Prior to the arrival of Japanese troops on the north-coast of Central Java, Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng had been instructed by Dutch authorities to leave Semarang and to move inland in order not to fall into Japanese hands. Together with three of his brothers, Tjong Hauw, Tan Tek Peng, and Tan Swan Bing (including their families) took refuge in Tawang Mangu (a mountain resort near Solo owned by Mangkunegoro VII where the Oei family had a villa). Before leaving Semarang it was decided that Tjoa Soe Tong would stay behind to “defend the fortress” and that Tan Swan Bing would go on to the Yogya branch and from there keep an eye on the still active sugar factories in Madiun and Malang. Jack Oei Tjong Ie, who together

22

This transformation has convincingly been described by Twang (1998).

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with his mother Lucy Ho had lived in The Netherlands to study law and had returned to Java in April 1940 ( just prior to Germany’s occupation of The Netherlands), was working at Kian Gwan’s Surabaya branch at the time of the Japanese invasion. In April 1942 Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng were summoned by Yamamoto Moichiro, Head of the General Affairs Department, to come to Batavia and were fetched for that purpose by two Japanese officers to undergo the cumbersome journey from Tawang Manggu to the capital. When after many difficulties they arrived in Batavia, the Japanese authorities questioned them and called them all sorts of names. They were primarily interested in Tjong Hauw’s ideas about Japan’s mission in Asia. Tjong Hauw pointed out that in his house he had two photographs hanging on the wall, one of Wang Ching Wei (president of the Japanese puppet regime in Nanking), the other of Sun Yat Sen, father of the Republic.23 This apparently convinced the Japanese officers that he was not collaborating with the Chunking regime of Chiang Kai-shek and subsequently Tjong Hauw and Tek Peng were sent home without any directives. In the meantime, all the warehouses of the company had been put under seal and nothing could be done until, in June 1942, they got a new summon and again proceeded to Batavia, now by their own means, which meant the slow train that had started running again between the most important cities of Java. In this meeting with Yamamoto an ultimatum was submitted to Oei Tjong Hauw; either agree with the conditions stipulated or the Kian Gwan concern would be closed and all the assistant-managers, managers, and higher ranking officials in the concern would be put into custody. The condition included the acceptance of Japanese trusteeship and the voluntary offering of their stocks of sugar and tapioca flour in the factories (more than 20,000 tons with a nominal value of about two million guilders). Having little choice and being convinced that it was in the interest of the company and its personnel, Oei Tjong Hauw accepted the terms and signed the document. They were allowed to go home and the seals could be lifted from the warehouses. It took, however, some time before Kian Gwan could start work again. Staff members were strayed in all directions and had to be recalled and reorganized; the Netherlands East Indies banknotes had

23

Interview with Benny Oei Tjong Tjay, Amstelveen, December 2003.

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to be exchanged into the new Indonesian notes issued by the Japanese at the rate of 1:1, and the Japanese trustees had to be appointed. Until this trusteeship formally became effective, Kian Gwan trading company was allowed to continue its business, the major difference being that it had to concentrate on retail trade, rather than import and export trade, which was reserved for Japanese zaibatsu like Mitsui Bussan and Mitsubishi Shoji. In the first 1.5 years of the Japanese occupation the branch in Surabaya, for example, had sufficient stocks of goods and was still able to make good profits.24 Also, the sugar factories during this period were still producing. In 1942, eighty-nine sugar factories produced a total of 1,311,235 tons of sugar. Among these were the Krebet and Redjo Agoeng factories of OTHC that produced 21.110 and 24.522 tons respectively, which was almost the same as production in 1930.25 However, despite their cooperative attitude, Oei Tjong Hauw c.s. could not prevent the tremendous losses to the firm during the first year of the occupation. When in November 1942 the Japanese trusteeship formally came into effect, OTHC assets had fallen to half of their origin level, amounting to thirteen million guilders in Java and 1.7 million in the Outer Islands (Twang 1998, 88). For most people working in the company it was understandable that the preconditions of the Japanese war economy were different from that of the semi-open economy which had prevailed under the Dutch in the 1930s. And if necessary they were willing to accept these. But to all of them it was absolutely clear that “business is business” and that profits needed to be made for the good of the company and the families dependent upon it. In their minds there was no such a thing as a “black market” or “illegal” trade; all trade was considered acceptable under the Japanese war economy. It was the niches in this controlled and military-run economy that should be used optimally, and it was considered not business-like if these opportunities were not fully used. If temporarily hoarding goods would mean getting a better price later elsewhere, this was considered a quite logical and rational business practice.26 This of course was not an attitude solely of the Oei family

Interview Jack Oei Tjong Ie, Singapore, July 2004. Economisch Weekblad voor Nederlandsch Indie (EWNI), April 20, 1946, 12e jrg. No. 6: 45. 26 Interviews Tan Swan Bing, Jack Oei Tjong Ie; Personal Memoir Tan Tek Peng. On the so-called “collaboration” of OTHC and the reactions to it, see Twang (1998, 86–91). 24 25

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and its managers—most Chinese Indonesians tried to adapt to the new rulers and for “strategic” reasons often collaborated, thereby adhering to the Japanese principle that “Chinese capacities and commercial talents should be properly utilized for the purpose of our Southern construction” (Twang 1998, 90). Members of the Chinese elite families like the Oei, Be, and Kwee in Central and East Java did not seem to have suffered much under the Japanese. In their mountain resorts where most stayed during the period there was always plenty of food and clothing, they had their servants to look after them; and in the cities they kept on entertaining themselves at dancing and dinner parties, in the cinema, did some occasional fun shopping and even went on tourist outings. The major problem they had was that luxury items like cars and pianos were confiscated and that life in general was boring, since traveling around freely became hazardous and families and friends could not easily been seen. To many the major difference was that in the streets and the public space “white faces” gradually disappeared, but since most of them hardly mingled with the Dutch, British, and Americans, this too was accepted as a fact of the new life.27 Things became different once it turned out that Japanese economic policies did not produce the anticipated results and the war economy demanded a full restructuring of the Javanese economy. Central to Japan’s concern was rice production and rice distribution (Sato 1994, 115–53). This meant, for example, that the sugar factories had to transform their estates into paddy growing fields and that the sugar industry had to cut back its production. All these measures demanded a strict control over prices, production, and distribution. “Economic control” became the catch-phrase and was implemented from the higher levels of the (international) economy to the local level of the Javanese

This didn’t mean, however, that there were no personal hardships and tragedies. On the contrary. Chinese elite members did not only suffer from the Japanese kenpetai for political reasons, but also simply because they were rich and wealthy and belonged to the upper layers of society. And not only the native population, but many in the lower ranks of the Japanese military and the civilian administration, enjoyed hassling them and making it physically clear that their life of luxury was over. Tan Tek Peng spend three weeks in jail and was severely beaten by the kenpetai, Tan Swan Bing was accused of anti-Japanese behavior and “dangerous thoughts” and was sent to prison for eight months from mid-1942 until early 1943. Whereas Jack Oei Tjong Ie, always a rebel and not afraid of the devil himself, hid Moluccan soldiers in his house in Surabaya and secretly listened to the BBC radio, was sentenced to death in early 1943 and spend the occupation period in a kenpetai prison in Jakarta. 27

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peasantry. In practice these measures were to no avail, actually leading to a thriving black market, hoarding of agricultural produce, an increasing discrepancy between urban and rural areas accompanied by the dismantling of social-economic structures in the peasant societies, and an increasing poverty among the Java population. On the other hand, it also affected the field of operation of trading companies like Kian Gwan, and demanded much of the individual business talents of senior staff and managers. Social-Political Roles On the social and political level, Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng played important roles under Japan’s military rule. Both became central figures in Japanese efforts to organize, seek cooperation from and deal with the Chinese in Central and East Java. In December 1942, under the energetic leadership of Toyoshima Ataru, a “Preparatory Committee for the Foundation of a General Association of Chinese Immigrants” was established for which Tjong Hauw and Tek Peng were also invited.28 Six months later, all over Java local Chinese Associations were formed, which oversaw and directed socio-political and cultural developments within the Chinese communities. The powerful Chinese Association (Kakyo Sokai) in Semarang was chaired by Oei Tjong Hauw, whereas Tan Tek Peng acted as its vice-chairman. Other members of the Semarang Association were Oei Tjong Ik and Oei Tjong Tjat, younger brothers of Tjong Hauw.29 Also, in other Javanese cities members of the Oei family and staff members of OTHC came to hold important positions in the Kakyo Sokai. His brother-in-law Kwee Zwan Lwan for example was appointed chairman of the Kakyo Sokai in Cirebon. Holding these positions gave

28 Toyoshima Ataru came to Batavia in 1939 to head the Chinese Affairs Section at the Japanese Consulate-General. In 1941 he was promoted to vice-consul. During this period he was very active in gaining the cooperation and support of Chinese in Java for Japan’s policies and established a wide-ranging network among prominent Chinese leaders and influential Japanese in the Indies. See Didi Kwartanada “An Expert on Chinese Affairs or a Pacifier?: Toyoshima Ataru and the Campaign towards the Chinese in Java, 1939–1945,” paper presented at ICAS 4, Shanghai, August 20–24, 2005. 29 NA, the Hague, Archive Procureur-General 2.10.17, inv. No. 411 “Oei Tiong Ham File.”

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people like Tjong Hauw, Tan Tek Peng, and Kwee Zwan Lwan much negotiating power with the General Affairs Department of the Gunseikanbu (the most important department in the military administration) and made it possible not only to promote their own business and private family interests, but also assist and help unfortunate members of the Chinese community and the Dutch and Eurasian populations that were interned. Tjong Hauw’s pre-war record as a “secret and silent” business associate of the Nanking government and a friend of Cheng Kung Po undoubtedly played a part in being accepted as a trustworthy and reliable partner of the Japanese military.30 He was also instrumental in setting up, under Japanese guidance and initiative, a Committee on Overseas Chinese Voluntary Defense Army. The aim of this defense army was twofold. One was to train and militarize young Chinese in order to help the Japanese to defend Java in case of an allied attack. Secondly, to set up a paramilitary Chinese selfdefense force that was undoubtedly necessary when popular unrest might again turn against the Chinese. This committee was formed in March 1944 and Tjong Hauw was appointed its chairman.31 Early in 1945 this “self ”-defense organization came into being and initially counted around 2,000 members in Batavia alone. In the meantime, Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng c.s. were also in close contact with Indonesian leaders like Hatta and Sukarno, and prominent pribumi businessmen, discussing the future economic development of an independent Indonesia. In October 1943 the Japanese set up the Chuo Sangi’in (Central Advisory Board), which became the key institution for political participation and economic matters.32 Oei Tiong Hauw was one of the four Chinese members of this allembracing council. His important and influential position during this central year of the Japanese occupation can be gauged from a photograph taken of the official installation of the Chuo Sangi’in in October 1943.

30 Dutch sources also mention that he good relations with several kenpetai officials; but this might also be due to the fact that he successfully negotiated the ultimate release of his brother Oei Tjong Ie, who was sentenced to death. Nobody in the Oei Family knew exactly how Tjong Hauw had been able to keep Tjong Ie from not being executed by the kenpeitai. 31 Ministery of Foreign Affairs, The Hague, NEFIS Archives, Inv. no. 2756 “Chineesche Beweeging.” 32 On the Chuo Sangi’in see Sato (1994, 64–71) and Post et al. (2010, 482–3).

