Prisoners at Kota Cane
Leon Salim
Cornell Modern Indonesia Project
Translation SeriesPrisoners at Kota Cane
Leon Salim
Translated by Audrey R. Kahin
Translation Series
(Publication no. 66)
Cornell Modern Indonesia Project
Southeast Asia Program
Cornell University
Ithaca, New York
19861986 Cornell Modern Indonesia Project
ISBN 0-87763-032-1
PRICE: $9.00TABLE OF CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE	1
INTRODUCTION	17
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 11, 1942	22
THURSDAY, MARCH 12, 1942	26
FRIDAY, MARCH 13, 1942	31
SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1942	39
SUNDAY, MARCH 15,	1942	51
MONDAY, MARCH 16,	1942	57
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 18, 1942	59
THURSDAY, MARCH 19, 1942	73
FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 1942	80
SATURDAY, MARCH 21 , 1942	83
SUNDAY, MARCH 22,	1942	85
MONDAY, MARCH 23,	1942	86
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 25, 1942	88
THURSDAY, MARCH 26, 1942	91
FRIDAY, MARCH 27, 1942	96
SATURDAY, MARCH 28, 1942	97
MONDAY, MARCH 30,	1942	99
TUESDAY, MARCH 31 , 1942	100
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1 , 1942	108
THURSDAY, APRIL 2, 1942	111ILLUSTRATIONS
PL A TES
People's School in Padang Panjang	5
Executive Council of the IPO, 1925	7
Founder Members of El Hilaal 1929	7
Conference of the West Sumatra Branch of the
Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia 1933	10
Leon Salim (circa 1949)	16
The Political Prisoners	21
Return from Kota Cane	106
MAPS
Japanese Invasion of Sumatra	Frontispiece
Approach to Kota Cane	50
IVTRANSLATOR’S PREFACE
Very little has been written about the twilight of Dutch rule in
the Netherlands East Indies, in the period immediately after the Japa-
nese army swept through Java and parachuted its forces into south
Sumatra. When the Commander-in-Chief of the Netherlands Indies
Army, Lt. General Hein Ter Poorten, surrendered to the Japanese in
Kali Jati on March 9, 1942, that incident did not mark the end of
Dutch control throughout the Indies. Major elements of the colonial
government on Sumatra held out for a further three weeks before
finally capitulating on March 28. The following memoir, Prisoners at
Kota Cane by Leon Salim, presents the events of these final days in
Sumatra from the perspective of an Indonesian arrested by the Dutch
shortly after Ter Poorten's surrender.
Leon Salim and his friend and colleague Chatib Sulaiman were
attempting to hasten the end of colonial rule in West Sumatra by or-
ganizing mass demonstrations there. These, they hoped, would give
the Minangkabau people a chance to determine their own future, deal
directly with the Japanese, and impede the colonial government’s
plans to employ a scorched-earth policy in anticipation of the Japa-
nese invasion. On February 11 the Dutch had begun to carry out
these plans by blowing up the oil wells and installations at Pangkalan
Brandan and Pangkalan Susu, fifty miles north of Medan. These
steps were taken "partly as a precautionary measure in case of inva-
sion and partly as a desperate attempt to dissuade the Japanese from
landing by removing the chief prize in advance."1
The Japanese had initiated their attacks against Sumatra on
December 28, 1941 when they bombed the city of Medan. By the be-
ginning of February, according to the British vice consul there, air
raids on the major Sumatran ports had succeeded "in paralysing a
country twice the size of Great Britain and in depriving the Allies of
vital war materials at insignificant cost to themselves [i.e. the Japa-
nese] in aircraft. This will surely come to be regarded as the classic
example of blockage from the air."2 On February 14-15 about 9-
10,000 Japanese troops, sent from Cam Ranh Bay, sailed through the
Bangka Straits and landed on the east Sumatra coast near the mouth
1.	"Notes on the General Situation in Sumatra from December 1941 to
February 1942" from His Majesty's Vice Consul in Medan, attached to
his letter of May 15, 1942, p. 2. (In the Public Record Office [Kew,
London], Foreign Office File, F0371/31751 . 77862.)
2.	Ibid., p. 1.
12
of the Musi River. Concurrently, Japanese forces parachuted into
Palembang and rapidly occupied the city. The British vice consul re-
ported:
. . . the attack on Palembang and its fall actually prior
to the surrender of Singapore, together with the aston-
ishing speed of the Japanese advance in South Sumatra
against what was known to be a considerable force of
Imperial and Dutch troops, completed the despair of the
Dutch. The fall of Singapore on February 15th, the day
following the loss of Palembang, was of course a crushing
blow. The occupation of South Sumatra meant that the
last link [from Medan] with Java by the 2,000 kilometre-
long overland route was cut.3 4
These immediate Japanese successes, however, were followed by
a very slow advance toward central Sumatra. Abnormally bad weather
and widespread flooding hampered their soldiers, and Dutch units
under Major C. F. Hazenberg further harassed and impeded their
progress. From February 28 to March 9 the Japanese forces remained
stalled between Muara Bungo and Muara Tebo, still short of the West
Sumatra border.** But when on March 9, Major Hazenberg heard of
the Dutch surrender on Java, he ordered his troops to cease offen-
sive actions. He then received instructions from the Central Sumatra
Command to retreat northward and he arrived in Bukittinggi on March
10. The slowness of the enemy advance meant that for nearly three
weeks Dutch and Indonesians in the Minangkabau had been fearing or
anticipating the imminent arrival of Japanese troops.
Initially the Dutch envisaged mounting their major defense in
the west central region of Sumatra. On landing in Medan on Feb-
ruary 9, Col. R. T. Overakker (promptly promoted to the rank of
Major General) was appointed Territorial Commander of Central
Sumatra. Under an order of February 14 this command was expanded
to incorporate the residencies of West and East Sumatra, Tapanuli,
and the Bengkalis region of Riau,5 and after Palembang's fall, Dutch
forces from Jambi were added to it, with troops from Pakanbaru being
withdrawn to Padang Panjang.6 By March, however, a decision had
3.	Ibid., p. 2.
4.	An account of these actions appears in C. van den Hoogenband 8
L. Schotborgh, eds., Nederlands-IndiB contra Japan, vol. 6:	De
Strijd op Ambon, Timor en Sumatra (The Hague: Staatsdrukkerij- en
Uitgeverijbedrijf, 1959), pp. 88-93.
5.	Ibid., p. 84. The headquarters of this new Central Sumatra
Command was transferred inland on February 15 to Prapat on the
shores of Lake Toba. See "Notes on the General Situation in
Sumatra," p. 5.
6.	Hoogenband 8 Schotborgh, Nederlands-IndiS, vol. 6, pp. 85-86.3
been reached to consolidate the Netherlands defense much further
north, in the Alas valley of southern Aceh:	General Overakker's
troops were to withdraw to Kota Cane at its southern approach and
the Aceh command to Bengkejeren to protect the northern flank.
Leon Salim's memoir throws light not only on the actual inci-
dents attending the Dutch army's retreat from central Sumatra to
their ultimate Acehnese stronghold, but also on more general aspects
of Dutch administration of the Indies. As their prisoner and a fierce
opponent of colonial rule since his schooldays, Salim naturally
stresses the cruelty and arrogance of his Dutch captors. What is
more striking, however, from the hindsight of more than forty years
is the rigid code of conduct the colonial officials held to even as their
world was collapsing around them. That in their current predicament
they should have dragged these six "agitators" with them as they
made their long and hazardous journey from Padang Panjang in West
Sumatra to Kota Cane, merely in order to subject the accused pris-
oners to the legal trappings of a military trial, says much for the in-
flexibility of the rules governing Dutch ideas of justice. Leon Salim
himself now acknowledges that he and other Republican leaders who
eventually took over in West Sumatra, would never have acted in such
a manner. Any similar opponents of the local regime "would have
been shot straight away."
Although planning their demonstrations so that they would co-
incide with the Japanese crossing of the borders to West Sumatra and
although their aim was then to demand that the Dutch transfer power
to Indonesian hands, Chatib Sulaiman and Leon Salim apparently had
no direct ties to the invading forces: "We too were anti-Japanese, we
were from the Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia, Hatta-Sjahrir's party,
so it is clear we were anti-military, anti-Japan, and so on. But the
Dutch didn't think things out this far."7 In fact, perhaps because of
the chaotic atmosphere of those days, the Dutch seem to have
7. Interview with Leon Salim, Jakarta, June 1985. The Japanese did
enjoy some support in West Sumatra prior to the invasion, though
there were many fewer pro-Japanese activities than in north Sumatra
and Aceh. Their most prominent sympathizer was A. Madjid Oesman,
who had spent four years at the Meiji University in Tokyo in the
early 1930s, and returned to Padang in 1936 with a Japanese wife.
He became editor of the Padang newspaper Radio and a member of the
Padang Municipal Council. (There were allegations that he bought
Dagblad Radio with Japanese capital. See S. L. van der Wal, De
Volksraad en de Staatkundige Onwikkeling in Nederlands-indie. Een
bronnenpublicatie, 2 vols. [Groningen: Wolters, 1964-65]; 2: 590.)
