FAT BOY AND THE MYSTERIES OF MAJAPAHIT
© Duncan Graham 2006
Visitors to Indonesia’s second biggest city should not be misled into thinking they’ve come to the heart of modernity.
Remain undistracted by the hectares of tinted glass and columns of reinforced concrete. Do not assume that the steel communication towers of Babel pushing into the sky, the black rivers of cars, the flimsy facades of Futureland mean progress has swamped the past.
In the darkness of this 700-year old city lurks mystery and it’s not far. Only a few steps from the shrill gaudiness and crass commercialism of Mammon Central, Tunjungan Plaza, Surabaya’s most popular and central shopping mall.
It’s just beyond the remit of neon, where the shadows thicken, the street lamps are spare and their wattage dim. Peer carefully and at a three-way junction you’ll spot a thicket of old fig trees, their dangling aerial roots fingering the asphalt, seeking entrance to the underworld.
Around this coppice a low iron fence. There’s a narrow gate. A little path. A strange avenue of hammered rocks, more like headstones. These lead to a pagoda. And inside you’ll be confronted by an ancient carving of a Buddha.
If you’re fearful of the dark visit on a Friday morning for evidence of the previous night’s rituals. There’ll be yellow garlands around the Buddha’s neck, a dusting of petals, offerings of rice in wee wicker baskets, spots of hard wax dripped from candles. The little parasols will have been spruced up. A saffron shawl may have been added.
Then you’ll know you’ve found the right place. Joko Dolog, or Buddha Akshobya.
The 1.5 metre high statue of the Buddha probably doesn’t belong here, though his weathered expression gives no indication of homesickness. He’s supposed to have been moved to Surabaya by the Dutch in the 19th century.
Maybe he came from Candi Jawi near Tretes, 55 kilometres south of Surabaya, where there are tales of a missing statue.
Joko Dolog (sometimes spelt Jaka in archaeological literature) is known locally as the ‘fat boy’. Which implies he’s regarded with irreverence, though there are no signs of mistreatment.
On the contrary, for this is a worship site, special to Hindus, Buddhists and followers of Kebatinan, the traditional religion of Java.
That one statue could combine three beliefs is a tribute to the syncretism of faiths in Indonesia. It’s also a window into the past because around the base is a clear inscription in Sanskrit.
A Buddhist scribe called Nada apparently wrote this in 1289. It reports on East Java being split into two kingdoms – Janggala and Kediri - during the 11th century reign of King Airlangga.
The division followed a succession dispute when Airlangga’s daughter Sanggramawijaya chose to live as a hermit rather than preside as a ruler.
The inscription then says the lands were later reunited under a new king, Sri Wishnuwardhana. This opened the way to the Majapahit era, Java’s ‘Golden Age’ of prosperity and conquest.
The Buddha was carved to celebrate this coming together. It was commissioned by Wishnuwardhana’s son, Kertanagara.
Sadly there’s none of this information at the park holding Joko Dolog, and even less at the provincial museum known as Mpu Tantular. This has been named after the Majapahit poet who wrote of religious reconciliation and used the phrase Bhinneka Tunggal Ika (Unity in Diversity), now part of the nation’s crest.
Two years ago the museum was moved from Surabaya to Sidoarjo, a town 30 to the south of the East Java capital.
Despite having new buildings and plenty of space the museum’s collection has been badly organised. It’s a bit of a sunset home for public servants who either know nothing of their responsibilities – or if they do are unwilling to share.
There are bits and pieces of inscribed stone from the Singosari and Majapahit kingdoms, but no clear provenance. So the only way to discover more is through papers written by archaeologists.
The museum has been built on a collection assembled by a German magpie and educator GH Von Faber in the 1920s. Till recently it’s had a peripatetic life, and when its benefactor died in 1955 several critical pieces vanished.
What has survived and is well worth seeing are the photographs of old Surabaya. Unlike many other collections where the prints are blurred, these are sharp and clear. Some marvellously carved Madurese drums and a few other artefacts justify a visit – but be prepared to fill in the gaps yourself through your own research.
Some attempts at translation mar (or lift) the experience according to your sense of humour. ‘Cannon used in the war for killing the enemies and horses even though it was used in the sea war’ was a particular gem – and there are many other splendid examples.
But of Joko Dolog, surely the most important of all exhibits in Surabaya – no news. Some say he’s not promoted lest he arouse the wrath of fundamentalists who might see idolatry in the weekly worship rituals.
So find him yourself. He’s tucked away just behind the statue of Governor Suryo in the street named after the first post-colonial administrator. Doubtless he was a fine fellow, but the sculptor shows him as a stern-faced bureaucrat.
Nothing like the figure squatting among the trees 300 metres behind looking, well, enigmatic.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 13 November 06)
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FAITH IN INDONESIA
The shape of the world a generation from now will be influenced far more by how we communicate the values of our society to others than by military or diplomatic superiority. William Fulbright, 1964
Monday, November 13, 2006
AUSTRALIA-INDONESIA TREATY
SEE THE DETAILS, FIND THE DEVIL © Duncan Graham 2006
Jaw-jaw is better than war-war. Former British prime minister Harold Macmillan.
The planned signing of a proposed new treaty between Indonesia and Australia this Monday (13 Nov) by the two foreign ministers, is being boosted in the nation next door as a significant advance in relations between the neighbors.
What impact will it have on the average person on either side of the Indian Ocean? Probably not a ripple – though that doesn’t mean the exercise is worthless.
Whatever the backslapping top-level bureaucrats in Western suits (Indonesians) and batik (Australians) say, things aren’t looking good down below.
Poll results released last month (Oct) by the Sydney-based Lowy Institute for International Policy show almost two thirds of those surveyed think Indonesia is a threat to Australia.
So any initiative, however bland and unformed, has to be positive. Then maybe the hearts and minds of the populace will follow. Maybe …
The only public badmouth so far has been Senator Bob Brown, leader of the minority Greens party. He claims the treaty – properly named the Framework for Security Cooperation – will encourage the development of nuclear power in Indonesia and suppress the Papuan independence movement.
Though the agreement hasn’t been publicly released some details have been leaked.
The seven-page document will have 10 formal articles. One apparently commits the signatories to ‘not in any manner support or participate in activities by any person or entity which constitutes a threat to the stability, sovereignty or territorial integrity of the other party.’
This is a masked reference to the activities of the Papuan independence lobby in Australia that Senator Brown supports.
But then so do the majority of Australians according to a survey earlier this year. Canberra can give Jakarta bucketsful of assurances, but in a robust democracy a government can’t shut down non-terrorist organisations it doesn’t like.
Nor can it easily change the public’s mindset with a few ads, which are apparently also being planned. They’d have to be better than the failed American attempts to portray the US as a peace-loving nation that treats Muslims as equals. That campaign bombed.
The Papua lobby in Australia includes academics notably around the University of Sydney’s West Papua Project, Protestant and Catholic churches, NGOs linked to the Australia West Papua Association, and supporters of human rights. They’re not going to shut up anytime soon, though a campaign is underway to discredit their claims.