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Figure 2. Source: Boekoe peringtanan Tyoo Sangi-in (s.l., Impressum, 1943).

In this picture we see Oei Tjong Hauw (white suite and black tie) standing in the centre, third row, right behind Raden M.A.A. Kusumo Utoyo (vice-chairman of the Chuo Sangi’in) and next to Vice-Admiral Maeda Tadashi. Sukarno (chairman of the Chuo Sangi’in) is standing in the centre, front row, whereas Lt.-Gen. Harada Kumakichi (Commander-in-Chief of the Sixteenth Army) is standing in front.33 In April 1945 an Investigating Committee for the People’s Economy was established by the Japanese military. Indonesian pribumi businessmen dominated this committee, Tan Tek Peng being the only Chinese representative, and when one month later the “Investigation Body for the Preparation of Indonesian Independence” was inaugurated, Oei Tjong Hauw gained a seat (Kanahele 1967, 100–102, 192–4; Twang 1998, 118–19). In the discussions at these committees about the future development of the Indonesian economy, it was made clear by

33 Maeda Tadashi (1898–1977) was head of the Naval Liaison Office in Jakarta and played a decisive role in the final days of the Japanese occupation period when he offered his residence to Sukarno and Hatta to prepare the Proclamation of Independence. Harada Kumakichi (1888–1947) succeeded Imamura Hitoshi as C-in-C of the Sixteenth Army (November 1942–April 1945). Post et al. (2010, 499–500; 544–5).

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Indonesian political leaders, such as Mohammad Hatta, that an independent national economy should not be based on individualism and capitalism but on socialist ideals, cooperatives and gotong royong. The economic department of the Semarang Chinese Association expressed its anxiety towards these plans and in a report said “. . . According to the opinion of this Department, the new economic institutions will end up in a controlled economic system. [. . .] The Department deeply hopes that Chinese businessmen will exhibit their ability to adapt to the new trends . . .” (op. cit. Twang 1998, 121). During the final months of the Japanese occupation it was clear that Oei Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng planned to play a significant role in the build up of a national economy in Indonesia. They were in the major economic and political boards, and were without doubt the most prominent Chinese businessmen in these boards. In this effort they were supported by the Japanese. But as time passed, increasing pressure from Indonesian nationalists resulted in a deepening of the cleavage between the Chinese and Indonesian business classes. These conflicts of interest were not only economical but also religious and political, and reached a high point when the citizenship issue was discussed in the Investigation Body for the Preparation of Independence. Oei Tjong Hauw wanted the future Indonesian government to declare all Chinese in Indonesia Chinese citizens, promising that as citizens of China he and his people would do their best to help the people of Indonesia to establish an independent country (Suryadinata 1986, 59–60). When it became clear that the Indonesian nationalists in this Investigation Body only wanted to give pribumi Indonesians automatic citizenship in an independent Indonesia, the peranakan capitalist elites were highly disappointed. In this atmosphere Oei Tjong Hauw took a drastic step. Rather than having his stakes solely in an independent Indonesia, he decided on July 11, 1945 to become a citizen of China, “thus becoming the first and the wealthiest among the Chinese to make such a decision in Indonesia” (Twang 1998, 126). So, when the Committee for the Preparation of Indonesian Independence was established on August 14, 1945, there was only one Chinese member, Dr. Yap Tjwan Bing. But he could hardly be considered a representative of the Oei business fortunes. Oei Tjong Hauw apparently did not desire a seat in this important committee. He probably reasoned that being an alien citizen in an independent Indonesia might give him better chances to protect his property, if events would turn against them. Moreover, being a Chinese citizen would give him

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better chances to escape accusations of collaboration, and even imprisonment when the Allied and Dutch forces would return victorious (Twang ibid.). OTHC and the Republic of Indonesia The first priority after Indonesia’s independence was to find out the state of the present assets of the firm. To that extent, Oei Tjong Yan and Oei Tjong Ik (younger brothers of Oei Tjong Hauw) traveled the interior of Java. In addition the overseas offices had to be checked. Oei Tjong Ie, despite his experiences with the brutal kenpetai regime, went to Japan, Hong Kong, and Shanghai, and Tan Tek Peng undertook a trip to Singapore, Bangkok, and Calcutta. It turned out that only the offices in Bangkok and Calcutta had done relatively well under Japan’s Greater East Asian Co-prosperity Sphere. The administrations were in order and office expenses were successfully met. Bangkok had even made profits. Shanghai and Singapore were in a distressful situation and the offices in Tokyo and Osaka had been abandoned. The Kian Gwan office in London had been destroyed by German air raids during the war in Europe and a new office building had to be found. In Indonesia itself, fighting between Republican forces and Dutch troops resulted once again in the destruction of sugar factories and plantations; and after hostilities came to an end it was soon found that the production capacity of 1.5 million tons of sugar was reduced to a half million. It also became clear that the factory equipment of the Tanggoel Angin sugar factory had been looted by Japanese military and that the Krebet and Ponen factories were destroyed; also, the Krebet flour factory was reduced to ashes. In Palembang, Kian Gwan’s rubber factory including the stocks had gone into flames. Only the Redjo Agoeng and Pakkis factories had remained intact and continued production. Kian Gwan’s plantations in West Java as well as its real estate and storing facilities in the province were also not affected by the war and the fighting between Dutch and Indonesian troops. Despite these heavy losses, Kian Gwan was soon able to rebuild itself. In 1947–48 it expanded its foreign representations and erected new branch-offices in Amsterdam, New York, and Rangoon (for the import of rice). Having established a separate import department in 1931 bore fruit, especially in the period 1947–50, when the company was able to get a big share of the importation of general commodities

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at the expense of the returning Dutch trading firms. On the other hand, competition in the distribution of sugar for local consumption got bigger, when large Dutch trading firms like Internatio, Borsumij, and Wellenstein Krause also started to compete with the local Chinese sugar dealers, especially in Semarang and Surabaya. During this period it also became increasingly clear that in Indonesia the institutional environment to conduct business was changing. Hatta’s call for a “socialist capitalism” based on the spirit of mutual self help (gotong royong) which rejected laissez-faire capitalism and imperialism and strived toward the creation of a welfare state and society based on justice for all, penetrated all levels of the social economy and forced Chinese businessmen to rethink their objectives. “Doing business was no longer to make profits, but to serve the community, the country, and the nation” (Tjoa in: Yoshihara 1989, 87). This meant for OTHC that the interests of the Oei family members who controlled the company had to be made secondary. Previously the company prospered under the climate of private initiative, but now it became subjected to the influence of the government much more than ever. “This demanded a complete mental change among the personnel as well as the family shareholders” (ibid.). The first major task Oei Tjong Hauw set for himself was to reshuffle his management staff and mid-level personnel. Many staff members and branch managers in the conglomerate found it difficult, or were unwilling, to adapt to the new circumstances. Some who had sufficient capital left the company and went to the U.S., Europe, and Australia to start a new life; others simply refused to implement the “socialist spirit.” In addition, several managers had started lucrative enterprises under Japanese military rule and were not willing to return to OTHC. Reassigning tasks had also become necessary since, under the Japanese and now under the Indonesian government, it turned out that personal relations and private connections with the proper higher authorities did not necessarily relate to the fixed hierarchical order within the firm. Junior staff, because of their personal acumen, more often than not had better and more trustworthy relations within the new regime than the older and more senior members, many of whom were Dutch- or China-oriented. In addition, OTHC had to give responsible positions and management tasks to Indonesians as part of the government-pushed Indonesianisasi process. In maintaining close relations with the government the headquarters moved from Semarang to Jakarta.

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In this reorganization process Tjong Hauw and Tan Tek Peng also had other important and probably more pressing matters at hand. Until that time tasks and responsibilities within the senior-management of the conglomerate were clearly defined and accepted by everyone. But since the outbreak of the war in Europe the four sons of Oei Tiong Ham’s seventh wife Lucy Ho, all of them shareholders, had reached maturity and now after the Japanese surrender started to claim their rights.34 It was decided that the three elder brothers would be assigned as managers of respectively the Singapore, Bangkok, and Hong Kong offices, while the youngest one, Oei Tjong Tjay, would work in the Jakarta office under the guidance of Tjong Hauw. While he was in the middle of this reorganization, Oei Tjong Hauw suddenly died of a heart attack in Jakarta on January 21, 1950. With his death OTHC suddenly lost its one-man leadership and a most capable and knowledgeable president-director, well-connected in fast changing Indonesia and the rest of Asia. Aftermath Under the single directorship of Oei Tjong Hauw the rationale of the conglomerate’s structure could still be considered business itself, but after his death the rationale of the conglomerate became the complicated family structure.35 The main division being the cleavage between the, what was called, Hauw and the Ho groups. The Hauw group consisted of the younger brothers of Oei Tjong Hauw, namely Oei Tjong Tjiat, Oei Tjong Yan and Oei Tjong Ik, and included Oei Ing Swie, eldest son of Tjong Hauw. The Ho group consisted of the four sons of Ho Kiem Hoa Nio (Lucy Ho). Since neither allowed the other fullcontrol, it was decided to split the group into geographical divisions. The American continent and Europe came under the directorship of the members of the Hauw group, and the Asian division and its

34 These were Oei Tjong Ie (b. 1918), Oei Tjong Bo (b. 1922), Oei Tjong Hiong (b. 1923) and Oei Tjong Tjay (b. 1924). 35 Many large family businesses, especially in countries and cultures were polygamy is still practiced, currently face the same problems. See http://pabs.netfirms.com/ chapter8.htm “Chapter 8 Polygamy and Family Squabbles” submitted by the Phoenix Group for the College of Management, University of Philippines. Accessed on July 1, 2008.