According to his widow, although they were sympathetic to Japan,
she and her husband were not Japanese agents. The Dutch arrested
them both in late 1941 and they were interned on Java. Interview
with Mrs. Oesman, Tokyo, December 1976; see also George S. Kana-
hele, "The Japanese Occupation of Indonesia:	Prelude to Indepen-
dence," Ph.D. dissertation, Cornell University 1967), pp. 9, 247.4
selected their six prisoners rather arbitrarily. Only Leon Salim and
Chatib Sulaiman were actually in charge of organizing the demonstra-
tions. Another of those arrested, A. Murad Saad, was a party col-
league who had been monitoring radio broadcasts for news of the Jap-
anese advance so that the two leaders would be able to choose the
most propitious moment for staging the demonstrations. Of the other
three detainees, Jamaris Dt. Mandah Kayo, a member of the Partai
Sarekat Islam Indonesia (PSII), was arrested for raising the Red-
and-White Indonesian flag over his home in Kota Baru outside Padang
Panjang; the teenager, Chaidir Cazali, had been acting as courier for
the demonstration organizers and was perhaps included because he
resisted Dutch attempts to detain him; and the same might well have
happened with M. H. St. Rajo Bujang, known for his quick temper,
who played a minor part in the projected demonstrations, but was not
among the leaders.8
*****
To place this memoir in context, it is necessary to understand
the role of Leon Salim and Chatib Sulaiman in the history of the na-
tionalist movement in West Sumatra. In 1942 Salim was just thirty
years old, but he had been working against the Dutch for the pre-
vious seventeen years. In February 1925, shortly before his thir-
teenth birthday he was expelled from the government elementary
school in Dangung-Dangung, a village not far from Payakumbuh. His
offense was that of helping set up in the school a branch of the
"Barisan Muda" the youth organization of the Sarekat Rakyat
(People's Union).9
After he was expelled, Salim moved to Padang Panjang and be-
gan to attend the "Sekolah Rakyat" (People's School) during the day
and the Islamic modernist Diniyah School in the evening.10 He was
8.	A member of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) before the
1927 uprising, Rajo Bujang had, after several years in jail, joined the
Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia (PSII), of which he was still a member.
9.	The PKI had established the Sarekat Rakyat in 1923 for its "non-
proletarian" sympathizers. See Harry J. Benda S Ruth T. McVey,
eds., The Communist Uprisings of 1926-1927 in Indonesia: Key Docu-
ments (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1960), p. 10.
10.	The Padang Panjang Sekolah Rakyat had been set up in 1924,
patterned on Tan Malaka's school in Semarang. Its headmaster was
Alibin and among its teachers were Mahmud and Syamsuddin Musanif.
Alibin disappeared before the 1927 uprising, and apparently worked
in a Dutch plantation in Deli, emerging at independence in Bukittinggi
as Head of the State Printing Office (Percetakan Negara). (Interview
with Leon Salim, Jakarta, June 1985.) Mahmud was in the Padang
Panjang section of the PKI and was a popular political writer. (See
Benda & McVey, Communist Uprisings, pp. 106, 108.) He was ar-
rested by the Dutch and sent to Digul in 1927, where he died.U1
People's School in Padong Panjang 1925
(Photograph taken in front of the PMDS Building in J1. Jembatan Besi, Padang Panjang)
Leon Salim is seated 2nd from R in front row, with a peci in his lap. Standing from R: Alibin (headmaster), Damanhuri Jamil
Nazaruddin.	*
Standing farthest forward at L is Mahmud; and farthest back is Syamsuddin Musanif.
(This photograph appears in J. Th. Petrus Blumberger, De Nationalistische Beweqing in Nederlands Indie [Haarlem: Willink,
1931], p. 108 where it is erroneously described as being a photograph of the Rakyat School in Semarang in 1917)6
appointed second secretary (Penulis II) of the executive committee of
the Barisan Muda's West Sumatra branch. A few months later, the
Padang Panjang Communists followed the PKI in Semarang in trans-
forming the Barisan Muda into an "Internationale Padvinder Organ-
isatie" (IPO, International Boyscouts1 Organization), with the slogan
"Youth of the World Unite." Leon Salim then became secretary of the
IPO's executive council.11
The internal dissension in the Indonesian Communist movement
over plans	to mount a	nationwide	uprising against the	Dutch in 1926
fractured	Communist	solidarity	in West Sumatra.	Consternation
spread as Comintern representative Tan Malaka's orders reached the
region's Communists, countermanding the decision of the PKI's Central
Committee to stage the revolt. Already a legendary figure in his na-
tive Minangkabau, Tan Malaka's word carried far greater weight there
than that of the other PKI leaders. Arif Fadlillah, head of the PKI's
Sumatra West Coast section in Padang Panjang, followed Tan Malaka's
instructions, and, opposing appeals from several subsections, pro-
hibited PKI members from launching an insurrection.12 Although
some local	officials ignored this	directive, when the	revolt finally
broke out	on January	1 , 1927,	it was limited largely to the area
round Silungkang and was easily crushed by the Dutch authorities.
Meanwhile, throughout the closing months of 1926, a stream of Tan
Malaka's followers began to leave the region, crossing the Malacca
Straits from Sumatra to the Malay peninsula.
In the immediate aftermath of the revolt, Communist activity was
outlawed, the Rakyat School closed, and the IPO dissolved. Not yet
fifteen years old, Leon Salim was not among the hundreds the Dutch
then rounded up, but most of his friends either fled, were arrested,
or were exiled to Boven Digul.
Syamsuddin Musanif was also exiled to Digul, returning to Indonesia
after independence. He was killed in the 1948 Communist uprising at
Madiun. (Interview with Leon Salim.)
The Diniyah School, established in 1915 by the Muslim educator
Zainuddin Labai El Junusiah, was the first modernist religious elemen-
tary school in West Sumatra, innovative in both curriculum and teach-
ing methods. See Deliar Noer, The Modernist Muslim Movement in In-
donesia 1900-1942 (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1973), pp.
41-42.
11. M. Yunus Kocek, a pupil at the Diniyah and Thawalib schools
had organized the IPO. Its other council members, who all attended
these schools, were Amir Khan, Asasuddin Kimin, and Nazaruddin.
(See photograph, p. 7.)
12.	According to Leon Salim, Arif Fadlillah also taught at the Rakyat
School. He was arrested by the Dutch on December 29, 1926 and ex-
iled to Digul. On his role during these months, see Benda 6 McVey,
Communist Uprisings, pp. 159-171 passim.Executive Council, IPO, West Sumatra
Padang Panjang, November 7, 1925
L to R.: M. Yunus Kocek (Organizer); Asanuddin Kimin (Inspector I); Amir Khan
Head/Commander); Leon Salim (Secretary); Nazaruddin (Inspector II)
Founder Members of Youth Organization El Hilaal
L to R.: Leon Salim (Secretary); M. Yunus Kocek (Head); Mahyuddin Tonex (Commissioner)8
Leon Salim continued his studies now at the two major Islamic
schools in Padang Panjang, the Sumatra Thawalib and the Diniyah.13
He helped to revive the Diniyah's youth association PMDS (Persatuan
Murid-murid Diniyah School — Association of Diniyah School Pupils),
and soon afterwards he was one of the founders of the El Hilaal
(Crescent Moon), another youth organization rooted in the Diniyah
Schools, which spread also to the Sumatra Thawalib. The youth
leaders denied that these groups had any political aims and instead
emphasized their activities in the fields of sport and music. (Thus,
the PMDS's bamboo flute orchestra staged public performances, with
members of both the Diniyah pupils' association and El Hilaal marching
in procession in 1928 to celebrate the Dutch Queen Wilhelmina's birth-
day.)
Many of Leon Salim's former colleagues had by now joined Tan
Malaka's Pari (Partai Rakyat Indonesia, Indonesian People's Party)
founded in Bangkok in mid-1927. From Malaya his friends in Pari
sent Salim copies of their magazine Obor (Torch), together with
training manuals in French, Malay, and Arabic, but above all in Eng-
lish, on methods for organizing youth and boy scout movements.
With no knowledge of European languages, Salim needed an associate
who could use the books to train the young people now flocking to
join the burgeoning El Hilaal. He sought advice from Abdullah Basa
Bandaro, "a financial backor and key adviser of the Thawalib,"lh and
a prominent leader of the Padang trading community, who suggested
one of his own prot6g6s, Chatib Sulaiman. (When Chatib's father H.
Sulaiman became bankrupt at the end of World War I, as a friend and
colleague, Basa Bandaro took over the boy's education.) Chatib
Sulaiman had had two years of Dutch education above the elementary
level (at the MULO [junior high school]), but had then left school
and was currently earning his living as a musician in a movie house
in Padang. Although he had not previously been politically active,
he nevertheless agreed to work with Salim, and in 1929 moved to
Padang Panjang, where he joined him and M. Yunus Kocek, another
musician and political activist.15 Soon, Chatib Sulaiman emerged as
the principal theoretician of both the El Hilaal and PMDS, the Diniyah
pupils' association.
13.	In the 1920s these were the most important modernist religious
(Kaum Muda) education institutions in West Sumatra. In 1928 there
were 39 Thawalib schools, with about 17,000 students. The Thawalib
school in Padang Panjang had about 750 students at this time. See
Taufik Abdullah, Schools and Politics: The Kaum Muda Movement in
West Sumatra 1927-1933 (Ithaca:	Cornell Modern Indonesia Project,
1971), p. 61.
14.	Ibid., p. 132.
15.	Born in Aceh Barat, Yunus Kocek had been a student at the
Diniyah and Thawalib schools and treasurer/organizer of the IPO in
Padang Panjang in 1925. In 1926 he fled to Aceh, but returned in9
Their path was not smooth, for a personal rift soon divided
them from some of the older leaders, particularly from H. Jalaluddin
Thaib, chairman of the Sumatra Thawalib's Executive Board. At the
Thawalib's May 1930 congress where the new religious nationalist
party Permi (Persatuan Muslimin Indonesia, Indonesian Muslim Associ-
ation) was being set up, young El Hilaal members were used as
guards for the conference, and Leon Salim became resentful over how
badly they were being treated. His subsequent quarrel with Jala-
luddin Thaib over this issue caused a split in the El Hilaal. In this
split, most students from the Sumatra Thawalib remained with the El
Hilaal, which was now brought into close affiliation with the Permi
party, while Chatib Sulaiman, Leon Salim, and Yunus Kocek eventu-
ally formed the Kepanduan Indonesia Muslim (KIM, Islamic Indonesian
Boyscouts), which drew its membership principally from the Diniyah
schools.16
Despite their disagreements, however, at the youth conference
held in Padang Panjang where the El Hilaal members decided to form
separate organizations, they "still promised to work together to
strengthen the forces of the Indonesian youth movement as a
whole."17 As a sign of unity of purpose, the warring youth groups
all joined a march around Padang Panjang, which ended up in front of
the Assistant Resident's house. The Dutch promptly arrested a num-
ber of the young people, including Leon Salim and Yunus Kocek, for
holding a demonstration without prior government permission.