This has been led by academic Rodd McGibbon who spent six years in Indonesia working for the UN and US Aid. In a paper titled Pitfalls of Papua released last month (Oct) for the Lowy Institute and neatly laying a welcome mat for the treaty, he argues that activists’ ‘utopian thinking’ have misled the Australian public.
He claims the more backing Australians give Papuan separatists, the more the TNI and hard-line nationalists will suppress the province, thereby setting back reform. He also says the average Aussie doesn’t understand the politics – particularly the strength of Indonesian nationalism.
On this last issue he’s undoubtedly right. International relationships tend to float or founder on perceptions, not facts.
It was the ‘uninformed’ voters who forced the Australian government to be more active in the 1999 East Timor referendum when the official line was to take things slowly.
The new treaty replaces the document organised in secret by prime minister Paul Keating and Indonesian president Suharto in 1995. This was ripped up in 1999 by president Habibie when Australia led peacekeepers during the East Timor referendum - an action seen by Indonesia as a betrayal.
Critics of the original treaty (including the present PM John Howard) were angry there’d been no public debate leading to the pact.
Yet the same thing seems to be happening again. It’s true the Australian government has been talking about the new document for almost two years, but we only know the headings.
These are defence, counter-terrorism, intelligence sharing, sea and air security, weapons of mass destruction, emergency relief, fish poaching, people-smuggling, drug running and other crimes.
All well and good. But how are these going to be implemented? Will there be penalties for non-compliance – and if so what? When Jakarta is next outraged by some Australian exercising her or his freedom of speech, what can Canberra do but say the press is free?
What concessions has the Australian government made? The document isn’t a defence pact, so what are the ‘security threats’?
How will the Howard government react if Indonesia kicks out academics and journalists who allege human rights abuses in Papua? Is there a chapter on that possible scenario?
The Australian Federal Police have been active in Indonesia, so will Indonesian police go to Australia and help interrogate Indonesians suspected of terrorism? And how is ‘terrorism’ to be defined? Muslim cleric Abu Bakar Ba’asyir would come under that heading in Australia, but not Indonesia.
Will drug law enforcement lead to more Australians on death row in Indonesia? Indonesians in Australia committing the same offences confront prison bars, not rifle muzzles. This is a major issue among voters Down Under.
In the past environmentalists have condemned nuclear power in the geologically unstable archipelago, fearing an earthquake could release radiation from a fractured plant. The treaty could allow Australian sales of uranium, implicitly encouraging the building of reactors. The Chernobyl disaster in the Ukraine was 20 years ago – and people still suffer.
There are many more similar questions and concerns. The devil is in the detail and the punters in both democracies remain ignorant – just as they did with the discredited Suharto-Keating deal.
It’s been reported that the new treaty will have to be ratified by parliaments in both countries before taking effect. Maybe then the voters will get to have their say.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 13 November '06)
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Jaw-jaw is better than war-war. Former British prime minister Harold Macmillan.
The planned signing of a proposed new treaty between Indonesia and Australia this Monday (13 Nov) by the two foreign ministers, is being boosted in the nation next door as a significant advance in relations between the neighbors.
What impact will it have on the average person on either side of the Indian Ocean? Probably not a ripple – though that doesn’t mean the exercise is worthless.
Whatever the backslapping top-level bureaucrats in Western suits (Indonesians) and batik (Australians) say, things aren’t looking good down below.
Poll results released last month (Oct) by the Sydney-based Lowy Institute for International Policy show almost two thirds of those surveyed think Indonesia is a threat to Australia.
So any initiative, however bland and unformed, has to be positive. Then maybe the hearts and minds of the populace will follow. Maybe …
The only public badmouth so far has been Senator Bob Brown, leader of the minority Greens party. He claims the treaty – properly named the Framework for Security Cooperation – will encourage the development of nuclear power in Indonesia and suppress the Papuan independence movement.
Though the agreement hasn’t been publicly released some details have been leaked.
The seven-page document will have 10 formal articles. One apparently commits the signatories to ‘not in any manner support or participate in activities by any person or entity which constitutes a threat to the stability, sovereignty or territorial integrity of the other party.’
This is a masked reference to the activities of the Papuan independence lobby in Australia that Senator Brown supports.
But then so do the majority of Australians according to a survey earlier this year. Canberra can give Jakarta bucketsful of assurances, but in a robust democracy a government can’t shut down non-terrorist organisations it doesn’t like.
Nor can it easily change the public’s mindset with a few ads, which are apparently also being planned. They’d have to be better than the failed American attempts to portray the US as a peace-loving nation that treats Muslims as equals. That campaign bombed.
The Papua lobby in Australia includes academics notably around the University of Sydney’s West Papua Project, Protestant and Catholic churches, NGOs linked to the Australia West Papua Association, and supporters of human rights. They’re not going to shut up anytime soon, though a campaign is underway to discredit their claims.
This has been led by academic Rodd McGibbon who spent six years in Indonesia working for the UN and US Aid. In a paper titled Pitfalls of Papua released last month (Oct) for the Lowy Institute and neatly laying a welcome mat for the treaty, he argues that activists’ ‘utopian thinking’ have misled the Australian public.
He claims the more backing Australians give Papuan separatists, the more the TNI and hard-line nationalists will suppress the province, thereby setting back reform. He also says the average Aussie doesn’t understand the politics – particularly the strength of Indonesian nationalism.
On this last issue he’s undoubtedly right. International relationships tend to float or founder on perceptions, not facts.
It was the ‘uninformed’ voters who forced the Australian government to be more active in the 1999 East Timor referendum when the official line was to take things slowly.
The new treaty replaces the document organised in secret by prime minister Paul Keating and Indonesian president Suharto in 1995. This was ripped up in 1999 by president Habibie when Australia led peacekeepers during the East Timor referendum - an action seen by Indonesia as a betrayal.
Critics of the original treaty (including the present PM John Howard) were angry there’d been no public debate leading to the pact.
Yet the same thing seems to be happening again. It’s true the Australian government has been talking about the new document for almost two years, but we only know the headings.
These are defence, counter-terrorism, intelligence sharing, sea and air security, weapons of mass destruction, emergency relief, fish poaching, people-smuggling, drug running and other crimes.
All well and good. But how are these going to be implemented? Will there be penalties for non-compliance – and if so what? When Jakarta is next outraged by some Australian exercising her or his freedom of speech, what can Canberra do but say the press is free?
What concessions has the Australian government made? The document isn’t a defence pact, so what are the ‘security threats’?
How will the Howard government react if Indonesia kicks out academics and journalists who allege human rights abuses in Papua? Is there a chapter on that possible scenario?
The Australian Federal Police have been active in Indonesia, so will Indonesian police go to Australia and help interrogate Indonesians suspected of terrorism? And how is ‘terrorism’ to be defined? Muslim cleric Abu Bakar Ba’asyir would come under that heading in Australia, but not Indonesia.