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various branches under the Ho group. The all important Indonesian division came under Tjong Tjay (Ho Group). That Tjong Tjay who had spend most of his life with his mother in Switzerland and The Netherlands and had no Indonesian experience whatsoever came to head the Indonesian division was not favored by everyone. Particularly Billy Oei Ing Swie, eldest son of Tjong Hauw, who knew the ins and outs of the Republic’s socio-economic environment quite well, had expected to be given this important and lucrative position. The familyoriented structure of the conglomerate was specifically based upon the personal wishes and ideals of the shareholders. Several of them had no wish whatsoever to continue their lives and raising their children in a socialist Indonesia where anti-Chinese sentiments became stronger by the day. In the new and loosely knit structure of the conglomerate each of the shareholder-directors was responsible for his own division, which stood primarily on its own. Although the global offices and branches operated under the name Kian Gwan there was no shared capital base although arrangements were such that it was extremely difficult for individual members or factions to withdraw equity. Within the overall structure the Indonesia division was by far the most important since all the other offices received goods and services from Indonesia, and exported capital, consumer goods, and foodstuffs to Indonesia mainly through the main office in Jakarta, sometimes by way of the Singapore office. Each of the director-shareholders could, and would, develop their own projects within their regional division and in doing this didn’t need consent from the others. Only in the case of a large project for which shared capital was needed, specific shareholder meetings would be held to seek mutual support. The construction the brothers came up with might have worked if they trusted and respected each other and kept the interest of the family business group as a whole in mind, rather than their own private and family interests. But it soon became clear that, mainly due to inheritance rights, tension among the brothers was mounting, which had a great impact on the subsequent events. It goes too far to detail these events in this essay. Suffice it to say that by the late 1950s, when the Indonesian government had decided to nationalize Dutch firms, pressure was mounting on the Oei Tiong Ham Concern to adapt itself to the new institutional environment. Unable to come to an internal agreement about the future course of the company in Indonesia, mistakes were made—which involved

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among others the “illegal” transfer of capital to The Netherlands—and in 1961 a lawsuit was started by the court of Semarang aimed at the confiscation of OTHC assets and the private property of its directors. After the seizure, the company became government property, and in October 1964 its legal successor was born, the PT Perusahaan Perkembangan Ekonomi Nasional Radjawali Indonesia (Enterprise for the Development of the National Economy Radjawali Indonesia), or in short PT Radjawali Indonesia. By that time the Oei brothers had already left the country and had started business elsewhere in the world. Concluding Remarks Despite the regime changes of the central decades of the twentieth century in Indonesia, Oei Tjong Hauw and his professional managers were quite successful in sustaining the various businesses of the OTHC. They aggressively stepped into new economic opportunities that offered themselves in the depressed 1930s, investing in sectors (rubber, tapioca, maize, alcohol production) they had disregarded before, moving into new regions and promising new markets (U.S., China, and Japan), rationalizing their businesses and making use of the latest technology available. Under the Japanese wartime economy they accepted its restrictions and demands, creatively adapting to the new rules of the game. And in the early years of the Sukarno regime, Oei Tjong Hauw seemed to have been successful in reorganizing his managerial staff in order to adjust the OTHC to the demands of the socialist economy that the Republic envisaged. The Oei family director-shareholders and their senior professional managers didn’t identify with one particular “nation” or “ethnicity.” They were first and foremost “global citizens” or “global entrepreneurs,” not particularly bound to colonial borders, nation-state imageries, or East-West dichotomies. They were part of a global, highly modernized elite that felt equally at home in the rustic mountain areas of central Java and Switzerland, the buzzing metropolises of Shanghai, Singapore, New York, and Tokyo, the glamorous canal cities of Amsterdam and Delft, or the artistic centers of Paris. Therefore, trying to understand their business strategies during the Japanese period in terms of collaboration and resistance—which in essence means identification with a nation to which one can be loyal—is missing the point. The loyalty of Oei family members was with the survival of their global business interests

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and the interests of families that dependent upon the OTHC, nothing more . . . and nothing less. Bibliography Brook, Timothy. 2004. Collaboration: Japanese Agents and Chinese Elites on the Yangtze Delta. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Busy, de. 1930, 1933. Handboek voor Cultuur- en Handelsondernemingen. Batavia. Coble, Parks M. 2003. Chinese Capitalists in Japan’s New Order. The Occupied Lower Yangtzi, 1937–1945. Berkeley: University of California Press. Coppel, Charles. 1983. Indonesian Chinese in Crisis. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Cochran, Sherman. 2006. Chinese Medicine Men. Consumer Culture in China and Southeast Asia. Cambridge, Massachussets, and London: Harvard University Press. Dick, Howard. 1989. Japan’s Economic Expansion in the Netherlands Indies between the First and Second World Wars. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 20 (2): 244–72. ——, et al. 2002. The Emergence of a National Economy. An Economic History of Indonesia, 1800–2000. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Djajadiningrat, Madelon. 2006. Vorst tussen twee werelden. Schoorl: Uitgeverij Conserve. Huang Jianli. 2006. Entanglement of Business and Politics in the Chinese Diaspora: Interrogating the Wartime Patriotism of Aw Boon Haw. Journal of Chinese Overseas 2 (1): 79–110. Hikita, Yasuyuki, et al. 1995. Nampo Kyo-eiken. Senji Nihon-no-Tonanajia Keizai Shihai. Tokyo: Taga Shuppan. ——. 1997. Japanese Company Inroads into Indonesia. In Japan, Indonesia and the War. Myths and Realities, ed. Peter Post and Elly Touwen-Bouwsma, 87–110. Leiden: KITLV Press. Jong, Lou de. 2002. The Collapse of a Colonial Society. The Dutch in Indonesia during the Second World War. Leiden: KITLV Press. Kanahele, George. 1967. The Japanese Occupation of Indonesia. Prelude to Independence. PhD diss., Cornell University. Keppy, Peter. 2006. Sporen van vernieling. Oorlogsschade, roof en rechtsherstel in Indonesie, 1940–1957. Amsterdam: Boom. Koo Hui-lan. 1943. An Autobiography as told to Mary van Rensselaer Thayer. New York: Dial Press. Koo, Wellington Mme. 1975. No Feast Lasts Forever. New York: Quadrangle. Kwartanada, Didi. 2002. Competition, Patriotism, and Collaboration. The Chinese Businessmen of Yogyakarta between the 1930s and 1945. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies (33) 2: 257–77. ——. 2005. An Expert on Chinese Affairs or a Pacifier?: Toyoshima Ataru and the Campaign towards the Chinese in Java, 1939–1945. Paper presented at ICAS4, Shanghai, August 20–24. Liem Tjwan Ling. 1979. Raja Gula Oei Tiong Ham. Surabaya: Liem Tjwan Ling Lindblad, J. Thomas. 2002. The Importance of Indonesianisasi during the Transition from the 1930s to the 1960s. Itinerario. European Journal of Overseas History 26 (3/4): 51–72. Lohanda, Mona. 2002. Growing Pains. The Chinese and the Dutch in Colonial Java, 1890– 1942. Jakarta: Yayasan Cipta Loka Caraka. Panglaykim, J. and I. Palmer. 1970. Study of Entrepreneurship in Developing Countries: The Development of One Chinese Concern in Indonesia. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 1 (1): 85–95.

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Post, Peter. 2002. The Kwik Hoo Tong Trading Society of Semarang, Java: A Chinese Business Network in Late Colonial Asia. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 33 (2): 279–96. ——. 2004. The Study of Chinese Business in the Modern History of Indonesia: Themes and Prospects. Chinese Business History 14 (2): 8–14. ——. 2009. Java’s Capitan Cina and Javanese Royal Families: Status, Modernity, and Power—Major-Titulair Be Kwat Koen and Mangkunegoro XII. Journal of AsiaPacific Studies (Waseda University), no. 13, October 2009: 49–66. Post, Peter et al. 2010. The Encyclopedia of Indonesia in the Pacific War (Leiden and Boston: Brill). Sato, Shigeru. 1994. War, Nationalism and Peasant: Java under the Japanese Occupation, 1942–1945. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Suryadinata, Leo. 1986. Pribumi Indonesians, the Chinese Minority and China: A Study of Perceptions and Policies. Kuala Lumpur: Heinemann Asia. Second edition. ——, ed. 1980. Political Thinking of the Indonesian Chinese. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Sutter, John O. 1959. Indonesianisasi; A Historical Survey of the Role of Politics in the Institutions of a Changing Economy from the Second World War to the Eve of the General Election, 1940–1955. PhD diss., Cornell University. Thee Kian Wie, ed. 2003. Recollections. The Indonesian Economy, 1950s–1990s. Singapore: ISEAS. Thomas, K.D. & J. Panglaykim. 1973. The Role of the Chinese in the South Sumatran Rubber Industry. Victoria: Le Trobe University. Tjoa Soe Tjong. 1963. OTHC—100 jaar: Een stukje economische geschiedenis van Indonesia. Economisch Statistische Berichten, June 26, July 10, and July 17. Touwen-Bouwsma, Elly. 2002. Japanese Policy towards the Chinese on Java. In Southeast Asian Minorities in the Wartime Japanese Empire, ed. Paul Kratoska, 55–64. London: RoutledgeCurzon. Twang Peck Yang. 1998. The Chinese Business Elite in Indonesia and the Transition to Independence 1940–1950. Kuala Lumpur, Oxford, Singapore, New York: Oxford University Press. Wright, Arnold. 1909. Twentieth Century Impressions of Netherlands India. London: Llyod’s. Yong, C.F. 1987. Tan Kah-Kee: The Making of an Overseas Chinese Legend. New York: Oxford University Press. Yong Mun Cheong. 2003. The Indonesian Revolution and the Singapore Connection. Leiden: KITLV Press. Yoshihara, Kunio, ed. 1989. Oei Tiong Ham Concern: The First Business Empire of Southeast Asia. Kyoto University: The Center for Southeast Asian Studies.

CHAPTER NINE

CONTINUOUS AND DISCONTINUOUS CHANGE IN ETHNIC CHINESE BUSINESS NETWORKS: THE CASE OF THE SALIM GROUP Marleen Dieleman Introduction Ethnic Chinese family businesses are important players in many of the Southeast Asian economies, and have received considerable attention from academics. One of the key factors that have been researched is the networking behavior and relational competencies of ethnic Chinese businessmen. The way ethnic Chinese relate to others and create business partnerships is often framed in terms of ethnic networks (Granovetter 1992; Kotkin 1993; Rauch and Trindade 2002; Douw 1999; Redding 1995) and in terms of crony connections with politicians (Yoshihara 1988). Recent studies, however, question the importance of crony and ethnic networks on ethnic Chinese business strategy and place more emphasis on exogenous factors. These authors argue that the influence of networking for ethnic Chinese groups is overstated (Chung 2006); ignores intra-ethnic diversity (Gomez and Hsiao 2001); has changed, or has been renewed with the influences of globalization (Carney 2005; Yeung 2006); or may be of a temporary and passing nature (Peng 2003; Peng and Zhou 2005). Institutional theorists looking at external changes and their impact on ethnic Chinese networking generally attribute a minor role to ethnic and crony networks in the behavior of ethnic Chinese business groups, and a major role to exogenous factors such as institutional changes. As a consequence of these new contributions, the current status quo of academic knowledge in this field is challenged and the debate has opened up new possible lines of research. How do ethnic Chinese business networks evolve over time, and what factors account for changes in the composition of the business network? Institutional changes can be continuous and gradual, in which case it is not easy to single out their impact on business networking. A

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situation in which one is in particular able to assess the effect of environmental factors on business networks, however, is when the business environment displays a discontinuous or radical change, such as an economic or political crisis followed by a new institutional environment with new economic policies and political players. Indonesia has gone through various fundamental changes, which allows scholars to investigate: what is the influence of external factors such as regime changes on ethnic Chinese business networking? Until today, very few studies have addressed the dynamics of ethnic Chinese business networks. This chapter attempts to fill part of this gap by presenting data on the business network evolution over time, covering the historical period before, during and after the Asian Crisis of 1997–98. This study makes use of qualitative and quantitative longitudinal case data of the Salim Group, one of the largest ethnic Chinese firms in the Asia Pacific region. A time-series approach using coding of qualitative data is proposed as a promising method to study gradual, long-term developments in business networks, as well as sudden changes resulting from external shocks. In this article I address the question how ethnic Chinese networks change over time and in periods of economic and political crisis. I bring in various theoretical concepts and assess whether they are suitable to explain network dynamics over time. The chapter proceeds as follows. The first section reviews different network theories applied to ethnic Chinese business. The second section introduces the case and methods used to obtain and analyze the data. The third section presents the case results. The fourth section offers a discussion of the results, and finally, I present my conclusions and suggestions for future research. Four Perspectives on Ethnic Chinese Business Networks Research on ethnic Chinese family business is carried out in a variety of scholarly disciplines ranging from anthropology to management. As a result, the literature on this topic shows considerable variety, and there are different ways to classify the literature. I focus here mainly on business networks in ethnic Chinese family firms, which is the topic of this paper, and draw mainly from literature from sociology and management, framing the debate into categories that are common in these disciplines. Obviously, not all Chinese firms are family firms, but our