Dispirited over these events, shortly after his release Leon
Salim left West Sumatra, and, ignored by Dutch officials as he lay
curled up on the deck of one of the trading vessels crossing the
Malacca Straits, he arrived in Singapore. He spent nearly a year
working with his former friends and colleagues in the Pari party in
both Singapore and Kuala Lumpur before returning to West Sumatra in
1931. Chatib Sulaiman, meanwhile, remained in Padang Panjang and
turned to fulltime teaching. Invited to head the Muhammadiyah HIS
1927 to become a leader of the PMDS and El Hilaal, and later of the
Islamic Indonesian Boyscouts (KIM). He married Leon Salim's sister.
16.	KIM appears to have been established in 1931. For the Dutch
version of the split in El Hilaal, see Memories van Overgave [MvO]
van Gouverneur G.F.E. Gonggrijp, in Mailrapport [henceforth Mr.]
360/32	(1932), pp. 34-36, in Algemeen Rijksarchief [ARA], The
Hague. The report concludes that the KIM with a membership of
about 600 was better organized, in that its leaders ("the former IPO
leaders of El Hilaal") were more experienced than those of the re-
sidual El Hilaal.
17.	Kantor Wilayah Departemen Sosial D.K.I. Jakarta, Proyek
Penulisan Riwoyot Perjuangan Perintis Kemerdekaon, Tahun 1979/1980
(Disusun oleh: Leon Salim, No. Pol. 21/59/PK) (Jakarta, typescript,
n.d.), p. 25.10
Conference of the tVesf Sumatra Branch of Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia
Padang Panjang, March 24-28, 1933
L to R.: Seated: Janaid Samad; Kasim; Moh. Said; Dt. Tumanggung Nan Putih; Chatib Sulaiman;
Marzuki Said; Dt. Majolelo; Darwis Thaib; Syamsuddin Dt. Bandaro; A1i Umar.
Standing: Leon Salim; unknown; Mukhtar; Ahmad Ks; unknown; Jamaluddin St. T. Emas;
Mahyuddin Tonex; Bustaman; S. Samik; Harun; Bakhtiar Latief11
there, he also taught at Adam B.B.'s Madrasah Irsyadun-Nas
(MIN).18
The young men's quarrel with the Permi leaders was probably
one of the reasons they were now attracted to the Pendidikan Nasional
Indonesia (Indonesian National Education) or PNI Baru (New PNI) the
political party being established as a successor to Sukarno's Partai
Nasional Indonesia (PNI). Two prominent Minangkabau nationalists,
Mohammad Hatta and Sutan Sjahrir, headed this new party. After
returning from the Netherlands in late 1932 Hatta presided at the
founding meeting of the New PNI's West Sumatra branch held on No-
vember 11 , 1932 at the Diniyah Pupils' Association (PMDS) office in
Padang Panjang. Chatib Sulaiman was appointed the West Sumatran
representative on the PNI Baru's General Leadership Council and Leon
Salim, secretary of its Regional Commissariat.
At this time there was no inconsistency in being followers of
Hatta/Sjahrir and, at the same time, of Tan Malaka. There were
many similarities between the Pari and New PNI parties: both were
nationalist, anticolonialist, and socialist; both emphasized cadre or-
ganization, and neither paid any allegiance to Moscow. In these early
years, too, there was mutual respect among the leaders of the two
parties. All three top leaders were from West Sumatra, and as Leon
Salim recently expressed it:	"Before independence they respected
each other; because Tan Malaka was the oldest, all respected him.
Hatta himself respected him; Sjahrir too respected him."-19 In West
Sumatra personal and family ties among the leaders of the two parties
were also close: Jazir, younger brother of Tan Malaka's principal
lieutenant, Jamaluddin Tamin, was chairman of the Padang Panjang
section of the Pendidikan Nasional (New PNI); and the Bukittinggi
businessman Anwar Sutan Saidi, one of Hatta's closest friends in West
Sumatra, was younger brother of Jamaluddin Ibrahim, the main Pari
contact between Singapore and Java.20
18.	The Muhammadiyah's HIS (Hollandsch-lnlandsche School, Dutch-
Native school) offering primary education in Dutch, had been estab-
lished in Padang Panjang in 1927. On Adam B.B., see below, p. 24,
n. 7.
19.	Interview with Leon Salim, Jakarta, June 1985. Hatta in his
memoirs does recall a meeting with Tan Malaka in Holland in 1922, and
his discussions a decade later with Tan Malaka's emissary Kandur St.
R. Basa in Bukittinggi at the time the Pendidikan Nasional was
formed. See Hatta, Memoir (Jakarta: Tintamas, 1979), pp. 136-38,
272. Kandur was the Pari's main contact between Sumatra and Singa-
pore. His father was an important merchant in Karimun, Riau, so
Kandur had a trader's passport. He was arrested by the Dutch in
June 1933 and sent to Digul in 1934. See Mr. 109/33 (June 8 July
1933) ARA for a note of his arrest.
20.	This information comes from interviews with Anwar St. Saidi's
son, Roestam Anwar (Padang, June 1985) and with Leon Salim; also12
In August 1933, the Dutch banned political gatherings (Ver-
gader Verbod), and moved to crack down on all nationalist political
activity in Indonesia, imprisoning and exiling leaders of the Permi and
PSII in West Sumatra, and arresting Hatta and Sjahrir in Jakarta.
Because of its character as a cadre party and the cautious policies its
local leaders had been pursuing, the Pendidikan Nasional in West
Sumatra was initially able to avoid government reprisals,21 but it had
to restrict any openly political activities. Party leaders at the na-
tional level sent out instructions to their Minangkabau branches that:
(1) meetings of three or more persons should be avoided; (2) each
member should join a social or economic association, and there pursue
his activities to the best of his ability; (3) if in his home village
there was no social or economic association he should establish one
and lead and guide it in accordance with the party's program. Fur-
ther guidelines laid down how members should educate their friends
and colleagues according to the courses that had been issued by the
Pendidikan Nasional in Bandung on January 6, 1933.22
By early 1935 as Dutch harassment intensified, Chatib Sulaiman
withdrew from leadership of the party and Leon Salim took his
place.23 Initially, Chatib continued to head the Muhammadiyah's HIS
but in 1935, after a disagreement with the Muhammadiyah leadership,
he founded his own Merapi Institute in Padang Panjang. He also be-
came increasingly active in the trading community in association with
Anwar St. Saidi, founder of the National Bank in Bukittinggi. Leon
Salim, now officially at the head of the West Sumatra Pendidikan
Nasional, became the target of Dutch intelligence forces. Police
raided and searched his house in May 1935, and he was repeatedly de-
tained for questioning, until finally in January 1936 he was sentenced
to a year's imprisonment.
Although his months in jail were harsh and debilitating, Leon
Salim thinks that in many ways he was fortunate to be arrested then.
from Mr. 877/34 (June 1934) ARA. Jamaluddin Ibrahim had been sec-
retary of the Padang Panjang Section Executive of the PKI in 1926
(Benda 6 McVey, Communist Uprisings, p. 146), and had fled to the
Malay peninsula before the 1927 uprisings.
21.	Mr. 254, MvO B.H.F. van Heuven, December 31 , 1934 (ARA).
22.	Proyek Penuiisan, p. 37.
23.	According to Leon Salim, he was more expendable than Chatib
Sulaiman, who was already viewed as the intellectual leader of the na-
tionalists in West Sumatra, and if he remained free could continue to
advise and guide them discreetly.
24.	The search was carried out on his house, according to the Dutch
report, because he had organized PMDS and Sumatra Thawalib stu-
dents in singing "the extremist song, 'Marhaen March'"; Mr. 713/35
(May 1935); this was ostensibly also the reason for his jail sentence.
Mr. 212/36 (January 1936).13
By the time of his release in February 1937 the political temperature
in the Minangkabau was far less heated. No longer were the Dutch
reacting to the slightest challenge by exiling their political opponents
to Boven Digul. So Salim was at least saved such a fate. He was
warned not to continue his political activities, and, crippled by
rheumatics from his year's imprisonment, he returned to his home re-
gion of Payakumbuh. The following year, he was joined by a fellow
prisoner from the Padang jail, Usman St. Keadilan (Uska),25 and for
a short time the two collaborated in an information bureau, "Sago."
In April 1938, Rahmah El Junusiah, now heading the Diniyah schools,
invited Salem back to Padang Panjang to become their administrator,
while Uska became Payakumbuh editor of the newspaper Radio.26
Meanwhile, in January 1937, Chatib Sulaiman, together with
Yunus Kocek and Adam B.B., set up a "Modern Islamic Seminary" in
Padang Panjang to train teachers for the local Islamic schools.27
When Yunus Kocek returned to Aceh in 193828 Chatib Sulaiman moved
to Bukittinggi at the request of Anwar St. Saidi to work with
"Inkorba," an import company founded by Anwar to try to wrest a
larger share of the commerce of the region for indigenous Minang-
kabau traders from the hands of the Dutch and Chinese.29 Later
that same year, together with Mr. Nasrun and Marzuki Yatim, and
with support from Mr. Mohammad Yamin in Jakarta, Anwar and Chatib
Sulaiman founded the trading association "Bumiputera" with branches
in Medan, Penang, and Singapore, as well as Bukittinggi and other
West Sumatra towns. Chatib Sulaiman also began actively establishing
cooperatives and tying them into the trading network.30
In November 1939, he and Leon Salim again worked together,
publishing a political economic monthly journal Pemberi Sinar, while
25.	Editor of the journal Njala, Uska (alias Rusli, alias Hamid, alias
Daud) had been a PKI propagandist in Bengkulu (though born in
Payakumbuh). (See Benda 8 McVey, Communist Uprisings, p. 118.)