Will drug law enforcement lead to more Australians on death row in Indonesia? Indonesians in Australia committing the same offences confront prison bars, not rifle muzzles. This is a major issue among voters Down Under.
In the past environmentalists have condemned nuclear power in the geologically unstable archipelago, fearing an earthquake could release radiation from a fractured plant. The treaty could allow Australian sales of uranium, implicitly encouraging the building of reactors. The Chernobyl disaster in the Ukraine was 20 years ago – and people still suffer.
There are many more similar questions and concerns. The devil is in the detail and the punters in both democracies remain ignorant – just as they did with the discredited Suharto-Keating deal.
It’s been reported that the new treaty will have to be ratified by parliaments in both countries before taking effect. Maybe then the voters will get to have their say.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 13 November '06)
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INHERITING THE KINGDOM OF SUHARTO
FORGET THE FACTS – JUST MANUFACTURE THE MYTHS
© Duncan Graham 2006
A couple of years ago I had a verbal tussle with an Australian academic. She’d been employed by a publisher to scan the typescript of a book I’d written on Indonesia, and was critical of a passage about former president Suharto.
I claimed that while the educated city elite anguishing over human rights and the rule of law might despise him, he was still much admired in the countryside.
The checker said I’d got it wrong. As an expert on Indonesia she knew the man who’d ruled for 32 years was on the nose almost everywhere for his cronyism, corruption, exploitation and neglect of the nation’s infrastructure.
Like Suharto I stuck to my guns, though eventually made concessions. Now, after a weeklong spin through the backblocks of East Java interviewing farmers I know my observations are right. Maybe not then, but after President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s first two years in office they’re spot-on.
It’s no surprise that the one-time dictator will never be brought to court. SBY has heard the unwavering voices of his country’s rural folk, and knows these are more politically potent than the mutterings of metro mopheads.
Yet the reasons for loving Suharto are perverse. Farmers certainly felt the butt- end of his policies. Many were forced by bureaucrats backed by the military to plant new high-yielding varieties of rice.
The government’s Green Revolution policy boosted yields, but at the expense of time-tested farming practices and cultural ceremonies. The result was fractured communities and poisoned paddy.
Growers who refused the imported hybrids, fertilisers and chemical pesticides could have their crops trampled or burned by soldiers. Those who persisted were labelled ‘Communists’ and threatened with jail. Or they’d just disappear.
So why would anyone who’d been subject to this awful treatment still look back on the past with misty-eyed nostalgia?
The reasoning runs like this: Suharto was the father figure, a great man with good ideas. But these were badly implemented by his underlings. The New Order government was a generally peaceful period. Few demonstrated. (They didn’t dare.) The country fed its own people. Rice, fuel and other basics were affordable. If you didn’t get involved in politics you’d be left alone.
Now rice is being imported. There are high prices, demonstrations and disasters, like the Aceh tsunami, the Yogya quake and the Lapindo mud eruption. None of these things would have happened had the old man stayed in office.
For a Westerner such reasoning seems bizarre. The need to import rice has more to do with a rising population, bad planning last century and shrinking farmland than SBY’s policies. Whatever his faults, he can hardly be blamed for the slippage of sub-sea tectonic plates and bad drilling.
But it’s not like that in the minds of traditional Javanese farmers. They have little interest in the doings of democracy and researched facts, but much time for the idea that Suharto was Ratu Adil, the Just King as predicted by the 12th century seer Joyoboyo.
The present president is often criticised for his good-news photo opportunities, the apparent triumph of style over substance. The administration wants to be seen as modern and efficient. That might work with the chattering classes, but it leaves rural rustics cold.
If SBY really wants to displace Suharto in the heartlands of Indonesia he should get his minders to become mythmakers. (Maybe they already are - but let’s not commit lese-majesty, which is apparently still an offence.)
The spin-doctors could push stories of the president meditating in caves, squatting on summits (the mountain variety), having inexplicable experiences involving kris (wavy-blade daggers) and communing with the supernatural world.
Forget he’s an urbane politician with a PhD and fluent in English; just spread the word that he’s really a raw rural lad from a humble home with a mud floor – though born at the right moment in the cosmic cycle.
A trawl through flaking Javanese texts scratched on lontar leaves should surely reveal a prediction that a man with a name like an airport code is destined to be chosen by the people.
It might give the president the mystical legitimacy he seems to lack in the backward looking hamlets of the Republic. Or should that be his kingdom?
(First published in The Sunday Post 12 November 06)
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© Duncan Graham 2006
A couple of years ago I had a verbal tussle with an Australian academic. She’d been employed by a publisher to scan the typescript of a book I’d written on Indonesia, and was critical of a passage about former president Suharto.
I claimed that while the educated city elite anguishing over human rights and the rule of law might despise him, he was still much admired in the countryside.
The checker said I’d got it wrong. As an expert on Indonesia she knew the man who’d ruled for 32 years was on the nose almost everywhere for his cronyism, corruption, exploitation and neglect of the nation’s infrastructure.
Like Suharto I stuck to my guns, though eventually made concessions. Now, after a weeklong spin through the backblocks of East Java interviewing farmers I know my observations are right. Maybe not then, but after President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s first two years in office they’re spot-on.
It’s no surprise that the one-time dictator will never be brought to court. SBY has heard the unwavering voices of his country’s rural folk, and knows these are more politically potent than the mutterings of metro mopheads.
Yet the reasons for loving Suharto are perverse. Farmers certainly felt the butt- end of his policies. Many were forced by bureaucrats backed by the military to plant new high-yielding varieties of rice.
The government’s Green Revolution policy boosted yields, but at the expense of time-tested farming practices and cultural ceremonies. The result was fractured communities and poisoned paddy.
Growers who refused the imported hybrids, fertilisers and chemical pesticides could have their crops trampled or burned by soldiers. Those who persisted were labelled ‘Communists’ and threatened with jail. Or they’d just disappear.
So why would anyone who’d been subject to this awful treatment still look back on the past with misty-eyed nostalgia?
The reasoning runs like this: Suharto was the father figure, a great man with good ideas. But these were badly implemented by his underlings. The New Order government was a generally peaceful period. Few demonstrated. (They didn’t dare.) The country fed its own people. Rice, fuel and other basics were affordable. If you didn’t get involved in politics you’d be left alone.
Now rice is being imported. There are high prices, demonstrations and disasters, like the Aceh tsunami, the Yogya quake and the Lapindo mud eruption. None of these things would have happened had the old man stayed in office.
For a Westerner such reasoning seems bizarre. The need to import rice has more to do with a rising population, bad planning last century and shrinking farmland than SBY’s policies. Whatever his faults, he can hardly be blamed for the slippage of sub-sea tectonic plates and bad drilling.
But it’s not like that in the minds of traditional Javanese farmers. They have little interest in the doings of democracy and researched facts, but much time for the idea that Suharto was Ratu Adil, the Just King as predicted by the 12th century seer Joyoboyo.