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focus is here on networking behavior by family firm owners of Chinese descent operating outside China. Most literature on this focuses on small firms, but this article deals with those few family firms that grew into large conglomerates. The notion that firms are embedded in social networks is wellknown in sociology (Bonacich 1973; Granovetter 1995; Portes and Sensenbrenner 1993) and has also been researched within the field of management (Gulati 1998; Uzzi 1997). Especially Asian firms are thought to be heavily embedded in social networks (Buckley 2004). Ethnic Chinese firms are often treated as a separate category of firms with specific characteristics, and are often referred to as the “Chinese Family Business” (CFB) or more broadly as “Chinese capitalism” (Haley 1998; Hamilton 1991; Redding 1990). Although there is overlap between them, I identify four different types of theoretical approaches that are relevant for the study of ethnic Chinese business networks. First, ethnic Chinese businessmen are believed to prefer forming business networks with fellow Chinese, in particular those of the same region of origin in China. A large number of popular as well as academic studies have been produced on the importance of ethnic Chinese networks (Backman 2001; Chan 2000; Douw 1999; Redding 1995; Weidenbaum and Hughes 1996). Some authors argue that the intraethnic Chinese networks are instrumental in overcoming trade barriers, and as such offer a competitive advantage. In particular when the environment for business is uncertain minority networks are argued to make a difference as they compensate for weak or missing institutions (Bonacich 1973; Rauch et al. 2002; Xin and Pearce 1996). In other accounts researchers often argue that the specific Chinese culture and Chinese networking styles are one of the reasons behind the formation of such intra-ethnic networks (Hong 1998). Ethnic Chinese business behavior is argued to be particularly influenced by Confucianism and guanxi (Haley 1998; Luo 1997; Redding 1990). Businessmen of Chinese descent are argued to value trust in relationships with others. In Chinese society personal networks extending from the individual exist, and each type of relationship is regulated according to social conventions (Fei 1992). Chinese networks are commonly termed guanxi. Guanxi means connections and refers to personal, particularistic relationships between two individuals. The relationship implies a long-term process of exchanging favors (Chen and Chen 2004). The basis for guanxi can be a shared experience, for example the same place of birth or the same

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school, the same clan, the same surname, the same family, and so on. As such, it is easier for Chinese people amongst themselves to develop guanxi than for Chinese with people of other nationalities. Business networks, in this perspective, are thought to be stable attributes of family leaders, and provide a cushion to mitigate effects of external hardships. To the extent that personal networks change, it is attributed to internal factors, such as the size of the firm and the wealth of its leader. Sociologist Fei (1992) argues that the more powerful the person, the more extended are its networks, which is consistent with the idea that larger and more powerful family conglomerates maintain an elaborate web of ties with other Chinese businessmen. A second body of literature focuses on another type of network: the crony connection. It argues that ethnic Chinese businesses developed corrupt relations with power-holders, who provided resources or protection, in exchange for money or shares (Robison 1986; Yoshihara 1988). Local political figures, particularly in Indonesia, were keen to establish crony links with Chinese businessmen because they could derive economic benefits from this alliance without the other partner forming a threat to political power and because they could more easily be kept at bay (Suryadinata 1997). The fact that a leader like Suharto linked up with various ethnic Chinese businessmen is understood in this manner (Elson 2001). The allocation of certain advantages due to connections is usually seen as either rent-seeking (Yoshihara 1988), corruption, or crony capitalism. Corruption involves bureaucratic behavior that deviates from the norm and that results in private gains by bureaucrats (Luo 2002). Cronyism is argued to be a special type of corruption, based on repeated relationships. It can be defined as “a reciprocal exchange transaction where party A shows favor to party B based on shared membership in a social network at the expense of party C’s equal or superior claim to the valued resource” (Khatri, et al. 2006). Political economists working on Indonesian conglomerates see crony relations with the regime as the key factor underpinning ethnic Chinese business success (Chua 2007; Robison 1986). Most of the literature on crony connections has stressed the beneficial effects of maintaining such network ties for firms, as well as the fact that such ties are inappropriate or undesirable from a macro-economic development perspective. However, from the perspective of a business leader, there are also profound risks associated with crony relationships, namely that the carefully cultivated political connection might fall from power (Fisman 2001; Leuz and Oberholzer-Gee 2006) or

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uses his or her political leverage to acquire the firm’s resources (Fan, Won and Zhang 2007). As such, an external shock such as a regime change may profoundly affect the political ties themselves and also have an impact on the composition of a family business’ network. Third, networks are often analyzed using the concept of social capital, referring to the ability of company leaders to use networks as a business resource. In situations of uncertainty and low levels of trust, strong business networks reduce transaction costs if they create higher levels of trust among their members. This can be the case of families (Burkart et al. 2003), of communities (Lester and Cannella 2006), in school or political networks (Keister 1999), in ethnic networks (Bonacich 1973; Rauch and Trindade 2002), or in the entire society (Fukuyama 1995). Together, personal connections of business owners that are used for the benefit of the company can be referred to as social capital. Given its broad scope, social capital applies to both categories mentioned above as it encompasses all relations firm owners possess that can translate into value for the firm. The concept of social capital is also often used in the field of management to describe the advantage companies can have as a result of their network ties (Adler and Kwon 2002; Blyler and Coff 2003; Nahapiet and Ghoshal 1998). It is now common to distinguish between bonding and bridging capital, where bonding is building connections within the own social group and bridging refers to networking with people across social categories (Adler and Kwon 2002). Following this classification, crony capitalism can be seen as bridging capital whereas family and ethnic networks would be seen as bonding capital. A fourth body of literature which can be called the evolutionary approach introduces the time aspect and considers network strategies as a dynamic attribute of organizations (Blyler et al. 2003; Hite 2005). Some authors have criticized the attribution of omnipotent powers to ethnic Chinese business networking, and have argued that, as the business grows and its environment develops, guanxi and networking with political figures is not as important as in early stages (Chung 2006; Peng and Zhou 2005). Institutional theorists see the networking behavior as a reaction to an imperfect business environment. Once strong economic institutions arise and a liberal market economy emerges, these authors believe that ethnic Chinese companies will naturally move from a relational model towards a rule-based model with weaker network ties (Peng 2003; Peng and Zhou 2005). In doing this these authors adhere to a stages model of economic development and expect

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convergence over time. Some recent studies on ethnic Chinese firms have already hinted at the influences of globalization (Ahlstrom et al. 2004; Yeung 1998) and at recent changes in ethnic Chinese business networks (Dahles 2005; Gomez and Hsiao 2001). Although there are indications that the Chinese Family Business is changing, precisely how this process evolves, and what this means for networking behavior, is yet to be investigated. In summary, there is a debate on the importance and composition of business networks among large ethnic Chinese family firms, as some scholars argue that these networks change over time or cease to be important, while others assume that business networking and focus on building social capital from networks is an essential characteristic of such firms. At present we don’t have conclusive evidence on what type of networks are most important for ethnic Chinese firms in different stages of their development, nor on whether business networks will continue to be important when economies in Asia witness policy shocks or slowly move towards a liberal and open market economy model. This essay is positioned within this debate and I investigate how business networks change over time, and in particular in times of major external shifts in the business environment, using a single case study. Based on the literature review, we can formulate different propositions, which correspond with the different positions in the above mentioned debate. One is that network ties with other ethnic Chinese businessmen will be predominant within the overall network of an ethnic Chinese firm, and that this will be a stable factor, not affected by regime change. The size of the business network depends on the size of the firm, rather than on external factors. The second is that political ties will be predominant within the overall network of an ethnic Chinese firm, but that the nature of such ties will be affected by political changes. A third proposition is that the number of network ties will gradually decrease as a country modernizes. I agree that networking behavior should be treated as a dynamic attribute of organizations, and rather than establishing theories on networking behavior of ethnic Chinese firm as such, it is more useful to study network composition in an evolutionary manner. Therefore, I present a longitudinal case study of one of the largest ethnic Chinese groups in Southeast Asia in which I attempt to measure the network composition over time.

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Methodology It was decided to focus on a single case in order to observe in more detail and with more rigor how the evolution of ethnic Chinese business networks may play out over a longer period. The Salim Group was selected on theoretical sampling principles, which means that, rather than being representative of a larger population, the case was chosen because the phenomenon of interest was “transparently observable” (Eisenhardt 1989). The Salim Group was (and most argue that it still is) the largest and most prominent group in Indonesia, and it operated a large number of businesses—estimates are several hundred—in cooperation with various partners. We present a rich longitudinal, exploratory case study of a corporate group within its institutional context covering a period from its inception in 1938 to 2005. The research was carried out from 2003– 05 using a variety of sources including fifty-six interviews, sixty-nine annual reports (covering ten years), media sources, secondary literature, and corporate documentation. It consciously had some overlap between data collection and analysis to strengthen emerging themes (Glaser and Strauss 1967), and in the analysis I emphazised triangulation (Yin 2003), or trying to make conclusions only if different sources converge in the same direction. I used a mix of methods in order to evaluate the business network over time. The first is interpretative based on a triangulation of the different sources, the second is a coding procedure to transform qualitative data into quantitative data (Boyatzis 1998). The unit of coding was a new business event, defined as any relevant business decision outside continuing the existing businesses. Examples are starting new ventures, spinning off companies, or expanding existing lines of business. After a combination of sources and a complete reorganization of the data, a list of 262 relevant business events was obtained for the period 1984– 2003, or two decades. The data did not allow extending the analysis to a longer period, as there were too little data points before 1984. Hence, the networking behavior from 1938–84 is assessed using only interpretative techniques and the quantitative method is applied only to a limited period of development. This is due to two things: first, less information was available before 1984 in international news publications, and most companies were not yet on the stock exchange. The second reason is that the smaller the group, the less data points. The

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method I used increases in reliability with larger groups, because these have more partners and therefore more data points. Subsequently, each event was assessed in terms of partnerships in the categories: 1) ethnic Chinese, 2) political connection, and 3) foreign (non-Chinese, non-Indonesian) partners. Ethnic Chinese partners where defined as anyone of Chinese descent, either in mainland China, or outside. Political connections included business ventures with governments, military leaders, or with family member of highlevel political figures, either in Indonesia or abroad. Foreign partners were broadly defined as non-ethnic Chinese and non-Indonesian, but in practice this group consisted mainly of Western and Japanese business partners. For each business event the presence of one or more new partnerships in these categories was counted. The analysis of case data can suffer from biases of the researcher which unconsciously influence the actual coding. To control for this potential bias the reliability of the coding process is normally tested by using other people’s judgments and comparing these with the researcher’s judgments. We used interrater reliability by measuring the percentage agreement on presence. The formula recommended for this type of presence/non-presence scoring is (Boyatzis 1998): 2 x (number of times both coder A and coder B saw theme present) (number of times coder A saw it present + number of times coder B saw it present)