He had spent several years in Digul. In August 1935 he was jailed
for articles published in Kebenaran, and on his release in January
1938 returned to his home town. See Mr. 1027/35 (August 1935), p.
1; Mr. 378/38 (March 1938), p. 2, ARA.
26.	Mr. 378/38 (March 1938); Mr. 470/38 (April 1938), p. 3; Mr.
808/38, June 1938 (ARA), p. 2.
27.	Mr. 220/37 (January 1937) (ARA), p. 2.
28.	Yunus Kocek, together with his wife, returned to Kota Raja
where he became a trader. Mr. 1183/38 [October 1938] p. 2, ARA.
29.	Mr. 958/38 (August 1938), p. 2, ARA.
30.	These included cooperatives for fishermen (Koperasi Nelayan) in
Sasak Talu, for workers in lime kilns (Koperasi Pembakaran Kapur) in
Padang Panjang, and for tobacco estate workers (Koperasi Perkebunan
Tembakau) in Payakumbuh. Rifai Abu 8 Drs. Abdullah Suhadi,
Chatib Suleman (Jakarta: Departemen P. 8 K., 1976), p. 14.14
Salim was still devoting much of his energy to his work in the
Diniyah schools. At this time neither man was engaging in open
political activity against the Dutch. Chatib Sulaiman, however, had
begun to take bolder steps to mobilize opposition to Dutch government
policy in several fields. He played a leading role in organizing reli-
gious groups in opposition to the proposed repeal of a statute forbid-
ding Christian missionaries from propagating their religion in Muslim
areas. He also worked actively in Gerindo (Gerakan Rakyat Indo-
nesia, Indonesian People's Movement), writing and speaking in sup-
port of demands for an Indonesian parliament.31 The Dutch were not
oblivious to this, remarking in their reports on Chatib Sulaiman's
emergence at the forefront of all political activities in the region.32
Thus, by January 1942, when Chatib Sulaiman and Leon Salim
tried to take advantage of the opportunity presented by the Japanese
invasion to move more actively toward their aim of Indonesian inde-
pendence, the Dutch reacted swiftly against them. But perhaps
because of the two men's standing within West Sumatra, the colonial
authorities were cautious in dealing with them. The following memoir
is Leon Salim's account of their arrest and detention. Although this
diary was brought together into the form of a memoir shortly after
the events it describes, the Indonesian version has never been pub-
lished. I am grateful to Leon Salim for letting me translate and pub-
lish it, and for checking the translation and answering queries on it,
for I think the memoir is an important contribution to our under-
standing of this period of Indonesia's history.
Audrey Kahin
November 1985
31.	See Audrey R. Kahin, "Repression and Regroupment," Indonesia
38 (October 1984): 50-53.
32.	Mr. 178/40 (November 1939), p. 2.PRISONERS AT KOTA CANE
by
Leon SalimLeon Salim (circa 1949)INTRODUCTION
On September 1 , 1938 Germany (Hitler) attacked Poland. Thus
began World War II.
On May 10, 1940 Germany attacked Holland. Within a mere five
days Holland's independence was overthrown. The Dutch, who had
colonized Indonesia for 350 years were now themselves to feel the
bitterness of colonization.
Holland's swift subjugation made a deep impression on the
people of Indonesia. It caused a hot wind to rush throughout the In-
donesian fatherland. The pulse that all this time had beaten slowly
as the child of a colony in chains, was now throbbing with fear,
awaiting and anticipating what would happen to Indonesia, the colony
of a Holland which itself had now been conquered by Germany.
Indonesia, the emerald archipelago of Khattulistiwa, the string
of golden islands, had for centuries been controlled by Western capi-
talism and finally been dominated by the Dutch for three and a half
centuries. With an iron fist the Dutch had suppressed and destroyed
every independence movement that arose to oppose their authority.
Thousands of victims had fallen. The Aceh War, the Bonjol war
(Minangkabau), the Sriwijaya war, the Diponegoro (Java) war, the
Ternate war, and the rebellions that broke out in every corner of the
archipelago, were harshly put down by the Dutch. Until they com-
pletely crushed the people's rebellion in 1926-1927. The Dutch exiled
the leaders still left alive to Digul, in the heart of the Papua jungles.
Anyone brave enough to flee from that "hell" prison in the midst of
the jungle, was to perish. Struck down by tropical malaria, or the
prey of wild animals; swallowed by the wildness of the jungle, or
dying as food for cannibals.
All the people's leaders were exiled there, whether or not they
were of major importance, including those educated in Europe, such
as Mohammad Hatta, Sjahrir, etc.
Still the struggle for independence went forward. Destroyed
by the Dutch on the earth, the nationalist movement went under-
ground. Indonesia continued to seethe. . . .
On December 7, 1941, Admiral Nagabo (Japan) attacked Pearl
Harbor (United States). The War of Greater East Asia h la Japan
broke out. The following day, December 8, the Dutch government-
in-exile in London (England) declared war against Japan. The Dutch
Indies government in Indonesia began all kinds of preparations; air
raid exercises, urban defense, general military service, and so on.
As the Dutch Indies government intensified its training so did
1718
the joy intensify in the hearts of the subjected people. They waited
for the moment they had long been anticipating, the moment when the
colonization of Indonesia and its people was to be overthrown. As
the days passed the heartbeats of the enslaved people quickened.
They were convinced that their fate was about to change. Only they
were not yet certain whether the change would be towards something
better or something worse. Still, while awaiting the change they
were happy in the hope that their future destiny would be brighter.
Their hope lay within them like a hidden flame.
Japan struck southwards like lightning. The Allied fortress of
whose strength they had always boasted—that is, the mighty Singa-
pore—was not powerful enough to withstand the Japanese assault.
Singapore fell. With this, Dutch and Allied defenses in Indonesia
were exposed to unfettered Japanese attacks.
Finally on March 9, 1942 the Dutch were brought to their knees
and surrendered unconditionally to the Japanese. The Governor
General of the Dutch Indies, Tjarda van Starkenborgh Stachouwer
and Lt. Gen. Hein Ter Poorten signed the surrender declaration, ca-
pitulating unconditionally to Japan at the Kali Jati airfield in West
Java. Thus ended the centuries of Dutch rule over Indonesia.
Unexpectedly, the Dutch Indies Government on Sumatra did not
accept this surrender. Sumatran Governor Spits proclaimed that the
struggle against the Japanese would continue to the last drop of
blood.
News spread that the Minangkabau region (West Sumatra) with
its strategic terrain—its hills and valleys, the curving Bukit Barisan,
providing a line of defense for the world it surrounds—would become
the final Dutch fortification. If Dutch defenses fell, they would then
carry out a scorched-earth policy throughout the region, so that the
Japanese would only inherit ashes. . . . How pleasant were these
Dutch theories as they stood at the brink of the grave.
The Dutch plans to defend the region and to employ a
scorched-earth policy circulated among all the Minangkabau people.
Every tongue discussed the issue. From the family houses to the
mosque and surau, from the stalls to the coffee shops, from the
schools to the tobacco fields, old and young discussed it. Either
openly or in whispers. The atmosphere in the Minangkabau became
very heated, ready, given the least spark, to burst into flame.
Everyone was waiting, anticipating and hoping for the spark, or at
least some sign: which road would be followed?
At such a moment a group of young men emerged to shape inde-
pendence and channel the people's desires. They moved to the fore-
front to show the way to oppose the Dutch to stop them from making
of our dwelling places a battlefield for the defense of a colonialism,
which if defeated would make scorched earth of the region. The
Dutch as they were approaching their graves had no right to destroy
the heart of these children of the Minangkabau, and even less to
burn them to ashes. No one had such a right, including the Dutch.19
Spontaneously "Anti Scorched-Earth" bodies (anticolonial)
sprang up. They came into being without meetings or prior consulta-
tion. Regardless of group, education, party, and so on, everywhere
these Anti Scorched-Earth bodies came to life. The informed and the
brave advanced to the front. Others followed and joined in. Leaders
spontaneously arose in every town and village. Whether pemuda, alim
ulama or cerdik panc/a/,1 so long as they were courageous Minangs
they united in the movement behind the leadership of a group of
young independence fighters in Padang Panjang.
Padang Panjang is a small town in West Sumatra. At that time
it formed the center of the people’s struggle for the whole of
Sumatra. From Aceh to Lampung, the Malay Peninsula, the Bugis re-
gion of Makassar, young Islamic students filled this little town. From
it had come the great ulama, the independence struggle leaders, sons
and daughters of Sumatra. Furthermore, it was Padang Panjang that
had been the center of the Communist movement (i.e., revolutionary
Islam) in the year 1926.
In that small town Pasar Usang street was then the street of
pride for the freedom fighters. Young people came and went to one
house on that street from all over the region, one after another, day
and night. Several of them seemed dull and weary from lack of
sleep, not eating breakfast, and not having rested. They had every-
thing ready. They would mount huge demonstrations. Dozens of
enormous red and white flags2 were ready. Also banners, large and
small. The demonstration would demand that:
1.	The Dutch must surrender the Government to the Indone-
sian People. Thus the Dutch would not be able to pass the
People and Land of Indonesia over to Japan as if they were
dead objects.
2.	The Dutch did not have the right to destroy the wealth and
country of the Indonesian people through their scorched-
earth policy.
These two demands would be presented to the local Dutch Indies Gov-
ernment. People from countryside and town would join in the demon-
stration, each carrying a red and white flag—the flag that had been
forbidden throughout the Dutch colonial period.
The demonstration was to take place on March 12, 1942. The
closer that date approached, the stronger beat every man's pulse.
The people were waiting: what would happen???
But . . . before dawn on that March 12, the Dutch raided the
headquarters of these young fighters. Everywhere there were raids
1.	pemuda = Youth or young people; alim ulama = Islamic scholars:
and cerdik pandai = the "intelligentsia," usually those with Western
education.