The present president is often criticised for his good-news photo opportunities, the apparent triumph of style over substance. The administration wants to be seen as modern and efficient. That might work with the chattering classes, but it leaves rural rustics cold.
If SBY really wants to displace Suharto in the heartlands of Indonesia he should get his minders to become mythmakers. (Maybe they already are - but let’s not commit lese-majesty, which is apparently still an offence.)
The spin-doctors could push stories of the president meditating in caves, squatting on summits (the mountain variety), having inexplicable experiences involving kris (wavy-blade daggers) and communing with the supernatural world.
Forget he’s an urbane politician with a PhD and fluent in English; just spread the word that he’s really a raw rural lad from a humble home with a mud floor – though born at the right moment in the cosmic cycle.
A trawl through flaking Javanese texts scratched on lontar leaves should surely reveal a prediction that a man with a name like an airport code is destined to be chosen by the people.
It might give the president the mystical legitimacy he seems to lack in the backward looking hamlets of the Republic. Or should that be his kingdom?
(First published in The Sunday Post 12 November 06)
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Monday, November 06, 2006
RECALLING THE BATTLE OF SURABAYA
LIVING LEGENDS: WHEN BOYS BECAME MEN © Duncan Graham 2006
This Friday (10 Nov) is National Heroes’ Day – recalling the start of the Battle of Surabaya, a pivotal moment in Indonesia’s fight for independence. Duncan Graham reports from the East Java capital:
Hartoyik remembers the day clearly – Tuesday 30 October 1945. World War II had ended in August. The Japanese had capitulated. The Indonesian Republic had been declared but the Dutch had ignored the proclamation. They wanted their colony back.
In Surabaya a British-led force had landed. The Japanese defeat had precipitated turmoil, but Indonesian authorities had already imposed order. One report said the city was ‘a strong, unified fortress.’
The unwanted invaders’ job was supposed to be arresting and deporting the Japanese, and rescuing their prisoners of war. But there was another agenda – helping the Dutch return to power.
In the late afternoon the British commander of the Allied peace-keeping force, Brigadier General A W Mallaby, 45, drove out of his headquarters at the Internatio building close by Surabaya’s Red Bridge to confront a huge mob.
Hartoyik said the Englishman carried a white flag, used a megaphone and spoke in English. He was accompanied by an Indonesian translator. Mallaby appealed for calm and promised to leave once the Allies had done their job.
But Hartoyik and the thousands of lightly armed young men surrounding the building on two flanks were fired up with freedom. They didn’t believe Mallaby’s assurances. Independence had been proclaimed two months earlier and Soekarno was the young country’s first president.
There had already been many bloody skirmishes between liberated Dutch prisoners and Indonesians jostling for power. Soekarno had flown to Surabaya the previous day and negotiated a cease-fire. He then returned to Jakarta.
For the people of Surabaya there was no way the Dutch would be allowed to become masters again. The colonial days were over.
What happened next is open to interpretation.
Hindsight is easy for those who weren’t there. Yet from the accounts by Indonesian and British onlookers it’s clear the situation could have been better handled and bloodshed avoided.
To be fair the British had been misinformed of the political situation by the Dutch and grossly underestimated the strength of Indonesian feeling.
In the confusion outside the Internatio an unknown teenage gunman shot the Brigadier twice in the chest as he sat in his Lincoln car. He died quickly. The British-led troops opened fire, and then retreated to the building.
Hartoyik and his friends rushed back into the kampung alongside Kali Mas (Gold River) and lived to fight for their ideals – an independent Indonesia.
“We had spirit, we were determined,” he said. “We were not going to return to colonialism. The Dutch could not come back. We were patriots and we were not frightened of dying. Our slogan was Merdeka Atau Mati!” (Freedom or death.)
Indeed. They certainly had the numbers if not the weapons and experience. The Allied forces could muster about 6,000 men, mostly tough Gurkhas. They had aircraft, warships and tanks.
The young men who formed the People’s Security Army had come from all over East Java. There were about 20,000 plus another 10,000 militia. Thousands more were ready. Not all had modern weapons. Many only carried sharpened bamboo spears and machetes. A few had Japanese swords.
The furious British retaliated with threats; unless the Indonesians laid down their weapons and surrendered the Allies would bomb the city. The deadline was 9 November.
The Indonesians refused. “It was the right thing to do,” Hartoyik recalled. “War is bad but the foreigners had threatened us with an unacceptable proposal. We had to fight. We had no choice.”
On 10 November the Battle of Surabaya began.
It was expected to be over in a day or two. It lasted three weeks. It cost more than 6,000 Indonesian lives. The fallen will be remembered this Friday (10 Nov).
There’s no need to imagine what Hartoyik looked like 61 years ago. There’s a clear photo of him on the wall of his office at the Indonesian Legion of Veterans’ headquarters in Surabaya.
It was taken when he was part of a bodyguard for vice president Hatta on a visit to Mojokerto in East Java.
The picture shows a slight 15-year old in baggy pants with a helmet hanging from his waist. On his belt are three long magazines. Cradled in his arm is a sub machine gun, looted from the Japanese. Behind is his mate Asror, then 19 and carrying a Dutch weapon. Their armbands read TRI Tentara Republik Indonesia (the Indonesian Army)
About 200 of Hartoyik’s companions are still alive and will be parading with pride in their ochre caps and multicoloured medallions in the city they fought so bitterly to preserve.
The Battle of Surabaya was a brutal conflict. The bombers met no aerial resistance. There were no anti-aircraft guns. The invaders were battle hardened and well equipped. The revolutionaries had only a few plundered weapons, minimal training and their absolute determination.
This was the factor that made the difference.
The Allies, misled by Dutch propaganda, expected the ‘nationalist rebels’ to run in the face of awesome firepower. They didn’t, and their extraordinary resistance convinced the world that Indonesians were absolutely intent on keeping their independence.
The astonished British-led forces, who had earlier described the revolutionaries as ‘no higher than a third grade partisan army’ reported: ‘There is as yet no sign of any weakening of resistance ... our troops are encountering more organised opposition. General improvement has been noticed in tactical movements and fire discipline.’
Thousands of refugees fled the aerial onslaught and the street-to-street fighting. “We were forced to retreat down the road south,” said Hartoyik. “But we kept making stands at bridges.
“We continued shooting and it took them a long time to make progress. We all wanted to be in the front line. No one wanted to be posted elsewhere.”
The Allies eventually won the battle, but lost the war. The British left having suffered about 2,000 casualties. The Dutch returned but faced guerrilla action for four years and eventually gave in as the world sided with the Indonesians.
Hartoyik stayed with the military and became a professional soldier when the full-time army was created. His sons have also followed Dad and become senior officers.
Hartoyik remains spry and enthusiastic, attributing his excellent health to jamu (traditional remedies), fresh water and no smoking. He’s a chirpy little man with no apparent animosity.
“The spirit of nationalism is no longer alive with the present generation of young people,” he said. “They need direction from the government.