An independent second researcher, unfamiliar with the research, validated the process and repeated the coding. I achieved an interrater reliability of seventy-five percent (ethnic Chinese partners); seventy-seven percent (crony partners), and seventy-six percent (foreign partners). A score of seventy percent is normally considered sufficient. The results were aggregated by year and plotted on a time-scale. In addition to quantitative data, qualitative information from the original sources is used in interpreting the results. Naturally there are limitations inherent to techniques to quantify qualitative research, as I used here. For example, we do not measure the importance of a partnership. One partnership could be more important than ten others together. Instead we only measure occurrence. To overcome the shortcomings of this method, I also used interpretative techniques as I had detailed information on each of the events identified. For the purposes of this essay a short overview of the Salim Group will be given, while a more elaborate analysis is available elsewhere

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(Dieleman 2007; Dieleman and Sachs 2006). All quotes used stem from interviews with the author, unless otherwise attributed. The Salim Saga Liem Sioe Liong, a poor Chinese migrant to Kudus (close to Semarang) in Indonesia in the late colonial period, built up his business slowly from scratch using the motto “all business is good,” until he controlled a conglomerate that was considered the largest in Southeast Asia (Sato 1993). His early start in business in the 1940s was facilitated by family members and Chinese clansmen and it mainly involved small scale trading, according to one source, by transporting goods between cities on a bicycle (Twang 1998). The Second World War and the Japanese occupation offered opportunities for trade or smuggling, even though it was dangerous. Liem never became entangled in colonial organizational patterns such as exporting commodities, as the successful conglomerates of the time, including Oei Tiong Ham, did (see the chapter by Post in this volume). After Indonesia’s Declaration of Independence, Liem started to supply different goods to a division of the army and became a trusted supplier and business partner. In relation to this supplier role, he also undertook some industrial activities, like a soap factory, but still on a small scale (Soetriyono 1989). The period after independence saw a parallel rise of two important institutions: the army, which was a strong force in society and in business, and the communist party (Crouch 1978). Sukarno, Indonesia’s first strong leader, focused on nationalist policies by balancing these forces without being interested in creating a favorable environment for private business. Indeed, in the late 1950s, foreign business was nationalized; and the largest Indonesian-Chinese conglomerate of that time, the Oei Tiong Ham Concern, followed in 1961. This made the state the single most important player in the economy. The business context for private firms at the time was erratic, and the motto that “all business is good” may have been a good survival strategy in a risky context. Because of Liem’s relationships with a local army unit, he achieved stability and income as a supplier, a position in which he was lucky enough to partner with a relative of Sukarno, as well as to meet Suharto, who was later to replace Sukarno after a bloody regime change that crushed the communist party.

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After Indonesia’s independence Liem moved to Jakarta and diversified into banking and manufacturing and supplied a variety of goods to the military. The foundations for the Salim Group were created during the Suharto period, with whom Liem held close contacts. The coincidence of a close relationship with a long-term dictator of a large country profoundly changed the Salim Group’s outlook. When Suharto came to power, in 1965, Liem had already built a substantial set of business activities, despite high inflation and economic decline during Sukarno’s rule. Suharto soon realized that achieving strong economic growth was an essential aspect of political legitimacy (Elson 2001); and his competent economic advisers (also known as the “Berkeley mafia”) created the conditions for a thriving economy in which private capital was encouraged and international trade allowed, although key industries such as oil remained in government hands. With foreign capital nationalized and private business constrained, few successful and substantial businesses existed in post-colonial Indonesia. Along with a few other Chinese businessmen, Liem was among the favored ones that were enlisted by Suharto to help develop Indonesia—and Liem took full advantage of his management skills, tact, relations, and the opportunities offered to him. In addition, the economic growth created local demand for all kinds of products, so a domestic business strategy seemed most logical. Often in partnership with army foundations linked to Suharto, his business group started to grow at a very rapid pace, and to diversify into producing all kinds of basic products from food to automotive to cement, while continuing lucrative trading activities (Robison 1986). The industrialization of the Salim Group coincided with a policy of import substitution industrialization, which facilitated development of local capitalists. Most of the Salim Group businesses produced products for the domestic market in Indonesia, benefiting from the increased consumer buying power achieved under Suharto’s rule. Without significant assistance from the government in terms of credits and issuing of special licenses this rapid growth could not have been achieved. Until the mid 1970s it was able to ride the waves of opportunity and build managerial competencies necessary to exploit the opportunities that came with Indonesia’s awakening and its new leadership style. Widening his group by including some new investors, both Chinese and Indonesian, including a Suharto family member, Liem was now well prepared to become the largest business group in

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Indonesia, and eventually the largest family business group in Southeast Asia. In this thriving business environment, helped by a friendly dictator, Liem’s Salim Group grew spectacularly into all kinds of industries. In order to achieve this growth, it first partnered with a number of domestic groups, managed by other ethnic Chinese. Also, it established partnerships with foreign firms in Indonesia in order to obtain technology or capital for certain ventures. In this way, the Group became the leading conglomerate in Indonesia in the 1980s. The Salim Group also expanded internationally to Hong Kong and Singapore in the 1970s and 1980s, initially benefiting from the regional ethnic Chinese networks. The Group also established footholds in the U.S. and Europe and was considered the largest Southeast Asian business group in the 1990s (Sato 1993). In Asia, some of its businesses tapped into the ethnic Chinese networks in the region, whereas others benefited from partnerships with Japanese or American firms. In 1972 an important internal change occurred, the graduation and return from the UK of Anthony Salim, the son of Liem who was to take over the leadership over the group two decades later. With an ever expanding empire to take care of, the young heir foresaw two complications. First, the need to make the existing businesses more streamlined and professional so that the group could effectively grow and still be controlled by scarce family management resources; second, the need to distance the Salim Group from a highly profitable but equally risky dependency on a benevolent patron and dictator who was mortal and certainly was not going to stay in power forever. Anthony Salim started to use the group profits from domestic activities to invest in countries outside Indonesia, such as China, Hong Kong, and the Philippines. From 1972 that’s when the crossover occurred. When we start to become much more by design rather than opportunity driven. Design in the selection of the business opportunity. (. . .) We still have the contacts and contracts with the government. From 1979 we started to sort of elevate ourselves from government to market based enterprise. We do understand a lot of political implications, because we try to choose that it is much more on business directions rather than government related business—which is still good. Another characteristic is that of course we start to balance our portfolio. We have no pretension to hide that we have started to invest outside Indonesia since 1975, when we created our Singapore and Hong Kong companies. (Anthony Salim)

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This trend, which started in the 1970s, would finally bring about a third of the conglomerate activities outside Indonesia two decades later, but did not change its embedding in the Indonesian domestic context. Rather on the contrary, the Salim Group grew to be the most dominant domestic player with (semi-)monopolistic positions in a range of industries such as cement and flour and chemicals, usually enjoying some degree of government protection. Although Liem looked to Japan for successful business examples, such as the sogo shosha, Anthony Salim, who had been educated in the West, implemented several Western business insights that were modern at the time. Under the second generation leadership the Group professionalized its management and organization structure. A divisional structure was introduced, and various companies became listed on regional stock exchanges and managed by professional CEOs. Anthony Salim also sought to become less dependent on a benevolent dictator. By the 1990s the Group had established relationships with major banks and with many major multinational companies. In the period up to the Asian Crisis crony capitalism was even more widespread in Indonesia, with protection and special favors very much in the open, particularly when it came to the special business endeavors of Tommy Suharto, one of Suharto’s children. This national context was increasingly inviting criticism from the IMF and the World Bank, which promoted a liberal free trade model with low or no protection of local industries and players. When the Asian Crisis came to Indonesia Suharto was eventually forced by the IMF to curb the protectionist policies favoring friends and family members. By the time the crisis reached its full scale Suharto’s position came under increasing pressure and he eventually resigned. The demise of Suharto’s order had severe consequences for the Salim Group. Having been so closely associated with the Suharto regime, they were seen as a symbol of it. The group became a target for public anger, and the family house—as well as several branches of the Salim-owned Bank Central Asia—was set to fire. BCA, the largest privately owned bank in Indonesia, had two of Suharto’s children on its supervisory board, and was subsequently victim of a bank run that depleted its resources and was nationalized. The fall of BCA marked a new period for the Salim Group. A new government, espousing anti-corruption policies, took over from Suharto and recapitalized the bank, demanding from the Salim family full repayment as well as a fine for the violation of

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certain banking laws. The total amount fixed by the government was approximately USD 5 billion. The Asian Crisis led to violence against ethnic Chinese, and the Salim Group became a symbol of the old crony regime. It suffered political as well as physical attacks and was partly nationalized as a result of repayments to the government. Liem, said to be disappointed by the anti-Chinese riots in which his portrait appeared as a symbol of corruption and crony capitalism, never returned from exile in Singapore and let his son Anthony Salim deal with the crisis in Indonesia, while another son, Andree Halim, withdrew and focused on smaller businesses in Singapore and China. The leadership of the Salim Group was thus, as a side-effect of the regime change and economic crisis, suddenly centralized in the person of Anthony Salim, who faced the critical mission to disentangle the group from the previous regime and prevent a complete collapse. As economic conditions worsened, most Indonesian businesses were considered insolvent, and the new post-Suharto government had to consider ways to restore the entire financial sector and the economy. It created an entity that had to deal with ailing banks, most of them belonging to conglomerates, of which the Salim Group bank, BCA, was the largest. Ethnic Chinese were seen as the culprits for the crisis, and the Salim Group was clearly a symbol of “dirty crony capitalism.” The new government came under enormous public pressure to dismantle the companies that were previously cronies of Suharto, as is witnessed in the statement of one of their partners at the time. With the crisis the problems started. The pressure on the Salim Group became enormous, at the time they were afraid for their lives. When they had some idea that a Chinese hunt would become reality, they tried to move everything out of Indonesia. The government was not fond of Salim, and forced them out of our joint venture. It wasn’t even legal; we were not supposed to own hundred percent of the venture. For some time we were in a very odd situation. We did not want the Salim Group to exit from our cooperation, we were unhappy with this development. (Western Joint Venture partner of the Salim Group)

While some of the large conglomerate owners were arrested, this never happened to Anthony Salim, who opted for a strategy of cooperative negotiations with the government. He handed over (shares in) 107 companies to pay the government, which meant the nationalization of a large part of the Salim Group. Given this attitude, which even its staunch critics praised, the group could now become a symbol of a