2.	I.e., the Indonesian national flag.20
and searches. Dozens of young people and their leaders were ar-
rested. In Padang Panjang and the surrounding area, in Bukittinggi
in the district of Agam, there were arrests. In Payakumbuh and
other places there were searches. In the village of Tiakar Cuguk
(Lima Puluh Kota district), the village where Leon Salim was born; in
Bukit Batabuh (Bukittinggi) in his wife's house, searches were con-
ducted by the Netherlands Indies Head of Police for Sumatera Barat,
a Dutchman, and by Police Minister (for Agam district) Harunurrasyid
and Military Policeman Nurhan.
After our arrest, all the young men and leaders who had been
detained in the regions of Padang Panjang, Sepuluh Kota, and Agam,
were released. They had apparently only been seized as hostages.
Thank Cod it was so. Finally only six men remained in Dutch cus-
tody. We six were sent to the last Dutch Military Court in Cane, that became the final military tribunal of the three and i centuries of Dutch colonial rule. We six were:		
1.	Chatib Sulaiman (36 years old)	PNI (Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia)
2.	Leon Salim (30 years old)	PNI (Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia)
3.	A. Murad Saad (28 years old)	PNI (Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia)
4.	M.H. St. Rajo Bujang (38 years old)	PSII (Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia)
5.	Jamaris Dt. Mandah Kayo (38 years old)	— PSII (Partai Sarekat Islam Indonesia)
6.	Chaidir Cazali (19 years old)	Pemuda PSII (PSII Youth)
These six were hurriedly taken along by a Dutch military convoy to-
wards north Sumatra. We cannot explain why the Dutch treated the
six in this way. Only Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman and Sdr. Leon Salim,
could definitely be held responsible for the demonstrations.
From day to day I noted down our experiences as follows:21
The Political Prisoners
L to R.: Standing:	Chaidir Gazali; Sutan Rajo Bujang; Chatib Sulalman; Murad Saad; Datuk
Mandah Kayo; Leon Salim
Seated:	Buyung Atik, Munir Rahimi (messengers from Minangkabau)
The child is Chatib Sulaiman's son, SjahrirWEDNESDAY, MARCH 11, 1942
After receiving information from throughout the Minangkabau,
and in view of the news concerning the atmosphere overseas that had
been broadcast over the radio, the "Central Committee" decided at
dawn on March 11, 1942:
To stage large demonstrations (processions) within and
outside the town of Padang Panjang, tomorrow, March 12,
1942.
The Committee quickly prepared announcements of the demonstrations
which Sdr. Murad Saad typed and distributed.
In closing, these announcements declared that the Committee it-
self would ultimately decide whether or not the demonstrations would
actually take place. It was further explained that, if a flag were
raised on the hill, this would be a sign that the demonstrations were
in fact to be held. But if the flag were not raised, then they had
been postponed. This decision was made in the light of the prevail-
ing uncertainty, when the whole situation could change jn a moment.
What seemed a good plan for half an hour in the future, by the time
that half hour had passed was possibly no longer advisable or no
longer necessary. This meant that everyone really had to obey the
Central Committee's decisions. And in order to confront the climate
that later developed, the lack of endurance, which is characteristic of
most Minangkabau young people, had to be abandoned. They had to
be persistent and show more self-control and not give way to narrow
and thoughtless opinions.
As was the Committee's usual practice, news about staging the
demonstration was passed from mouth to mouth, but with little discus-
sion. Their behavior was similar to that of a procession of ants mov-
ing to and from their hole, who, when they passed their comrades
would stop and whisper for a moment, pass something on, then con-
tinue on their way. Thus the news went out, in a steady, uninter-
rupted chain, until it reached all levels of the people. It rapidly
spread everywhere.
But what actually happened that March 11? As the afternoon
wore on, the scene became busier, and people seemed increasingly
nervous. Many of them had put their affairs in order as if preparing
for and expecting an event that would shake their life's foundations.
The Central Committee headquarters was bustling, as guests
came from near and far. Some^ of these visitors suggested that the
decision already reached should be put off for a while until it was
2223
certain that the arrival of the Japanese army was imminent. They
gave many reasons for this proposal. Nevertheless, we were not
bound to accept the proposal and the reasoning behind it because
those who suggested it were still willing to participate in the demon-
stration if it were held on the predetermined date.
A radio receiver was always close by, that could catch broad-
casts from all around. The other sections too had receivers, particu-
larly one that was responsible for monitoring the radio news, espe-
cially that concerning developments in our homeland. Thus, we were
aware of what was taking place at any time.
That night ....
We were approached by various visitors who had arrived from
Bukkitinggi. They strongly urged that for the time being we post-
pone the demonstrations scheduled for the following day, putting for-
ward several strong arguments.
After a searching discussion, we finally accepted the proposal
that, if the next day, March 12, 1942, the Japanese army had still
not reached the Minangkabau, then the demonstrations we had
planned would be postponed until the day of their arrival in this
area. It was very hard indeed for us to accept this proposal. When
Sdr. Anwar Sutan Saidi,3 4 Director of the National Bank and leader of
the national economy, suggested that we should defer our decision,
we violently disagreed. The same was true when Sdr. Marzuki
YatirrO head of Muhammadiyah, and Sdr. Sofyan, from Mr. Muhammad
Yamin's staff in Jakarta,5 put forward the same view ... we re-
jected them all. We finally reluctantly gave way when Bapak Ab-
dullah,6 the teacher at the Adabiyah school in Padang (who through-
3.	Born in Bukittinggi in 1910, Anwar had been a leading business-
man and supporter of nationalist organizations since 1930, when he
founded the “Bank Nasional" to aid Minangkabau traders in their com-
petition with Dutch and Chinese businessmen. He was close to Mohd.
Hatta and Mohd. Yamin, who both supported him in his trading ven-
tures. The most important of these were the import-export company,
Bumiputera, and Inkorba, an import organization for batik. His elder
brother, Jamaluddin Ibrahim, a close associate of Tan Malaka in the
Pari, had died in Dutch detention while awaiting exile to Digul.
4.	A businessman in Padang, a cofounder of the "Bank Nasional,"
and a leading member of the Muhammadiyah organization.
5.	Sofyan, a secretary of Muhammad Yamin, had been sent by him to
West Sumatra, where he became a director of the "Bank Nasional" and
active in the Bumiputera trading company.
6.	Abdullah had long been a teacher at the Adabiyah School in
Padang, founded by H. Abdullah Ahmad in 1909. Shortly after Ab-
dullah Ahmad's death in 1933, Abdullah was appointed to replace him
as headmaster. The curriculum of the school was the same as that of
the HIS (Hollandsch-lnlandsche Scholen) except that it also taught24
out his life was secretly an active follower of Tan Malaka [and his]
Partai Republik Indonesia) expressed his opinion while unblinkingly
facing up to the situation.
"... we hope that your actions will go forward smoothly and
successfully. But not tomorrow; tomorrow the Japanese army will still
not have appeared at the border of West Sumatra.
"Wait until that army has clearly reached the Minangkabau.
Then the Dutch agents in this region will awake and will not become
mad and crush the demonstration with a rain of bullets: destroying
you all. . . . There are too few of us. ... My meaning is there are
too few of us who are willing really to live for the people. And these
few should not be eliminated in demonstration disturbances tomorrow.
ii
We were moved at the way Bapak Abdullah expressed his opin-
ion and finally agreed to his proposal. We would postpone staging
the demonstration until the Japanese were on the borders of the
Minangkabau. This was our ultimate decision.
We quickly transmitted this to those who we felt should know of
it. Until five in the morning our friends went around the villages
near Padang Panjang to pass on the information.
As we had heard from Batu Sangkar that demonstrations, simi-
lar to those planned for Padang Panjang, would also be held there,
Sdr. Leon Salim was sent to inform them of the change of plans. He
traveled to Batu Sangkar in the same car that had brought the visi-
tors from Bukittinggi, and some of them accompanied him—Sdr.
Anwar, Sofyan, and Marzuki Yatim.
After Sdr. Syekh H. Moh. Said in Batu Sangkar had been told
that everyone should remain alert in anticipation of the arrival of the
Japanese forces, then the group returned to Padang Panjang. Reach-
ing there at about three in the morning, the Bukittinggi group con-
tinued on home.
Half an hour later, that is at about 3:30 a.m., Sdr. Injak Adam
B.B.* * 7 told us (Chatib Sulaiman and Leon Salim), that the Dutch
police were searching for us in Padang Panjang.
the Koran. Born in Sungai Puar, Abdullah was close to Anwar St.
Saidi, and had been a follower of Tan Malaka since the 1920s.
7. Adam B.B. had been a teacher and student of Haji Rasul (H.
Abdul Karim Amrullah) in the 1910s, but when the Sumatra Thawalib
association was formed he founded his own school, Madrasah Irsyadun-
Nas (MIN) in Padang Panjang. It was at this school that Chatib
Sulaiman taught after withdrawing from leadership of the Pendidikan
Nasional Indonesia in West Sumatra. Adam B.B. was reputedly also a
follower of Tan Malaka.25
Hearing this, we answered: "Let them search for us, we won't
run away. Now we only want to sleep for a while."
Then we went to search a place to sleep, and snored away con-
tentedly . . .THURSDAY, MARCH 12, 1942
At about six o'clock after performing our morning prayers, we
received news that all the orders sent out the previous night had
been properly followed. We were relieved to hear this. When we had
finished discussing matters concerning the external and internal af-
fairs of the Central Committee, we slept again because we were still
weary.
It was eight o'clock before we finally awoke and got up, intend-
ing to go for breakfast.
But on the way to get our breakfast, several policemen inter-
cepted us (PID) [Politiek Inlichtingen Dienst] and we had to accom-
pany them to the Assistant Resident's office.
When we arrived, we were amazed to see several of our friends
already there, including Sdr. Munir Rahimi, Chaidir Cazali, and
Murad Saad. After our initial surprise we were finally told that they
had been arrested before we ourselves had been found! Various ef-
forts had been made in different places to arrest us during the pre-
vious night.
Several fully armed policemen and several police officers from
Padang now guarded us and our friends.