“War is wrong and times have changed. But we still need to be patriotic and to be united.”
(First published in The Jakarta Post 6 November 06)
This Friday (10 Nov) is National Heroes’ Day – recalling the start of the Battle of Surabaya, a pivotal moment in Indonesia’s fight for independence. Duncan Graham reports from the East Java capital:
Hartoyik remembers the day clearly – Tuesday 30 October 1945. World War II had ended in August. The Japanese had capitulated. The Indonesian Republic had been declared but the Dutch had ignored the proclamation. They wanted their colony back.
In Surabaya a British-led force had landed. The Japanese defeat had precipitated turmoil, but Indonesian authorities had already imposed order. One report said the city was ‘a strong, unified fortress.’
The unwanted invaders’ job was supposed to be arresting and deporting the Japanese, and rescuing their prisoners of war. But there was another agenda – helping the Dutch return to power.
In the late afternoon the British commander of the Allied peace-keeping force, Brigadier General A W Mallaby, 45, drove out of his headquarters at the Internatio building close by Surabaya’s Red Bridge to confront a huge mob.
Hartoyik said the Englishman carried a white flag, used a megaphone and spoke in English. He was accompanied by an Indonesian translator. Mallaby appealed for calm and promised to leave once the Allies had done their job.
But Hartoyik and the thousands of lightly armed young men surrounding the building on two flanks were fired up with freedom. They didn’t believe Mallaby’s assurances. Independence had been proclaimed two months earlier and Soekarno was the young country’s first president.
There had already been many bloody skirmishes between liberated Dutch prisoners and Indonesians jostling for power. Soekarno had flown to Surabaya the previous day and negotiated a cease-fire. He then returned to Jakarta.
For the people of Surabaya there was no way the Dutch would be allowed to become masters again. The colonial days were over.
What happened next is open to interpretation.
Hindsight is easy for those who weren’t there. Yet from the accounts by Indonesian and British onlookers it’s clear the situation could have been better handled and bloodshed avoided.
To be fair the British had been misinformed of the political situation by the Dutch and grossly underestimated the strength of Indonesian feeling.
In the confusion outside the Internatio an unknown teenage gunman shot the Brigadier twice in the chest as he sat in his Lincoln car. He died quickly. The British-led troops opened fire, and then retreated to the building.
Hartoyik and his friends rushed back into the kampung alongside Kali Mas (Gold River) and lived to fight for their ideals – an independent Indonesia.
“We had spirit, we were determined,” he said. “We were not going to return to colonialism. The Dutch could not come back. We were patriots and we were not frightened of dying. Our slogan was Merdeka Atau Mati!” (Freedom or death.)
Indeed. They certainly had the numbers if not the weapons and experience. The Allied forces could muster about 6,000 men, mostly tough Gurkhas. They had aircraft, warships and tanks.
The young men who formed the People’s Security Army had come from all over East Java. There were about 20,000 plus another 10,000 militia. Thousands more were ready. Not all had modern weapons. Many only carried sharpened bamboo spears and machetes. A few had Japanese swords.
The furious British retaliated with threats; unless the Indonesians laid down their weapons and surrendered the Allies would bomb the city. The deadline was 9 November.
The Indonesians refused. “It was the right thing to do,” Hartoyik recalled. “War is bad but the foreigners had threatened us with an unacceptable proposal. We had to fight. We had no choice.”
On 10 November the Battle of Surabaya began.
It was expected to be over in a day or two. It lasted three weeks. It cost more than 6,000 Indonesian lives. The fallen will be remembered this Friday (10 Nov).
There’s no need to imagine what Hartoyik looked like 61 years ago. There’s a clear photo of him on the wall of his office at the Indonesian Legion of Veterans’ headquarters in Surabaya.
It was taken when he was part of a bodyguard for vice president Hatta on a visit to Mojokerto in East Java.
The picture shows a slight 15-year old in baggy pants with a helmet hanging from his waist. On his belt are three long magazines. Cradled in his arm is a sub machine gun, looted from the Japanese. Behind is his mate Asror, then 19 and carrying a Dutch weapon. Their armbands read TRI Tentara Republik Indonesia (the Indonesian Army)
About 200 of Hartoyik’s companions are still alive and will be parading with pride in their ochre caps and multicoloured medallions in the city they fought so bitterly to preserve.
The Battle of Surabaya was a brutal conflict. The bombers met no aerial resistance. There were no anti-aircraft guns. The invaders were battle hardened and well equipped. The revolutionaries had only a few plundered weapons, minimal training and their absolute determination.
This was the factor that made the difference.
The Allies, misled by Dutch propaganda, expected the ‘nationalist rebels’ to run in the face of awesome firepower. They didn’t, and their extraordinary resistance convinced the world that Indonesians were absolutely intent on keeping their independence.
The astonished British-led forces, who had earlier described the revolutionaries as ‘no higher than a third grade partisan army’ reported: ‘There is as yet no sign of any weakening of resistance ... our troops are encountering more organised opposition. General improvement has been noticed in tactical movements and fire discipline.’
Thousands of refugees fled the aerial onslaught and the street-to-street fighting. “We were forced to retreat down the road south,” said Hartoyik. “But we kept making stands at bridges.
“We continued shooting and it took them a long time to make progress. We all wanted to be in the front line. No one wanted to be posted elsewhere.”
The Allies eventually won the battle, but lost the war. The British left having suffered about 2,000 casualties. The Dutch returned but faced guerrilla action for four years and eventually gave in as the world sided with the Indonesians.
Hartoyik stayed with the military and became a professional soldier when the full-time army was created. His sons have also followed Dad and become senior officers.
Hartoyik remains spry and enthusiastic, attributing his excellent health to jamu (traditional remedies), fresh water and no smoking. He’s a chirpy little man with no apparent animosity.
“The spirit of nationalism is no longer alive with the present generation of young people,” he said. “They need direction from the government.
“War is wrong and times have changed. But we still need to be patriotic and to be united.”
(First published in The Jakarta Post 6 November 06)
Friday, November 03, 2006
BALEKAMBANG BEACH
COME TO PLAY, STAY TO PRAY © Duncan Graham 2006
On 5 November Hindus, including some from Bali, will return to the original heartland of their religion. Duncan Graham reports from Balekambang on the south coast of East Java:
The beach at Balekambang is a broad stretch of sand about 60 kilometres south of Malang. Not Kuta, though good enough.
From afar it looks as though the waves are worth testing as the land slides easily under the Indian Ocean with no apparent drop. But there are no sun-scorched surfies waxing their boards on this stretch of the coast.
Instead warning signs against swimming beyond the red flags, for this beach is notorious for its swirling undertow. Food stallholders say that in recent years at least 100 visitors have been sucked into the clear green waters and perished. Stay long enough and they’ll give ghoulish details.
Regency officials drowned the story, saying they can’t recall any losses. Maybe they don’t want to in case more tourists erase Balekambang from their itineraries – as many are said to be doing for fear of tsunamis.