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new post-Suharto era. Part of his luck may have been that the Salim Group was too large to fall, employing over 200,000 people, most of them in Indonesia. For a couple of years following the crisis, the Salim Group reshuffled companies and assets in order to rearrange their portfolio. Even after the settlement of the USD 5 billion government debt, the group still was a large business player. In the words of Anthony Salim: We talked to the new, emerging government and asked them several questions. 1. Whether a company like Salim can still exist under the new environment; and 2. Is this going to be a political or commercial, economic solution. If this is a political solution you can do anything you like, nationalize companies or put someone in jail. But we believe it is commercial solution for the following reasons: The new emerging country for economic policy heavily depends on IMF, World Bank and bilateral support. We believe that has not been changed. So we believe a commercial solution is one of the solutions for the economy. Secondly, it is not only us. It’s the total financial, monetary, corporate crisis. We are one of the problems, no doubt a big one, but one of the many. (. . .) Our approach is: ok, we open up. We don’t believe that negotiation will be hide and seek. This is the total wealth of the group. Some of the assets are already pledged to the bank, some is free. Even my personal assets I declared, like my house in Los Angeles, I just declare also. This is our wealth; now let’s negotiate how this is going to solve the problem. (Anthony Salim)

Thus, the Salim Group experienced the most severe crisis in its history. On the other hand, the crisis was also an opportunity to get rid of old businesses and select the most profitable companies for continuation. The Salim Group did this through extremely skilful negotiations with the government and the banks. As Anthony Salim was now clearly the central leader, and the crisis had contributed to a reorientation of the conglomerate, the group was on its way to fully implement a more market-oriented and less relationship-focused corporate strategy. The institutional environment was chaotic during the crisis, but it was generally expected that a more liberal economic policy and a decrease in crony capitalism would eventually take place. After the crisis, the leaner Salim Group sought to diversify away from Indonesia into Asia to mitigate its dependence on Indonesia. It established new relations abroad with business partners and with governments. After an initial period of recovery, the Salim Group has started an ambitious growth strategy again since 2003. It invested heavily in China and India, both growth markets, and also in other

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Asian markets, as well as in Australia. It also strengthened its existing businesses in Indonesia, such as Indofood, with new acquisitions. But it never again tied up closely with the new generation of politicians, even if the business environment continued to be characterized by crony capitalism. Composition of the Salim Group Network As the previous paragraphs show, the Salim Group maintained partnerships with a variety of actors, ranging from political figures to foreign multinationals. Interviews suggest that the second generation leader, Anthony Salim, wished to modernize and professionalize the business. He also wanted to reduce the dependence on Suharto and on Indonesia in general. Whereas his father engaged in various joint projects with other ethnic Chinese tycoons in the region, he expressed the vision that business reasons rather than cultural reasons should be leading when it comes to business decisions. Aside from carrying out a rigorous interpretative analysis, we also measured the evolution of networks ties of the Salim Group in a quantitative way for a period of two decades (1984–2003), and the results of the coding procedure are available in Figure 1. Quantitative network analysis shows the explosive growth the Salim Group experienced in the years before the Asian Crisis, a period of frantic business activity in Southeast Asia. From 1993–96 the number of partnerships in all categories rose. After the Asian crisis, which fundamentally affected the Salim Group, it did not form many new partnerships. A combination of internal and exogenous factors, such as the size of the group, as well as economic growth or decline, appears to offer an explanation for the size of the business network. Figure 2 shows the relative importance of the different partnership categories over time and displays them in the form of a linear trend. In terms of network composition, the most striking result is that foreign network ties, occurring more often than crony and ethnic Chinese together, show an increasing trend, something hitherto hardly observed in the literature on ethnic Chinese business. Obviously, this is related to the fact that the Salim Group is a large group, small- and medium-sized firms are unlikely to have ties with foreign multinationals on the same scale as the Salim Group. This finding should be interpreted keeping in mind that the case is a mature and large ethnic

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12

Number of occurences

10

Ethnic Chinese

8

Political Foreign

6

4

2

1984 1985 1986 1987 1988 1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003

0

Figure 1. Salim group partnerships. Source: Author’s database.

100% Ethnic Chinese 75%

Political Foreign

50% Linear (Ethnic Chinese) Linear (Political)

25%

Linear (Foreign) 2004

2002

2000

1998

1996

1994

1992

1990

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0%

Figure 2. Relative importance of partnerships. Source: Author’s database.

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Chinese business group, in recent decades in which many multinationals entered Indonesia and searched for a local partner. When one dives into the qualitative information behind these figures, it appears that the majority of the Salim Group partners are Western or Japanese multinationals such as Dow Chemical, Suzuki, or Heidelberg Cement Group. After the crisis, almost all of the new partnerships occurred with foreign partners. Crony relations show an erratic trend in the period far before the crisis, then just before the crisis an increase, followed by a sudden decline. After the crisis, no new businesses were formed with political ties in Indonesia—at least as far as such events are captured in this database. This declining trend is certainly affected by the general political situation after the Asian Crisis in Indonesia. The Salim Group was closely connected to the Suharto family, and previously engaged in various ventures with Suharto’s children. During the crisis, Suharto was forced out of office and the Salims, being the largest business family in Indonesia, were subsequently taken as a symbol of the bad, old, crony regime and pressure was exercised to dissolve the Group altogether. While this did not happen, the Salim family was forced to hand over large parts of their empire to the new government. In Indonesia, as far as the author knows, the Group did not engage in business ventures with political partners, although anecdotal (but not factual) evidence surfaced suggesting that the Salim Group tried to establish connections with subsequent presidents. This radical break from the prior crony strategy may also be because the group was very much in the “spotlight” when it came to political ties and suffered severe negative impact from its prior connectedness. In other countries, however, such as China and Singapore, the Salim Group continues to do business in partnership with government-linked firms. However, given the large scale of the Salim Group investments, and the predominance of government-linked firms in these countries, the political ties abroad are not of the same nature as compared to those with the Suharto family in Indonesia. Compared to the amount of popular and academic literature on ethnic networks among the Chinese minority in Southeast Asia, the component of ethnic Chinese business ties as a percentage of the total amount of partners is surprisingly low. Considering that the Salim Group is mainly active in Southeast and East Asia, where a very large proportion of big businesses are owned by people of Chinese descent,

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the number of business deals with this category of partners seems particularly modest. Ethnic Chinese partners show a slight declining trend, which may be consistent with the vision of the second generation business leader who attaches no special importance to descent or identity when it comes to selecting business partners. This seems consistent with our proposition three, which argues that “bonding” ties will decrease over time as the country modernizes and the firm matures, with looser network ties taking their place. In particular, the trend seems to be towards arms length relationships with multinationals, rather than the more particularistic political and ethnic ties that dominated in the past. This trend was visible before the crisis already, but the Asian Crisis seems to have given even more prominence to partnerships with foreign multinationals, because both ethnic Chinese and political ties declined. Our results should be interpreted with care, because we measure only occurrences, not importance, but with this caveat, we do see a slight decline of ethnic and political ties before the crisis, and an even sharper decline thereafter. These figures do not tell us anything about the situation before 1984. The interpretative analysis suggests that both political and ethnic Chinese ties were important, with ethnic Chinese ties being predominant in the period before 1965, and ties with Suharto and his family were essential in the years 1965–84. For example, initial internationalization took place with the help of regional Chinese networks, and many of the early firms were started with support of the Suharto regime. While this early situation matches our first and then second proposition (on the predominance of ethnic and political ties, respectively), our quantitative analysis shows that these propositions cease to be applicable in the period starting in 1984. Discussion Single case studies are not designed to lead to conclusions that apply to an entire population. The Salim Group was chosen for its size and importance, and most likely this very fact influences the nature and composition of the network ties with other firms. We take this into account when interpreting the results. Nevertheless, good case research can formulate new insights and unearth new patterns that may apply to a broader group of entities. In order to achieve this, we abstract

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our results into a dynamic model of network development that can be tested in future studies (Figure 3). Our study suggests that the Salim Group built both bonding and bridging capital over time, and it points at the increased importance of bridging capital through foreign and in particular Western and Japanese partners. From the outset the founder, Liem Sioe Liong, built relationships with political and military leaders (bridging his ethnic social network), which helped him survive difficult times and catapulted the group to new heights when the economy thrived during the Suharto regime. When the group grew, new ties were created with international banks and multinational players, further increasing the importance of bridging capital. Bonding capital was more important in earlier times, and my data already indicated that it decreased over time to less than a quarter of the partnerships. Bridging capital, initially with politicians, but later with foreign business partners, became more important over time. If we now combine these insights from the qualitative and quantitative analyses, we can display the development of the Salim Group network more schematically in phases of company development in the form of a framework that can be tested in studies of other Chinese Indonesian family firms. Each phase in the development of the small family firm towards the large and international family conglomerate displays a different network composition. Figure 3 displays these phases and the importance of the different network ties over time in a testable framework. A large group of Asia scholars, inside but also outside the field of management, has emphasized the crucial importance of the ethnic

Clan Members Importance of Network Ties

Family Members

Local Ethnic Chinese Partners

Regional Ethnic Chinese Partners

bridging MNCs

Army Officers Modest Local Operations

Local Politicians

Domestic Growth

Foreign Investors

Global Banks

International Politicians

bonding

Time International Growth

MNC

Figure 3. Framework: Bonding and bridging capital over time.

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network for Chinese migrant businesses. In the process of researching these network ties the impression was created that ethnic networks were the most important source of business partners. This appears not to be supported by our case results, and our results are important as they go against common wisdom. The reason for this discrepancy could lie in the fact that most scholars studied first-generation firms, and that firms in more mature stages of development simply display different patterns than start-up ventures. This essay clearly shows that there is an opportunity to advance our thinking on ethnic Chinese family firms by de-emphasizing ethnic networks. One has to note the obvious fact that the case selection has influenced the results. Due to the size of the Salim Group they became an interesting partner for large Western of Japanese multinationals. Also, the existing and new Salim businesses became so large that they required syndicate loans from multiple international banks, and that equally large firms from abroad were sought to act as partners. The Salim Group simply “outgrew” many of its original networks. However, surprisingly little theory has been developed to study and explain the importance and nature of Western partners for ethnic Chinese conglomerates. In this particular case, theories of networking focusing solely on ethnic networks or solely on crony connections seem to be less applicable. I cannot claim that the patterns observed here are relevant beyond this single case, but I would think it is not unlikely that other large ethnic Chinese firms display a similar trend. Is the dominance of strong ethnic network ties for large ethnic Chinese businesses a myth? This is certainly a question worth investigating in future research programs. Instead, I postulate that business networks can better be seen as expanding concentric circles (Fei 1992), in which families build wider rings of networking as they grow in importance. Over time, the networks of successful firms gradually outgrow the family, the ethnic circle and the domestic environment. Instead of focusing on one type of network, I advocate a dynamic approach to business networks, in which social capital can function as an umbrella concept. Social capital can be deconstructed in different types of network ties, such as ethnic networking, cronyism, and ties with foreign multinationals, and I argue that the importance of each tie differs over time, depending on external factors (e.g., political regime) and internal factors (size of the firm, generation of family leaders).