Interrogation
After waiting a while, we were summoned one by one to be in-
terrogated by the Assistant Resident.
This took a long time, because many of us were questioned for
as long as an hour and a half.
Below is an account of Leon Salim's interrogation, which fol-
lowed that of Chatib Sulaiman.
Assistant Res.:	Why were demonstrations being organized without
first asking permission?
Leon Salim:	In response to the feelings of the majority.
A.R.	We searched for you until early this morning, but our
men could find no one who had seen you. Your house
was searched, but you were not there. Where were you
last night?
L.S.	Until midnight I was still here. Then on the road, at the
house of Adam B.B., and so on. During the night I went
to Batu Sangkar.
2627
A. R.
L.S.
A. R.
L.S.
A. R.
L.S.
A. R.
Demang:
L.S.
Demanq:
L.S.
Demang:
L.S.
Demang:
L.S.
Demang:
L.S.
It is true then that you and Anwar C.S. went to Batu
Sangkar?
Yes.
Why did you need to go there?
To tell the people that today's demonstration had been
postponed.
Who are T. Sofyan and T. Marzuki Yatim? Is it true that
T. Sofyan is from Betawi [Jakarta] and T. Mazuki Yatim
from the Padang Muhammadiyah?
Perhaps. I don't know for certain.
Yes, there is clearly the trail here of one large group.
Chatib Sulaiman, Leon Salim, Anwar, Sofyan (from Mr. M.
Yamin, Betawi), and Marzuki Yatim from the Muhammadiyah
group.
What was the purpose of the demonstration?
The purpose of the demonstration was:
a)	To urge the Dutch Government to surrender authority
to the People of Indonesia and recognize the Red-White In-
donesian flag. Thus the Indonesian People would be the
ones who would negotiate with Japan—if the Japanese
landed—concerning the status of the government that
would then be in the hands of the Indonesian People; who
would then not be handed over to Japan as mere articles
on the inventory.
b)	To stand guard so that the safety of the people's lives
and possessions were protected during this critical transi-
tional period. So that there should be no "scorched
earth," no plunder (taking advantage of the shortages),
that there should be no killing as a result of three and a
half centuries of colonization (through the people eliminat-
ing the Dutch colonial officials), that there should be no
vengeful acts of enmity in these very critical times. In
this way, the Indonesian People would completely change
course in order to confront the political problems and
avoid being influenced by impossible sentiments.
Who was in charge of the Central Committee?
No member was actually appointed. The two of us, Chatib
Sulaiman and I, knew and decided everything.
Did no one else help?
Our assistant was Sdr. M. Jusuf from Cunung. [This an-
swer had another intention; we heard news that Jusuf was
a traitor. Because of that we said this traitor was our
assistant, hoping that we could thus find out whether or
not the man had been arrested.]
Where did you sleep last night?
At Adam B.B.'s, in the back.
We looked for you there very early this morning, but
Adam told us that you weren't there.
Perhaps he didn't know we were there. We only got back
from Batu Sangkar at three in the morning, and I went28
straight away to his school house to look for a place to
sleep.
Demang:	Which negeri [extended village] were joining in the
demonstrations?
L.S.	All the negeri of Batipuh and Sepuluh Koto.
Police Commissioner: Do you believe that if the demonstration had
been held, all would have been secure?
L.S.	Indeed I do, and we can guarantee that.
A.R.	What did you mean by the contents of this letter you wrote
your wife? [drawing out a sheet of paper that had been
written on in red pencil, which was a letter Sdr. Leon
Salim had written to his wife.8 The contents of that letter
are as follows]:
Padang Panjang, 8/9 March 1942.
Adinda (dear)
This little letter rather than your husband will reach you
and the family; should events prevent your husband from
meeting you.
We must devote our life to the struggle. That struggle
demands sacrifice, including spiritual sacrifice. Rather
than live to be disgraced by fate and the situation of our
people, it is better to die and reach the other side of the
grave.
Adinda
We are struggling to raise our people so that they are ac-
cepted as human beings, our people now are not acknowl-
edged by others as belonging to the human family. For
that we are struggling.
In this situation, should your husband encounter danger
so that you do not see him again, then see him with your
spirit, not with your body just your spirit.
In the next world, in paradise we will meet again.
Should anything befall your husband, continue our
struggle. Educate each child who is born to the Indone-
sian people, so that he himself, and his people become,
"human."
Do not weep.
Weep only to see the people who are not recognized as a
people, who are not acknowledged as human.
8. Leon Salim married Zainab Abbas in March 1941.29
Once more, until we reach the place of safety.
To Allah we surrender ourselves.
Salam and maaf from your husband. Leon Salim
Remember: Pass this on to all our family. Les.
L.S.	I meant to give my wife and family instructions so that
should anything bad happen, they would accept it pa-
tiently. Also to express the conviction that, should I die,
they must continue to carry on my struggle.
A.R. Then you had decided you were going to die?
L.S.	For certain, no. But if you were to play the fool with
your rifle—though I'm sure you would never do anything
so stupid—I and my friends would certainly be in danger;
the same if you arrested us. So, if I were to die or fall
into danger, then "if and if" this was the advice and in-
structions that my wife and family needed to have.
So went the question and answer exchange between the leaders of the
Dutch Indies administration in Padang Panjang and Sdr. Leon Salim.
In addition the Police Commissioner asked many other questions con-
cerning friends, the contents of pamphlets, and security for prepar-
ing and staging the demonstrations that did not in fact take place.
Throughout the interrogation, the Assistant Resident appeared
very nervous. He would get up for a moment and talk on the tele-
phone, then he would sit down again, then get up again and go to
the next room.
After the interrogation was over, these Dutch-Indies govern-
ment officials had a "closed session," that certainly concerned what
they were to do with us. At a time like that, a time when the coun-
try was under martial law and everything had to accord with what
was called a "state of war" [staot van oorlog], every action had to be
taken speedily. Outside the office we heard the droning of a car,
and various police officials rushing to and fro.
Padang Panjang, Left for a While
Not long afterwards, we were brusquely ordered to leave the
crowded room and gather together to follow some armed police agents
(veld-politie). When we got outside the office, with glares and rough
voices, they ordered us to get into a coup6 that was standing ready
for us. Seeing the car was a Bukittinggi police coup6, we knew that
we were being taken to Bukittinggi. The five of us, that is, myself
(Leon Salim), Sdr. Ch. Sulaiman, M. H. St. Rajo Bujang, Murad
Saad, and Chaidir Gazali, got into the car. Even though none of us
was armed (neither with fire arms nor even with sharp weapons such
as a knife), the group of soldiers guarding us seemed to be armed
from head to foot.30
At about 2:00 that afternoon we arrived in Bukittinggi, and
were taken directly to the police camp there. We were ordered to
stand in a line, and between us stood policemen. There we saw six
or more of our friends from Balingka. But as we entered, they were
taken away. Among those friends we saw Sdr. Maruhun.9 This sur-
prised us, and they too looked amazed. But we were not given the
opportunity to question one another.
Not long afterwards, Sdr. Dt. Mandah Kayo from Padang
Panjang was also brought in by several more police. He was made to
join our group, and with him we were now six.
That night we slept in the camp where we were being held
under very close guard. Our food was brought to us, and when we
wanted to go to the W.C., someone accompanied us. We were given
the freedom to choose our own place to sleep, either we could sleep
sitting on the floor or could use one of the rattan chairs in the room.
It was a billiard room, big and spacious, where we spent the
night. We were not allowed to talk together, and were kept far apart
from each other.
9. Sdr. Maruhun and these other five men belonged to a committee
formed in Bukittinggi to stage parallel demonstrations. St. Maruhun
was a former Communist who had spent some years exiled in Digul.
The other members of the Bukittinggi committee, Bukhari Taman, A.
Malik Salik, A. Malik Muhammad Dt. Nan Bareno; Jarjis Dt.
Palembang, and Hasan Jamil Dt. Malakewi, had all been members of
the Permi (Persatuan Muslimin Indonesia), the nationalist-religious
party of the early 1930s.FRIDAY, MARCH 13, 1942
The next morning, before becoming conscious of our situation
we saw clouds of thick smoke billowing into the air on the north side
of Bukittinggi. We later learned that the smoke came from oil re-
serves being burned by Dutch soldiers. Some time earlier these oil
reserves had been collected in the horse-racing stadium of Bukit
Ambacang. From this, we knew that the position of the Dutch Indies
army in the Minangkabau was really being threatened, so that the
"scorched-earth" policy was being hurriedly put into operation.
Aware of this, then, all kinds of thoughts crowded into our
minds. Some of us speculated that we would quickly be taken to
Padang to face a Dutch military court there; others believed that we
would be taken immediately to Medan to confront Governor Spits; and
it was possible we would be taken outside the town, where a volley of
bullets would terminate our lives. . . .
But among these many speculations, the first struck us as the
most likely, because if we were to be taken to Governor Spits, our
preliminary interrogations would certainly have been longer than those
the previous afternoon in Padang Panjang. And if, for example, we
were* to be quickly sentenced to be shot this would certainly have
been carried out earlier whether or not the verdict had been reached
illegally, because in the current situation, everything was possible.
We calmly awaited whatever would happen to us. . . .
About two in the afternoon of March 13, 1942, after we had
been given lunch, two motor vehicles entered the camp's yard, one a
sedan and one a bus. Two Dutch army officers sat in the sedan;
perhaps one of them was a captain, for his rank insignia consisted of
three stars. Apart from these signs of rank, the Dutch officer's col-
lar bore a military emblem in the form of a "three-pronged fork," the
emblem usually used by the Mar6chauss6e (marsose) army,10 that is,
10. The Korps Mar6chauss6e was established in April 1890 in Aceh
Besar as an armed police force of Indonesians officered by Europeans.