Apart from the signs there are mobile lifesaver patrols and loudspeaker warnings against venturing far from the shallows.
Not all come to play. This is also a place of culture and religion, for there’s a holy place on one of the three little islands that lie just offshore.
Pura (temple) Sad Kahyangan has been built on rocky Ismoyo and is connected to the mainland by a concrete bridge. There are a few gnarled fig trees and tenacious shrubs, but otherwise it’s all temple.
The island was named after a character in the ancient stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata, as are the other two, Wisanggeni and Hanoman.
There’s also a bridge linking Wisanggeni with the beach, but the central section has been ripped out by waves.
Sad Kahyangan was opened in 1985. It has been modelled on Tanah Lot, the famous temple on the south-west Bali coast and one of the must-see attractions for overseas visitors. But few foreigners travel to Balekambang and the reasons are clear. (See sidebar)
On 5 November expect an influx of Hindus planning to take part in the Purnamaning Kalima purification ceremony. According to the resident priest Djuwarno there are two major pilgrimages to the temple every year – prior to Nyepi, the day of silence held this year on 30 March, and 5 November. Crowds of up to 10,000 can be expected.
“Most come from Bali and stay up to four days camping on the beach,” he said. “We also get many people from Malang and other parts of East Java where there are still Hindu communities. My ancestors have always been Hindu and maybe the family goes back to the Majapahit.”
One of the many great mysteries in the archipelago is why the remnants of the mighty Majapahit kingdom fled East Java and settled in Bali about 500 years ago.
Were they hunted out by converts to the new religion of Islam? Or did some devastating natural catastrophe such as a volcanic eruption drive them from their rich farmlands around the Brantas River where they’d mastered the art of irrigation?
Another theory has internecine warring among the royal families as the reason for disintegration and the flight east. The golden age of the kingdom was around 650 years ago when the charismatic and Machiavellian prime minister Gajah Mada was the power in the land, and the Javanese ruled much of South-East Asia. After his death in 1364 it was all downhill.
There are 32 Hindu temples in the Malang region. Some date back to the Majapahit era – a few have been restored. Others like Sad Kahyangan are recent additions, but such is the design and weathering that it could easily be centuries old.
Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to be treated with the reverence of temples in Bali, for vandals have scratched their memorable names and profound philosophies on the walls, despite signs urging respect.
Access to the temple courtyard is restricted to Hindus who contact Djuwarno and his wife Sunarmi in their concrete home and office perched high on the mainland at the bridge entrance.
The couple then close their food stall, don robes, gather incense and accoutrements and together with the visitors make a little procession elbowing its way through the crowds of unbelievers to the locked temple.
Inside is a small courtyard and sheltered area for prayer and meditation. This faces west, so the sea can’t be seen. The thick walls and the surf drown out the noise from the people outside.
It’s even possible to imagine you’re alone, with just the wind, the tinkling temple bells and the low chants of those still faithful to a religion that once ruled Java for more than 1,000 years.
PROCEED WITH CAUTION
Balekambang is worth a visit – but best not on weekends or public holidays. On these days up to 15,000 flee Malang, Blitar and Surabaya. If you’re a sensitive soul seeking solace at the seaside, stay away from this getaway. If you’re a laid back people-watcher, enjoy good cheap Indonesian food and chats everywhere, bring a deck chair.
The giggling couples say they’re escaping from humdrum routines and boring study – but many seem to be off the parental leash as they frolic in the foam. Circling them are the wolf packs of Honda heroes hoping for a chance encounter, or maybe an erotic moment as skirts are tucked into panties for a paddle, and the girls make their points in wet T-shirts.
By Western standards of beach party culture it’s seemly Victorian behavior, though prudes might consider it the final breakdown of Indonesian morality. The young together having fun in the sun? Oh, sin severe!
There are no bikinis and the occasional swimsuit is a neck-to-knee job. There’s no whiff of alcohol in the picnic hampers and the cheerful crowds swarm everywhere, so any hanky-panky will rapidly get a football-game audience.
The Malang Regency collects a Rp 5,500 (US $0.60) entrance fee off every visitor plus other small fees for vehicles and parking. Weekend incomes can exceed Rp 100 million (US $ 11,000), but little seems to be spent on local amenities and infrastructure.
Particularly bad is the road around the village of Sumber Rejo, 20 kilometres north of the beach. This meanders alongside woodland and cane fields. It’s pleasant scenery. The whole trip could be done in 90 minutes.
Sadly the journey becomes a gear-grinding ordeal as vehicles tip and roll their way through the sump-gouging potholes. Jagged limestone rocks wait to rip the rubber of the unwary. Business tip: Open a workshop here specialising in shattered suspensions.
As a major tourist road, let alone a regional link, it’s a disgrace. Regency officials say it’s scheduled to be repaired next year, but can’t say exactly when. Until that happens (if it happens) best stall your trip unless you’re driving someone else’s muscle machine and have topped up the tank with extra litres of patience.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 3 November 06 )
##
">Link
On 5 November Hindus, including some from Bali, will return to the original heartland of their religion. Duncan Graham reports from Balekambang on the south coast of East Java:
The beach at Balekambang is a broad stretch of sand about 60 kilometres south of Malang. Not Kuta, though good enough.
From afar it looks as though the waves are worth testing as the land slides easily under the Indian Ocean with no apparent drop. But there are no sun-scorched surfies waxing their boards on this stretch of the coast.
Instead warning signs against swimming beyond the red flags, for this beach is notorious for its swirling undertow. Food stallholders say that in recent years at least 100 visitors have been sucked into the clear green waters and perished. Stay long enough and they’ll give ghoulish details.
Regency officials drowned the story, saying they can’t recall any losses. Maybe they don’t want to in case more tourists erase Balekambang from their itineraries – as many are said to be doing for fear of tsunamis.
Apart from the signs there are mobile lifesaver patrols and loudspeaker warnings against venturing far from the shallows.
Not all come to play. This is also a place of culture and religion, for there’s a holy place on one of the three little islands that lie just offshore.
Pura (temple) Sad Kahyangan has been built on rocky Ismoyo and is connected to the mainland by a concrete bridge. There are a few gnarled fig trees and tenacious shrubs, but otherwise it’s all temple.
The island was named after a character in the ancient stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata, as are the other two, Wisanggeni and Hanoman.
There’s also a bridge linking Wisanggeni with the beach, but the central section has been ripped out by waves.
Sad Kahyangan was opened in 1985. It has been modelled on Tanah Lot, the famous temple on the south-west Bali coast and one of the must-see attractions for overseas visitors. But few foreigners travel to Balekambang and the reasons are clear. (See sidebar)
On 5 November expect an influx of Hindus planning to take part in the Purnamaning Kalima purification ceremony. According to the resident priest Djuwarno there are two major pilgrimages to the temple every year – prior to Nyepi, the day of silence held this year on 30 March, and 5 November. Crowds of up to 10,000 can be expected.