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The results also show how the network size and composition is related to institutional factors, such as economic growth, crisis, political changes and institutional modernization, and how it changes substantially over time, displaying both gradual and sudden changes. This study supports the proposition informed by institutional scholars that ethnic network ties and corrupt alliances with politicians will decrease over time as economies modernize and become open market democracies, as mentioned in the beginning of this chapter. Institutional improvement decreases the extra benefits of a strong ethnic network. With regard to the effects of the crisis, we see an overall decline in new partnerships, and of those remaining new network ties virtually all are with foreign multinationals. Political ties in particular are affected by political changes. Contrary to proposition two, the Salim Group did not build close connections with subsequent political leaders, even if some other Indonesian business groups (e.g., Bakrie Group) have continued to benefit from a politically connected strategy beyond the Suharto period, suggesting that such a crony model continued to be an option for business leaders. With regard to ethnic Chinese ties and the Asian Crisis, our data suggest that the regime change strengthened the ongoing decline in the relative importance of ethnic Chinese network ties. In addition, our study also points at the importance of internal factors. The second generation leader of a family business is more likely educated with Western management ideas, and may have different views on building business relations than the previous generations, which are more strongly rooted in Chinese culture. Our results also imply that the Salim Group, by virtue of foreign firms being its most important type of partners, will likely have adapted to the way of working of Western and Japanese firms, and thereby will have built competencies to operate in ways similar to modern multinationals. Perhaps the era in which ethnic Chinese business groups could be envisioned as unique species is over. Conclusion In conclusion, the respective theories of intra-ethnic Chinese networks (proposition one) and crony networks (proposition two) seem insufficient to explain the long term development of business networks of the Salim Group, one of the largest firms in Southeast Asia. Theories of social capital can combine different types of network partners into

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a single concept, and therefore seem more appropriate in analyzing large ethnic Chinese firms. An evolutionary approach to network ties combining bridging and bonding capital reveals the decline of the latter and the growth of the former over time. More in particular, the importance of ethnic Chinese ties appears to be waning—something that is only exacerbated by the Asian Crisis. The importance of political ties is radically affected by the Asian Crisis, after which the Salim Group discontinued the strategy of close cooperation with a political leader. Throughout, the most important category of ties appears to be those with foreign multinationals, a category that has largely been ignored in the literature on ethnic Chinese family firms. Reflecting back on the theoretical approaches mentioned in the beginning of the chapter, I argue that it would be better to combine them into a dynamic model of business network development, in which the successful ethnic Chinese family firm progressively “outgrows” the more narrow networks drawing from the family, the ethnic group, and domestic business and political settings. Gradual changes occur in composition of the network, and regime changes cause more sudden network changes, in particular in terms of political ties. Framed in such a dynamic model, the theories we investigated all have a place, but their importance varies over time. More empirical work is necessary to establish whether the Salim Group is a special case, or whether the decline of ethnic and political ties, and the rise of foreign network ties are typical features of large ethnic Chinese conglomerates. I have developed an evolutionary method of analyzing embeddedness in networks, encompassing both bonding and bridging capital over time, and revealing both gradual and sudden trends. I argue that this type of network analysis leads to a more accurate understanding of ethnic Chinese business networks. Bibliography Adler, Paul and Seok-Woo Kwon. 2002. Social Capital: Prospects for a New Concept. Academy of Management Review 27 (1): 17–40. Ahlstrom, David, Michael Young, Frankie Ng, and Christine Chan. 2004. High Technology and Globalization Challenges Facing Overseas Chinese Entrepreneurs. SAM Advanced Management Journal 69 (2): 28–37. Backman, Michael. 2001. Asian Eclipse: Exposing the Dark Side of Business in Asia. Singapore: John Wiley.

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INDEX

Accommodation 12, 66, 75, 87 Adinegoro, Jamaluddin 94 Agency 4, 8, 12–13, 17, 52, 54, 67, 102 Anderson, Benedict 93, 94 n. 2 Ang Hoay Lie 99 anti-Chinese violence 3, 23, 77, 81, 86, 169 Arabs 117 n. 1, 118, 133 Asian Crisis 14, 202, 212–13, 215, 217–18, 221–22 Assimilation – policy 11–12, 16, 29–30, 48, 50, 56, 59–60, 64–65 process 69 program 58, 74 versus integration framework 50 Assimilationist – cosmopolitan 76–78, 84, 87 natural 72–73, 78, 84, 87 opportunistic 74–75, 82, 84, 87 symbolic 75, 78, 81, 83–84, 87 Association of Journalists of Asia ( Journalistenbond Azie) 104 Bahasa Indonesia 110 Bahasa Melajoe Tionghoa 110 BAKOM PKB 47, 48 n. 2, 50, 55–57, 60–61, 63, 66 n. 3 Bakrie Group 221 Balai Poestaka 96, 101–02, 104 Bandung 63, 102, 107, 151, 153, 172 Bangkok 172, 193, 195 Bank Central Asia (BCA) 212 Batavia 104–06, 111–12, 117, 125–26, 127 n. 14, 129–32, 134–35, 146, 151, 157, 159, 178, 186, 189 n. 28, 190 Bataviaasch Nieuwsblad 130 Be Hien Nio 172, 176 Be Kwat Koen 172, 178 Beelaerts van Blokland, F. 133 Berkeley mafia 210 Bintang Hindia 104 Bintarti, R.M. 99, 105 Boen Joe On 104 Bonding capital 205, 219, 222 Booth, Anne 146

Born Again 23, 31–32, 34–35, 39 Boven Digoel 103 Brand management 12 Bridging capital 205, 219, 222 Budi Utomo 122 Business – networks 10–11, 17, 81, 179, 201–207, 215, 220–22 problems 32, 38–39, 42 success 6–7, 10, 204 Catholic community 83 Chadbourne Scheme 151 Charismatic – Christianity 14, 27, 42 movement 26, 36–37, 39, 41, 43 Chen Kung Po 176–78 China 3, 6–7, 9, 13, 26, 35, 48–49, 76 n. 15, 82, 100–101, 111, 113, 122, 124–25, 132, 134–37, 151, 170, 172, 176–80, 192, 197, 203, 208, 211, 213–14, 217 Chinese – associations 67, 78, 82, 84–85, 135, 189 business community 149, 158, 173 business conglomerates 6 capitalism 7, 203 Council 130–31, 134 government 13, 124, 173 funeral society 75 Indonesian 3–4, 9–16, 23, 25–28, 33, 39, 41 n. 12, 42–43, 47–51, 53, 55–64, 66, 219 journalists 14–15, 94, 105, 107, 109 movement 123 nationalism 13, 125 network capitalism 6 New Year 30, 48, 75, 77 organizations 13, 29, 67, 69, 78, 86–87 overseas 7 n. 2 problem 5, 52, 65, 77 religion 69 shopkeeper 117, 126

228

index

Chinese Family Business (CFB) xi, 169–70, 201–203, 206 Chineseness 16, 26, 28–29, 43, 65, 67, 72, 74, 86–87 Christianity 14, 23–25, 27, 31–32, 34, 38–43, 80–81, 228 Chung Hwa Hui (CHH) 173, 177 Chuo Sangi’in (Central Advisory Board) 190 Citizenship letter 61 Codification-committee 119 Colonial government 97, 102–03, 117, 142, 177 Colonial trading system 142 Commercial journalism 95 Commodity prices 143–45 Communist movement, uprising 101, 103, 113 Confucianism 26–27, 80, 123, 203 Confucius 123 Constitution of the Netherlands East Indies 118 Conversion – stories 26, 27, 32, 39 Copra 145, 150, 182 Corruption 36, 38, 204, 212–13 Criminal law 119 Crisis 4, 8, 10, 12, 16, 35–37, 42, 142–43, 145, 151–52, 155 n. 15, 212–14, 217–18, 221, 227 Crisis of trust 30–31 Crisisinvoerordonnantie (Crisis Import Ordinance) xi, 149 Crony – capitalism 204–05, 212–215 connections 201, 204, 220 networks 201, 221 relations 204, 217 Cultural nationalism 123 Culture of citation 14, 99–100, 103–04, 114 De Locomotief 117, 130, 173 De Marees van Swinderen, R. 131 De Waal Malefijt, J.H. 132, 136 DEPDAGRI 50–60, 62–64 Diaspora 6 Discrimination – regulations 29, 123 djaksa xi, 129 Doenia pers 9, 94 Dow Chemical 217 Dual legal system 118 Dutch – citizenship law 132 colonial administration 97, 143

colonial regime 4, 12 colonialism 114 Dutch-Chinese schools 112, 125 Dwi-fungsi 54 economic – crisis 12, 23, 29, 32, 34, 38, 40, 42, 142, 143 n. 2, 144, 157, 165, 213 depression 142–43 protectionism 143 Eerste Bandoengsche Electrische Koffiebranderij “Margo-Redjo” 153 Election 23, 25 Electronic printing machines 95–96 Entrepreneurs 80, 152 Epiphanies 33 Ethical policy 94–95 Ethnic – affinity 6, 84 Chinese vi, ix, 6–7, 9–11, 17, 23 n. 1, 24, 26, 27 n. 4, 28 n. 7, 29, 38, 39, 42, 47, 67, 86, 169–70, 176–77, 179, 184–85, 201–08, 211, 213, 215, 217–18, 220–22, 227 Chinese firms 169, 185, 202–03, 206, 220, 222 identity 7, 13, 42 networks 179, 201, 203, 205, 220 stereotypes 70 Eurasians 94–95 Exclusivity 7, 65, 69, 71 Export 114, 144–45, 180, 182 Foreign Orientals 16, 28, 117 n. 1, 133, 135–36 Fromberg, P.H. 123 Galbraith, John Kenneth 165 General Provisions of Legislation for the Netherlands East Indies 118 Geo. Wehry & Co. 160–63, 165 Gerakan Rakyat Indonesia (Gerindo) 114 Global community 41, 43 gold standard 146 Government Regulations (Regeeringsreglement) 118 Governor-General 121, 125–27, 129, 132, 134–35 Guanxi 203–205 Harahap, Parada 94, 98–99, 104–105, 107 Hart-Ishizawa agreement 150

index Hatta, Mohammad 190, 191 n. 33, 192, 194 Heidelberg Cement Group 217 High Court 120 Ho, Lucy 186, 195 Hoakiauw dan Tiongkok 100 Hong Kong 83, 173, 176, 179, 193, 195, 211 Idenburg, A.W.F. 131–36 Identity 3–4, 6–7, 10, 13, 15–16, 27 n. 4, 28, 37–38, 51, 40–43, 60, 63, 65–66, 72, 74–75, 77, 80–81, 218 Import 142, 144, 146, 149–52, 174, 177 n. 8, 182, 187, 193, 210 India 151, 214 Indies Chinese community 93 Indies government 96, 111, 117, 122–25, 131, 134 Indonesia 3–6, 8–14, 23–29, 31–33, 35–37, 42, 47, 49, 52–53, 65–66, 70, 72, 74, 77, 81–82, 85–86, 93, 107–108, 109 n. 21, 10–11, 113, 115, 169–71, 174 n. 5, 181 n. 16, 184–85, 190, 192–97, 202, 204, 207–15, 217 Indonesian – Bethel Church 32 Revolution 4 Internatio 152, 156, 160, 174, 194 International Colonial Exhibition 141 International trade 10, 142, 151, 210 Interrater reliability 208 Investigating Committee for the People’s Economy 191 Investigation Body for the Preparation of Independence 192 IPO 96–98, 101 Jakarta 26, 29, 37, 47, 56, 63, 73, 186, 188 n. 27, 191 n. 33, 194–96, 210 Japan’s economic expansion 149 Japanese – business 142–43, 148–49, 157–58, 170, 179–80, 208 military 4–5, 9, 169–70, 184, 188 n. 27, 190–91, 193–94 multinationals 217, 220 occupation 9, 171 n. 2, 173, 184, 187, 190, 191 n. 33, 192, 209 threat 148 trade 148, 163 Japanese-Chinese economic networks 149