Its success led it to be expanded and used elsewhere in Aceh and in
Java. (See Anthony Reid, The Contest for North Sumatra (Kuala
Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 253.) On January 1,
1940, there were sixty "brigades" (each numbering twenty men) of
Mar6chauss6e in Aceh, and over the following two years they were
deployed to other parts of Sumatra. On the Mar6chauss6e brigades
and their disposition in 1940-1942, see Hoogenband 6 Schotborgh
Nederlands-lndie Contra Japan, vol. 6, pp. 115-23. Most soldiers in
3132
the Dutch expeditionary army sent to subdue the people and region of
Aceh, in their prolonged colonial war. And the army that used this
"fork mark" was also the one that the Dutch Indies government used
to suppress the earlier popular uprising in the Minangkabau in 1926-
27.
Behind this sedan was a bus full of Dutch Indies soldiers of In-
donesian race, also wearing the same emblem as the Dutch officers.
The Minangkabau people in particular, the Indonesian people in gen-
eral, all know the history of the cruelties carried out by the
"marsose" soldiers, that is, the cruel acts they performed in accor-
dance with the level of the reward they received.
And the soldiers confronting us that day were fully armed.
Some of them had light machine guns, but most had carbines/rifles
tipped with bayonets.
Our fate was to be entrusted to them, and presumably in the
hands of these men our stories would be ended, because the faces
now before us were apparently ones that had never smiled gently on
the Indonesian people, above all on any stamped as "agitators," as
were we six.
This meant that it was here that we would have to say "Indone-
sia, we are leaving for ever"; the phrase "Padang Panjang left for a
while" had now disappeared completely from our minds.
Soon we were brusquely ordered to get on the large truck as
quickly as possible. We weren't given a chance to discuss anything.
They were suspicious of our slightest movement, and scolded us at
once. Nor were we allowed to look to left or right.
Two of us were taken away first. After these two had disap-
peared completely from sight, we heard four rifle shots. We thought
it certain that the two had been killed. . . . While we were still wait-
ing apprehensively they both suddenly reappeared, and the earlier
rifle shots had only been a "bluff" carried out merely to scare us.
When they heard those rifle shots, these friends too thought that we
four had become corpses. . . . And now, there were still the six of
us.
We were pushed into the truck. To our left and right we were
guarded by a soldier, a marsose.
After we each took our place, and were sitting like statues, the
belongings that we had put into safekeeping in the camp during the
night were thrown contemptuously up to us. The soldiers' mockery
made it clear that our belongings would no longer be useful to us.
the Korps were from Ambon, Menado, and Java. In this particular
group, there was one sergeant from Sumatra, a Batak, and the re-
mainder were from these three regions. Throughout the memoir Leon
Salim refers to them as "marsose."33
. . . Then very roughly, they tugged our hands forward to make a
thumbprint on a piece of paper as a sign that our possessions had
been returned to us. These consisted of pencils, several pieces of
paper, matches, and a little money.
One of the soldiers, a Dutchman, whom we later knew as Lt.
Haremaker, came up to us, holding a piece of paper on which our
names were written. Then we were called one by one. But as he
held the paper and called out our names, it was very clear that he
was shaking like someone who was very cold. Not only was his body
shivering, but his hand was also trembling, so much so that it looked
as if the paper he was holding would fall from his grasp. We didn't
know why he trembled like someone full of fear. Was he afraid of the
Japanese army that would soon replace the power of his people? Or
had he received some unusual order concerning us? . . . Who knows.
The truck carrying us then started off in the direction of
Medan. We were seated in the middle, with marsose soldiers to our
left and right. Thus we had no opportunity to give a final glance to
the friends we were leaving behind.
On the truck, as we set out on our journey to an unknown
destination, we could only look ahead and examine each other's faces.
If our eyes met, the encounter was tied to a smile on our lips.
Thanks to the steadfast purity of our thoughts, strengthened
by the bonds with the hearts of all the people for whose rights and
position we were struggling, not one of us was apprehensive.
Our minds were filled with problems and questions to which we
ourselves could give no definite answer, concerning both our own
fate, and also the events that would strike our people who at that
time were in the midst of a revolutionary upheaval.
But, despite these preoccupations, not one amongst us dis-
played a gloomy countenance.
The truck carrying us passed along a winding road, with thick
jungle to the left and right and an occasional ravine and gorge.
Observing the countryside on either side we wondered to our-
selves: Where are these Dutch soldiers going to kill us? In which
jungle will our corpses be thrown? Which piece of earth will "de-
mand" our bodies. . . ? And what is going to happen to us?
Probably our desire to know the answer to these questions made
other feelings of fear vanish from our minds. Such fears disappeared
completely; they were peeled away as we left the town of Bukittinggi.
We were firmly convinced that:
1.	We were about to meet our predestined end;
2.	Thousands of our people, men and women, whether they
hated or loved our struggle, would be left peacefully in their re-
gions;34
3. We knew that our struggle was a sacred struggle, with an
honest and straightforward aim blessed by God. We viewed the
struggle as our duty, and for it we were willing to be sacrificed.
At one very quiet part of the road, our car stopped. We were
all ordered to get down and line up at the side of the road, with
several marsose guarding us.
Lt. Haremaker gave instructions to several of his men, but be-
cause they were quite a distance away, we could not hear the order.
From his expression and that of his subordinates we got the impres-
sion that they were harsh orders he was giving them. And certainly
they must concern us?
After exchanging a few words with his subordinate, the lieuten-
ant seemed very fed up, and ordered us to get on the truck again.
The journey continued.
Our pulse quieted down, not in that desolate place would our
bodies sprawl. . . .
Under the roar of the motor, we could begin to hear the sound
of our hearts’ singing, touching sounds, sounds of joy and cheerful
laughter. . . .
Behind us appeared several other large vehicles filled with
marsose, following our truck. We were now then, the leader of a
column, a military convoy.
During the Journey
Our driver was called Mansoer, and he came from around
Payakumbuh. He knew who we were before we knew his name and
birthplace. Apparently he wanted very much to talk with us, also to
console us and give us whatever help he could. But he never had
the opportunity to say even a single word to us, because this was
strictly forbidden. In order to express his feelings, he used his
assistant in the car as his channel of communication. If he spoke
harshly to this assistant, it meant that his statement was addressed
to us. He apparently had the sole intention—possibly one that could
endanger his own life—of helping us.	He reflected this with the
words to Si Manan, his assistant: ’’Just be patient for a while, a lot
can happen on his journey of ours."
After that the car no longer behaved normally. From time to
time the motor seemed to collide deliberately with an iron post, with
the stone walls of a bridge, and so on. Sometimes the car accel-
erated suddenly and sometimes it went very slowly. Also occasionally
it ran over the edge of the road. But it never broke down and in a
short time the journey resumed again.
We were amused as we watched Mansoer's tricks but the same
was not true of the marsose guarding us. They appeared very wor-
ried and kept grumbling, particularly Sgt. Johan, an Indonesian35
Batak who headed the unit. But Mansoer took no notice whatsoever
of their complaints.
In quiet isolated places, such as in the midst of the deep
jungle, Mansoer would often stop the car with the excuse of adding
water and so forth. This apparently alarmed Sgt. Johan and his
comrades, particularly when Mansoer would sometimes remark that
there would many of "the small ones" (i.e. the Japanese) in this
place, and make other similar comments.
Mansoer's antics were so amusing that we occasionally burst out
laughing.
At one turning, Air Kijang, there was a mishap. Our car ran
into a truck that had nearly stopped on the curve of the road.
Mansoer was about to go on when a shout came from behind that
there had been an accident. The car stopped and we looked back,
and then heard someone groaning, a sound that touched our hearts.
We were able to make out "Aduh, aduh Tuhan . . . Astaghfirullah
. . . yes, God have pity on me. . . ." and so on.
One of our marsose guards, a Javanese, had been seriously
hurt. The accident had crushed his left hand. When his shirt was
unbuttoned, it was clear that there were two wounds in his left arm.
. . . His sweat was pouring like rain because of the pain. ... We
couldn't bear to look at him in this state, particularly when we heard
the groans that accompanied his words. We gave whatever assistance
we could.
His left hand was then bandaged between two pieces of wood.
The splints had to be fastened at either end so that they did not
move and become unsteady. After that we slowly continued the jour-
ney.
A short time later we arrived at Bonjol. There we first went to
the doctor's house. But unfortunately he was in Talu. We went on
to Lubuk Sikaping, and there surrendered the invalid to a nurse.
Later the unfortunate man had to be sent to Bukittinggi for further
treatment.
A local driver was to take the invalid back to Bukittinggi, and
Mansoer also gave him the message that the six prisoners taken by
the Dutch (that is, the six of us) were now on their way north.
From then on, the atmosphere of the journey relaxed a bit.
Several marsose began to be more friendly towards us.
"The Malays Can Just Fast. . . "
In Lubuk Sikaping, the marsose had their afternoon meal. But
we received nothing. Our empty stomachs forced us to ask for food
too. We made this request to the local Controleur, while the marsose
were eating. But the Dutch official arrogantly answered: "You can
just fast; Malays can always fast."36
Hearing the Controleur's words, one of the marsose said:
"Their guilt is still in doubt, and already they are subjected to such
treatment. ... If we were on the battlefield I'd send a bullet into
the head of that braggart." This remark certainly relieved our hun-
ger pangs; for we became aware that some of the marsose were now
siding with us. After the marsose finished their meal we resumed the
journey. They with full stomachs and we with empty ones, but with
light hearts. The guard kept on us was no longer as strict as be-
fore. We were now beginning to be given sufficient "room" to ob-
serve the situation around us as we went along. In talking about us
among themselves we heard them say: "These men we are guarding
are all sontri {kiyai) [religious leaders]. Because of that be careful.
Today is the 13th and also Friday. There are many spirits and
devils around. ..." We were amused at their conversation.
At about 8:00 that night we arrived at Hutanopan. Here we
were given the opportunity to eat at a rice stall. The six of us sat
around a table and ate greedily because we were very hungry. While
we ate, we were guarded by a group of marsose with drawn swords.
They stood around our dining table. Seeing this extraordinary per-
formance, and the fact that no one was picking up the bill, crowds of
people gathered around, gazing at us in astonishment.