“Most come from Bali and stay up to four days camping on the beach,” he said. “We also get many people from Malang and other parts of East Java where there are still Hindu communities. My ancestors have always been Hindu and maybe the family goes back to the Majapahit.”
One of the many great mysteries in the archipelago is why the remnants of the mighty Majapahit kingdom fled East Java and settled in Bali about 500 years ago.
Were they hunted out by converts to the new religion of Islam? Or did some devastating natural catastrophe such as a volcanic eruption drive them from their rich farmlands around the Brantas River where they’d mastered the art of irrigation?
Another theory has internecine warring among the royal families as the reason for disintegration and the flight east. The golden age of the kingdom was around 650 years ago when the charismatic and Machiavellian prime minister Gajah Mada was the power in the land, and the Javanese ruled much of South-East Asia. After his death in 1364 it was all downhill.
There are 32 Hindu temples in the Malang region. Some date back to the Majapahit era – a few have been restored. Others like Sad Kahyangan are recent additions, but such is the design and weathering that it could easily be centuries old.
Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to be treated with the reverence of temples in Bali, for vandals have scratched their memorable names and profound philosophies on the walls, despite signs urging respect.
Access to the temple courtyard is restricted to Hindus who contact Djuwarno and his wife Sunarmi in their concrete home and office perched high on the mainland at the bridge entrance.
The couple then close their food stall, don robes, gather incense and accoutrements and together with the visitors make a little procession elbowing its way through the crowds of unbelievers to the locked temple.
Inside is a small courtyard and sheltered area for prayer and meditation. This faces west, so the sea can’t be seen. The thick walls and the surf drown out the noise from the people outside.
It’s even possible to imagine you’re alone, with just the wind, the tinkling temple bells and the low chants of those still faithful to a religion that once ruled Java for more than 1,000 years.
PROCEED WITH CAUTION
Balekambang is worth a visit – but best not on weekends or public holidays. On these days up to 15,000 flee Malang, Blitar and Surabaya. If you’re a sensitive soul seeking solace at the seaside, stay away from this getaway. If you’re a laid back people-watcher, enjoy good cheap Indonesian food and chats everywhere, bring a deck chair.
The giggling couples say they’re escaping from humdrum routines and boring study – but many seem to be off the parental leash as they frolic in the foam. Circling them are the wolf packs of Honda heroes hoping for a chance encounter, or maybe an erotic moment as skirts are tucked into panties for a paddle, and the girls make their points in wet T-shirts.
By Western standards of beach party culture it’s seemly Victorian behavior, though prudes might consider it the final breakdown of Indonesian morality. The young together having fun in the sun? Oh, sin severe!
There are no bikinis and the occasional swimsuit is a neck-to-knee job. There’s no whiff of alcohol in the picnic hampers and the cheerful crowds swarm everywhere, so any hanky-panky will rapidly get a football-game audience.
The Malang Regency collects a Rp 5,500 (US $0.60) entrance fee off every visitor plus other small fees for vehicles and parking. Weekend incomes can exceed Rp 100 million (US $ 11,000), but little seems to be spent on local amenities and infrastructure.
Particularly bad is the road around the village of Sumber Rejo, 20 kilometres north of the beach. This meanders alongside woodland and cane fields. It’s pleasant scenery. The whole trip could be done in 90 minutes.
Sadly the journey becomes a gear-grinding ordeal as vehicles tip and roll their way through the sump-gouging potholes. Jagged limestone rocks wait to rip the rubber of the unwary. Business tip: Open a workshop here specialising in shattered suspensions.
As a major tourist road, let alone a regional link, it’s a disgrace. Regency officials say it’s scheduled to be repaired next year, but can’t say exactly when. Until that happens (if it happens) best stall your trip unless you’re driving someone else’s muscle machine and have topped up the tank with extra litres of patience.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 3 November 06 )
##
">Link
BENTOEL IN MALANG
WHERE THERE’S SMOKE THERE’S A STORY © Duncan Graham 2006
There are ethical issues involved when writing about the extra-curricular activities of cigarette companies.
While not directly promoting cancer sticks, any mention of the manufacturer must rack the product name one tiny notch higher. No responsible journalist faced with the mountain of medical evidence would want to encourage any gullible person to commit long-term suicide.
But in this case the company discourages smokers rather well itself.
According to information in the Bentoel Museum in Malang, East Java, the company’s founder Ong Hok Liong died in 1967 from chronic liver disease. Doctors say this is a particularly nasty way to die.
While working (and he seldom stopped) Ong forever had a fag in his mouth. Such was his addiction to nicotine that he couldn’t stop even when the searing pain in his throat became unbearable.
To ease the agony he took regular swigs of arak, the powerful rice alcohol – but the benefits lasted no more than 30 minutes. The baccy and the booze – a double whammy.
With a case history like that, who needs a government health warning?
The Bentoel Museum is an outstanding example of the East Java way of neglecting tourism. It’s a most worthwhile attraction but gets little or no mention in the travel brochures.
So no wonder that according to the guest book, which museum manager Sujarkasih presses visitors to sign, only one person looked in during September and just two in August.
The museum was opened in 1994 in a rebuilt version of the building used by Ong to work and live. The original was just a bit closer to Jalan Wiro Margo, and it was expected that the road would be widened. It hasn’t, but the result is that the museum is now set at the same address in a pleasant little park complete with gardens and lots of parking space.
The demolition and rebuilding doesn’t seem to have damaged the ambience. The place still feels like a 19th century Dutch home with ample space and cool ceramics, a house to lounge in and watch others work.
Though that certainly wasn’t Ong’s style. He set a cracking pace and was in the factory by 4 am and still at it come nightfall. His philosophy was: ‘Remain humble, work hard and don’t stop, even when you’re successful.’ Or even when you’re desperately ill.
That financial success didn’t come easily and clearly depended much on the material and physical support of his wife Liem Kiem Nio, by all accounts a tough lady and mother of seven.
It was her jewellery that was sold to raise capital for Ong’s ventures. When she wasn’t nurturing the nippers she was stirring the sauces to make the smokes.
For in the cigarette business flavor is everything. Ong’s formula came from mixing Havana flavoring syrup, Cavendish bananas and alcohol with the cloves, which were then added to the tobacco.
As it’s located in the most crowded and chaotic business area in Malang the museum is welcome just as a sanctuary. But it’s much more than that.
Tobacco tourism seems to be a peculiar Indonesian phenomenon. In other countries health authorities have damned the evil weed. Governments have imposed heavy taxes, making a smoke a luxury only the affluent can afford.
Advertising is out, so many companies have taken to sponsoring sport and music shows. There’s no altruism – such events always feature the brand name. In Indonesia we have ads and the promotions - plus museums.
Sampoerna does it better than Bentoel with a smart café in Surabaya and an opportunity to watch cigarettes being hand-rolled by nimble-fingered young women. This is a stylish tourist attraction. Bentoel isn’t in that league, but it was first and is now much in need of a makeover.
Ong’s story is fascinating. He came across success in a strange way, after trying a variety of brand names, including Kendang, Klabang, Lampu, Turki and Djerut Manis. All failed.