229

Java 12, 35, 81, 97–100, 103, 109 n. 21, 133, 146, 151–53, 155–57, 165, 172–73, 176–80, 184–90, 193, 197 Journalism 95, 107, 114, 229 Journalist 14–15, 67, 73, 93–95, 98–95, 100–109, 111, 113–114 Kabar Perniagaan 124, 130, 158 n. 17 Kalimantan 61, 99, 105 Kan Hok Hoei (H.H. Kan) 112, 178 Keng Po 101, 104 Khoe Boen Sioe 104 Kian Gwan 170 n. 1, 172–75, 177, 179–80, 182, 186–87, 189, 193, 196 Kong Hoa Po 106 Krebet 175, 187, 193 Kudus 209 Kuomintang (KMT) 113 Kwee Hing Tjiat 106–108 Kwee Kek Beng 93–94, 104, 107 Kwee Thiam Tjing 111 Kwee Zwan Lwan 189–90 Kwik Hoo Tong Trading Co. 177 Landrechter 117, 136 Law on Dutch Citizenship (Wet op het Nederlandsch Onderdaanschap) 122 Lee Rubber Company 174 Lie Hoo Soen 173–74 Liem Kha Tong 159–60 Liem Koen Hian 94, 104–107, 110–111, 113–114 Liem Sioe Liong 209, 219 Life-cum-business stories 26–27, 32, 41 Ling Ying Ching 104 Loa Joe Djin 117–18, 121, 125–26, 131, 134 Lou Tseng Tsiang 125, 131, 132 n. 26 LPKB 47, 48 n. 2, 50–51, 53–54, 56–57, 60, 63 Maandblad Reclame & Efficiency Dagang 159 Makasar 99, 156, 179, 182 Malay – magazines 97–98 periodicals 96–98 print market 95–96, 99 Mangkunegoro VII 178–79, 185 Margo-Redjo 12, 142–43, 152–53, 155–56, 159, 163–65 Masalah Cina 5, 52–53, 55, 58, 61–62 Matahari 180

230

index

May – 1998 3–4, 23, 25, 29–30, 43 riots 40–41 Media industry 14, 95 Minister of Colonies 125, 131–34, 136 Minister of Foreign Affairs 125, 130–31 Ministry of Home Affairs 11, 28 n. 8, 48 n. 2, 49–50, 53 Mohammedans 117 n. 1, 118 Muslim Chinese 81–82, 85 N.V. Handelsdrukkerij ‘Sin Jit Po’ 99 Nanking 124, 130, 181, 186, 190 Nater, E.F.J. 157–58 National Salvation Movement 180, 181 n. 17 National unity 47, 52, 55–56, 65 Nationalist movement 14, 93–94, 96, 101, 113–14 Nationalists 95, 105–106, 115, 192 Nation-state 5–6, 16, 23, 169, 197 Natives (Inlanders) 118 Nederburgh, I.A. 132, 134–35 Nederlandsch-Indische Handelsbank (NIHB) 181 Neratja 96 Netherlands East Indies 9, 13, 117–25, 130, 132–37, 170–71, 178, 184, 186 Netherlands Indies 110, 125, 134, 141–44, 147–48, 150, 152, 156, 158, 160, 163 New Order 3, 11, 16, 25, 27 n. 4, 28–30, 42, 49–52, 65–66, 69, 75–76, 77 n. 17, 80, 83, 85–86 New York 143, 174–75, 193, 197 Newspaper market 95, 98 Njoo Khee Tjo 99 Nomura East Indies 174 Non-pribumi 30, 58 Oei Kie Hok 99, 107 Oei Ping Bie 99 Oei Siem Nio 102 Oei Tiong Ham 9, 106, 112, 170 n. 1, 171 n. 2, 172–74, 179–80, 182 n. 20, 195, 209 Oei Tiong Ham Concern (OTHC) 9, 106, 112, 170–73, 174 n. 5, 178, 180–81, 182 n. 20, 184–85, 187, 189, 194–98, 209 Oei Tjong Hauw 170–74, 176–80, 182, 184–87, 189–95, 197

Oei Tjong Ie ( Jack) 170 n. 1, 176 n. 6, 185, 187 nn. 24, 26, 190 n. 30, 193, 34 Oei Tjong Swan 170 n. 1, 172 Oei Tjong Tjay (Benny) 170 n. 1, 171 n. 2, 174 n. 5, 181 n. 15, 186 n. 23, 195 Oetoesan Hindia 96 Oil 131, 145 Ong Mie Hoa Nio 172 Orde Baru 3 Outer Islands 97–98, 187 Overseas Chinese 4, 7–8, 15–16, 72 n. 11, 94, 100, 122 Overzicht van de Inlandsche en MaleischChineesche Pers (IPO) 96–98, 101 Pacific War 152 Palembang 174, 182, 185, 193 Pane, Sanusi 106–108 Partai Bangsa Indonesia (PBI) 105 Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI) 48 n. 2, 51, 96, 113 Partai Tionghoa Indonesia (PTI) 106 Pasar Senèn 126 pass – and zoning system (passen- en wijkenstelsel ) 78, 123 Pentecostal-charismatic Christianity 23–25, 31–32, 38–43 Peranakan 14, 27 n. 5, 28 n. 5, 67, 72–73, 76 n. 16, 77, 80, 83, 93–95, 106 n. 17, 107–14, 123, 171 n. 2, 172–173, 176–177, 184–85, 192 Perniagaan 104 Persdelict 99–103 Pewarta Soerabaja 99 Phoa Liong Gie 106–107 Phoa, Th. H. 94, 99–100, 102 Police-court ( politierechtspraak, politierol) 119 Political connection 204, 208 Political Intelligence Service (PID) 102–103 Post-Suharto Indonesia 3, 229 Press – industry 96 Pribumi 30, 36, 48, 57–58, 62, 82 n. 23, 190–92 Print market 95–96, 99 Printing industry 96 Production 94, 144–48, 150, 152–53, 55, 174, 176, 187–88, 193, 197 Protestants 26, 36, 82–83 PT Radjawali Indonesia 97

index Raja Gula (Sugar King) 174 Redjo Agoeng 187, 193 Regime change – external 9, 12, 17, 87, 202, 205, 220 internal 9–10, 12, 87, 220–21 within 9, 12–13, 87 Regulations for the Judicial Organization (Reglement voor de Rechterlijke Organisatie) 120 Religious conversion 23, 75 Residency-court 119 Re-sinicization 49 retail traders 153, 156–57, 60 Rubber 143–47, 150, 174–75, 179, 182, 185, 193, 197 Salim Group 10, 202, 207–208, 210–15, 217–22 Salim, Anthony 211–15 SARA politics 54, 62 Sarekat Islam 96 Sarpoci (Sarikat Pegawai Oei Tiong Ham Concern Indonesia) 183 Semarang 96, 105–108, 111–113, 142, 152–53, 156, 163 n. 27, 170 n. 1, 173, 177–80, 183, 185, 189, 192, 194, 197, 209 Shanghai 173, 176, 178–79, 183, 189 n. 28, 193, 197 Siang Hwee 124 Siang Po 106 Sin Jit Po 94 n. 3, 96 n. 4, 99–107, 113 n. 23, 114 Sin Po 94, 104–105, 107, 109–13, 124 Sinar Hindia 96 Sinar Sumatra 105–6 Sindhunata 47–48, 49 n. 5, 50–53, 54 n. 15, 56–57, 60, 63–64 Singapore 124, 156, 171–72, 174–75, 179–80, 183–84, 187 n. 24, 193, 195–97, 211, 213, 217, 227 Singkeh 110, 173, 177, 184 Sino-Malay language 99 Sino-Malay newspapers 124 Snouck Hurgronje, C. 133 Social capital 6, 205–206, 220–21 Social networks 114, 203 Soe Po Sia 113, 124 Soeara Poeblik 105 Soepratman, W.R. 104 Soerabaiasch Handelsblad 131 n. 22

231

Soerapati 102 SOSPOL 54–55, 57–61, 63–64 Soviet Union 151 Subarjo, Ahmad 106, 180 Sugar 143–46, 150–51, 171–72, 174–75, 177 n. 8, 179, 182–88, 193–94 Suharto 3–4, 6, 10–12, 14, 16, 23, 28, 29 n. 11, 30, 32, 38, 41, 47–50, 52–56, 58–64, 68–69, 83 n. 24, 204, 209–10, 212–15, 217–19, 221, 229 Sukarno 4, 10, 47, 49, 52, 169, 171, 190–91, 197, 209 Sulawesi 58 n. 24, 99 Sun Yat-sen 113 Surabaya 96, 99–100, 105–108, 110–111, 113, 163, 174 n. 5, 180, 183, 186–87, 188 n. 27, 194, 227 survival strategy 142–43, 152, 209 Suryadinata, Leo 5, 7 n. 2, 24, 29, 47 n. 1, 69–70, 80, 105 n. 16, 106 n. 17, 108, 110–11, 114, 123–24, 192, 204 Sutomo, Dr. 105, 107–108 Suzuki 217 Syarifuddin, Amir 106–107, 114 Tabrani 94, 104 Tan Liang Ho 155, 165 Tan Ling Djie 106 Tan Swan Bing 171 n. 2, 172 n. 4, 180 nn. 12, 14, 181 nn. 15, 17, 182, 185, 187 n. 26, 188 n. 27 Tan Tek Peng 171 n. 2, 172–76, 181 n. 16, 182–83, 185–86, 187 n. 26, 188–93, 195 Tan Tiong Ie 153–55, 164 Tan Tjiang Lin 112 terms of trade 144, 146–47 The Hague 119 n. 6, 125, 130–32, 135, 189 n. 29, 190 n. 31 The Kian Seng 105, 107, 123, 131, 132 n. 26, 177 The Netherlands 9, 13, 95–96, 99, 101, 110, 112, 117–25, 130, 131 n. 24, 132–37, 141–44, 146 n. 4, 147–48, 150, 152, 155–56, 158, 160, 163, 164 n. 27, 170–173, 178, 180 n. 13, 184, 186, 196–97, 227–29 THHK schools 112, 123–24 Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan (THHK, Chinese Association) 112, 123 Tionghoa 48, 81, 100, 106, 110, 155, 160–61

232

index

Tjoa Sik Ien 106 Tjoa Soe Tjong 173, 176, 178 Tobacco 145 Totok 27 n. 5, 28 n. 5, 67–68, 72, 74, 85, 109–10, 112 Toyoshima Ataru 189 Trading enterprises 142 United States 8, 151, 174 Urban middle class 98 Van der Meer 127 n. 14, 128, 129 n. 17 Van Heutsz, J.B. 132, 134 Van Mook-Kotani agreement 150

Wall Street 143 Wang Ching Wei 176, 186 Wardi, Mr. 102 Western education 95 Williams, Lea 116, 138 Wongsosewojo, Achmad 104–105 Yamin, Muh. 106, 114 Yap Tjwan Bing 192 Yogyakarta – Chinese 66–67, 72, 76–78, 84, 87 Yokohama Speciebank (YSB) 181 Zaibatsu 179, 187