A great believer in spiritualism when he wasn’t gambling, Ong was a regular visitor to Gunung Kawi, the mystic mountain outside Malang. Here he meditated seeking success. One day – or so it’s said – he saw, or dreamed he saw, a man selling edible bamboo roots called bentoel.
The other names were stubbed out and Bentoel was lit. The company eventually became the fifth largest manufacturer in Indonesia.
The bamboo root became the company’s grotesque logo; it looks like a heart sliced out of a cadaver during a post mortem – it’s certainly another impactful health warning.
There’s another sobering tale in this story – particularly for businesses committed to upgrading equipment. Ong clearly thought he was doing the right thing when he was ahead of the rest in the 1960s by installing cigarette-manufacturing machines. These boosted production to 1,600 million sticks a year.
Then in 1978 the government forced cigarette companies to make hand rolled smokes; Ong’s gear had been bought with foreign currency loans and he almost went bust. The government reversed the law in 1986, but by then the company was gasping to survive.
There are many other intriguing yarns. One involves the manufacture of klobot. These repulsive objects look like something that should be flushed away, not sucked. They use dried cornhusks instead of paper – an Ong speciality, now seldom seen except in hillside hamlets.
Another tale has Ong fleeing to the mountains when the Japanese came, and later employing guerrillas in the fight for Independence against the Dutch.
Last decade Bentoel was sold to the Rajawali Group and the Ong family is no longer involved. One daughter still lives in Malang. She’s 91 and reluctant to discuss the past.
So the only record is in the museum. It’s supposed to be open from 9 am to 4 pm, but the staff sometimes vanish. Catch it before the displays fade altogether, or because some bean counter in a distant office thinks the place should be shut because it draws no interest.
The problem is that the museum is hiding its light under a bushel. A cigarette company not promoting itself? Unbelievable – but in Malang, true.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 3 November 06)
##
">Link
There are ethical issues involved when writing about the extra-curricular activities of cigarette companies.
While not directly promoting cancer sticks, any mention of the manufacturer must rack the product name one tiny notch higher. No responsible journalist faced with the mountain of medical evidence would want to encourage any gullible person to commit long-term suicide.
But in this case the company discourages smokers rather well itself.
According to information in the Bentoel Museum in Malang, East Java, the company’s founder Ong Hok Liong died in 1967 from chronic liver disease. Doctors say this is a particularly nasty way to die.
While working (and he seldom stopped) Ong forever had a fag in his mouth. Such was his addiction to nicotine that he couldn’t stop even when the searing pain in his throat became unbearable.
To ease the agony he took regular swigs of arak, the powerful rice alcohol – but the benefits lasted no more than 30 minutes. The baccy and the booze – a double whammy.
With a case history like that, who needs a government health warning?
The Bentoel Museum is an outstanding example of the East Java way of neglecting tourism. It’s a most worthwhile attraction but gets little or no mention in the travel brochures.
So no wonder that according to the guest book, which museum manager Sujarkasih presses visitors to sign, only one person looked in during September and just two in August.
The museum was opened in 1994 in a rebuilt version of the building used by Ong to work and live. The original was just a bit closer to Jalan Wiro Margo, and it was expected that the road would be widened. It hasn’t, but the result is that the museum is now set at the same address in a pleasant little park complete with gardens and lots of parking space.
The demolition and rebuilding doesn’t seem to have damaged the ambience. The place still feels like a 19th century Dutch home with ample space and cool ceramics, a house to lounge in and watch others work.
Though that certainly wasn’t Ong’s style. He set a cracking pace and was in the factory by 4 am and still at it come nightfall. His philosophy was: ‘Remain humble, work hard and don’t stop, even when you’re successful.’ Or even when you’re desperately ill.
That financial success didn’t come easily and clearly depended much on the material and physical support of his wife Liem Kiem Nio, by all accounts a tough lady and mother of seven.
It was her jewellery that was sold to raise capital for Ong’s ventures. When she wasn’t nurturing the nippers she was stirring the sauces to make the smokes.
For in the cigarette business flavor is everything. Ong’s formula came from mixing Havana flavoring syrup, Cavendish bananas and alcohol with the cloves, which were then added to the tobacco.
As it’s located in the most crowded and chaotic business area in Malang the museum is welcome just as a sanctuary. But it’s much more than that.
Tobacco tourism seems to be a peculiar Indonesian phenomenon. In other countries health authorities have damned the evil weed. Governments have imposed heavy taxes, making a smoke a luxury only the affluent can afford.
Advertising is out, so many companies have taken to sponsoring sport and music shows. There’s no altruism – such events always feature the brand name. In Indonesia we have ads and the promotions - plus museums.
Sampoerna does it better than Bentoel with a smart café in Surabaya and an opportunity to watch cigarettes being hand-rolled by nimble-fingered young women. This is a stylish tourist attraction. Bentoel isn’t in that league, but it was first and is now much in need of a makeover.
Ong’s story is fascinating. He came across success in a strange way, after trying a variety of brand names, including Kendang, Klabang, Lampu, Turki and Djerut Manis. All failed.
A great believer in spiritualism when he wasn’t gambling, Ong was a regular visitor to Gunung Kawi, the mystic mountain outside Malang. Here he meditated seeking success. One day – or so it’s said – he saw, or dreamed he saw, a man selling edible bamboo roots called bentoel.
The other names were stubbed out and Bentoel was lit. The company eventually became the fifth largest manufacturer in Indonesia.
The bamboo root became the company’s grotesque logo; it looks like a heart sliced out of a cadaver during a post mortem – it’s certainly another impactful health warning.
There’s another sobering tale in this story – particularly for businesses committed to upgrading equipment. Ong clearly thought he was doing the right thing when he was ahead of the rest in the 1960s by installing cigarette-manufacturing machines. These boosted production to 1,600 million sticks a year.
Then in 1978 the government forced cigarette companies to make hand rolled smokes; Ong’s gear had been bought with foreign currency loans and he almost went bust. The government reversed the law in 1986, but by then the company was gasping to survive.
There are many other intriguing yarns. One involves the manufacture of klobot. These repulsive objects look like something that should be flushed away, not sucked. They use dried cornhusks instead of paper – an Ong speciality, now seldom seen except in hillside hamlets.
Another tale has Ong fleeing to the mountains when the Japanese came, and later employing guerrillas in the fight for Independence against the Dutch.
Last decade Bentoel was sold to the Rajawali Group and the Ong family is no longer involved. One daughter still lives in Malang. She’s 91 and reluctant to discuss the past.
So the only record is in the museum. It’s supposed to be open from 9 am to 4 pm, but the staff sometimes vanish. Catch it before the displays fade altogether, or because some bean counter in a distant office thinks the place should be shut because it draws no interest.
The problem is that the museum is hiding its light under a bushel. A cigarette company not promoting itself? Unbelievable – but in Malang, true.
(First published in The Jakarta Post 3 November 06)
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">Link
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