When we finished the meal, we were ordered to pay for the food
we had eaten. This was a surprise to us. But as one of us had
some money, without bothering to protest, we paid straight away. As
far as we knew this was the first occasion on which prisoners had
themselves to pay for the cost of the food they ate while they were in
custody. It's always the Dutch army that has lost power and mind.
. . . This incident made each of us ask himself whether as long as
we were in custody we ourselves would have to pay for our food.
And whether we would also have to pay for the cost of the journey
later? Or whether the Dutch government now in process of disinte-
gration would reimburse us for the bills we had paid. Where and
when should we be repaid for our losses?
11 There Will Be No Prayer. ..."
Before leaving Hutanopan, we explained to the sergeant guard-
ing us that we wanted a moment to perform our prayers, because on
this endless journey we would certainly not have a chance to pray
later. But we got the brusque response: "There will be no prayer,
now we must leave." And we were ordered to get on the truck again
immediately.
The journey resumed. The column of Dutch army vehicles
roared through the quiet of the night, bearing the military forces
who had lost all their enthusiasm and fighting spirit. Through that
black night the long convoy crawled forward, [with the soldiers]
peering forward apparently to discern the enemy's approach, but in
reality to seek a place protected from assaults from those Japanese,37
who, according to the news that was passing from mouth to mouth
among the Dutch soldiers, had begun landing at several points along
the Sumatra coast, and were advancing rapidly to the posts on that
island that were still defended by the Allied army.11 We longed to
know what was happening around us at the time, particularly news of
the war. But we got no answer whatsoever to any of our questions
and we heard nothing other than the roar of the truck's engines.
Ten Minutes in a Celi at Sidempuan
About three o'clock in the early morning of March 14, 1942, we
reached Padang Sidempuan. We were directly handed over to the
town's Police Commissioner. He put us in a cell at the local police
station. As three of us were assigned to each cell, we occupied two
cells. As soon as the door was locked from the outside, we stretched
out on the floor because we were so exhausted. Relieved to have a
chance to rest, and despite the stone floor we happily collapsed with-
out even taking off our shoes first. Questions and new speculations
again filled our minds, including: Will we just be left here in Padang
Sidempuan until the Japanese troops enter the town? Possibly we
were only considered dangerous in the Minangkabau region, so our
future destiny might be surrendered to the local notables here?
As we mused over these problems, we were only shut in this
cell for about ten minutes before the door again opened and several
marsose appeared there. They ordered us to accompany them immedi-
ately.
They seemed to be in a great hurry. A car was already wait-
ing in front of the police station and we were ordered to get in. We
were then taken to the yard of the local Dutch Assistant Resident's
house.
Scores of other vehicles were already waiting there. We saw an
officer busy giving orders and instructions to his subordinates. But
the officer was clearly in a panic, as he showed both by his actions
and by the way he was barking out his orders.
According to what we heard, they had recently received news
from Sibolga that the Japanese army had landed there and was imme-
diately advancing in other directions.
Thus, Padang Sidempuan had to be evacuated quickly.
The news passing from mouth to mouth made the marsose be-
come panicky and confused, even more so after they got the official
information from their commander.
11. This was true. The previous day, March 12, large Japanese
forces had landed in several places on Sumatra's northeast coast, in-
cluding Tanjung Tiram south of Medan, and must by this time have
reached Prapat to the east of Lake Toba.38
Soon afterwards, the car carrying the unit commander started
down the road. Our car followed behind and finally, one by one, the
stream of other vehicles moved out.
We experienced unusual emotions during the journey through
that dark night. These were accentuated by the fact that the cars'
headlights had to be very dim and use of the horn was forbidden.
Smoking in the car was also not allowed, for fear the glow would be
seen by a Japanese army plane that could at any time be carrying out
a spying mission above. The headlights of the vehicles lit only a
very small section of the road we were traveling along, as nearly all
of them had been covered so that only a finger of light penetrated,
and even that was shaded.
In the car the atmosphere had changed considerably. We no
longer heard grumbling and chatting; everyone was now quiet, busy
with his own thoughts and emotions.
Death overshadowed everyone; it threatened us and it threat-
ened the Dutch soldiers who were now acting to save themselves.
The people around us were scared to death, people who didn't want
to be separated from their wives and children, but people who were
willing to separate us from our wives and children.
We smiled as we thought about this. And we were the only
people able to smile in that situation. The others were all deathly
pale and seemed to have lost their spirit.
Our car was now proceeding toward Sipirok. In front of us
was the sedan carrying the unit commander, and behind us stretched
an apparently endless line of vehicles.
In the darkness of the very early morning we set off. . . .
What lay ahead and also what would the armed forces now in full re-
treat encounter. . . ?SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1942
Danger from in Front and Behind
Our emotions were now extraordinary. We scarcely felt the
moist cool air of the early morning. The men around us were all
dumb. We no longer heard the grumbling and chatting of yesterday,
as if all of them had been transformed into statues and puppets.
At this moment, one of the marsose suddenly half whispered to
us: "Be very careful if we later run into the Japanese. If you are
not hit by a shot from a Japanese soldier's rifle, then you will be
killed from behind by a Dutch soldier's bullet. ..."
The marsose's whisper revealed to us the Dutch army leaders'
underhand plans to destroy us, as well as reminding us to be on our
guard against the danger of such tactics. In our hearts, we mut-
tered thanks to the man who told us the secret.
Apart from that reminder, the marsose gave us a further mes-
sage: if fighting should break out with the Japanese army later, then
we must always stand beside the marsose so that they could protect
us, from shots coming from both in front, and from behind. We wel-
comed the honest and friendly warning, thankful that at a moment
when death threatened from front and back and from left and right,
we still had people willing to protect us. So we now knew that we
were guarded by our friends. But because we also knew we were in
danger, despite the protection, we used our eyes continuously to take
note of what was happening around us, as we now had the freedom to
do so.
Sdr. Mansoer was still driving our car. In the current situa-
tion, he was behaving the same as on the previous day. His words
always scared the Dutch soldiers in the car. More frequently now he
brought up the words, "the short ones," "Nippon," "Japanese," and
so on, even when only to himself. This increased the grumbling of
the marsose commander, and he often rebuked Mansoer. But the
driver took no notice, and just closed his ears.
We passed through Sipirok without even stopping. Our car
went straight up to climb a pass. Even though we were not special-
ists and were not skilled at driving a car, we knew from the way
Mansoer was driving that he had a hidden objective. When the gears
didn't need to be changed, Mansoer changed them, and vice versa.
As a result the engine often hesitated. This happened several times
until the car would not move any more, its motor dead. In an angry
voice, Mansoer demanded whether Si Manan, his assistant, had
3940
forgotten to fill the tank. The assistant responded that the tank had
been filled until it overflowed. Hearing the words, "until it over-
flowed," Mansoer became "very angry" because with this overflow,
certainly the engine had been harmed and because of that the car was
now scrap metal.
Our car was on strike and did not want to go any further.
The marsose commander was angry at Mansoer because the car, that
was still quite new and had been paid for with government money,
had after only a short journey been wrecked by Mansoer. Mansoer
seemed unconcerned by the commander's anger, replying that the
breakdown was not his problem; it was the problem of the car itself,
and he had only been driving and carrying out the journey.
Mansoer had now achieved his aim, and had accomplished what
he had been planning from the beginning, namely, to slow the car's
progress until we could no longer continue. Now with our car broken
down our journey could not proceed.
Tarutung was not far from there. We were transferred to one
of the cars behind to take us there. The soldiers riding in it were
ordered to get down and wait to be collected by another car that
would arrive from Tarutung.
Danger from the Air at Tarutung
We reached Tarutung at midday on March 14, 1942. We were
given the opportunity to eat and drink at a warung [food stall]
there, owned by a Minangkabau, and to buy supplies to eat later on
our journey. After paying for our food, we straight away returned
to the car to wait for the journey to be resumed.
Now we became a popular "spectacle." People swarmed around
our car, looking at us, faces full of questions to which they could
get no answer. As we sat in the center of that swarm, the owner of
the warung where we had eaten earlier approached us, pushing aside
the crowds of people. He returned the money we had paid for our
food, because now he knew that we were Dutch prisoners. To hide
his intention of returning the money, he explained that we had paid
more than we should and he had to give us our change. After the
money was in our hands, it was clear that he hadn't taken a cent,
but had returned it all to us. We had no chance to thank him as he
had already disappeared.
While we were at a climax as a spectacle, we suddenly heard
the wail of the air raid siren. ... At that moment too the "audi-
ence" dissolved and scattered rapidly to search for a place to shelter.
Everything now became noisy and busy. People rushed here and
there, searching for a protective hole. The Dutch soldiers scattered
from their cars, from the warung, and from the coffee shops, all
rushing for shelter towards the holes dug along the edges of the
road.41
Ordered to take shelter we got down quietly from the car, and
made our way to a banana field close by, where there were also some
shelters.
Shortly afterwards, the droning of several aircraft of the
Dutchmen's "enemies" could be heard above. The only discernible
sound was the rumbling from above; from below came no noise of
gunfire, even though in that town thousands of armed troops were
nesting.
About half an hour later, the siren sounded again to signal the
"all clear." We returned to the car as calmly as we had left it. How
obedient we were in that situation. The soldiers who had hidden in
the protective holes then each started to come out. From their ex-
pressions it was very clear how scared they had been in facing and
being faced with "the sign of danger from the air." What would have
happened if they had really been faced with fighting an enemy in that
confusion? They had no spirit left.
Panic in the Ranks of the Dutch Army
After the "all clear" sounded, we witnessed great panic among
the Dutch soldiers. The appearance of a Japanese aircraft in the sky
over Tarutung was a sign to them that before long they would have
to confront the forces of the "Rising Sun."
No longer were they merely nervous and uncertain but they
were obviously terrified. Members of the "volunteer" force, made up
of Dutchmen who had been trained and educated as militia, were even
more panicky. They huddled in small groups, whispering and mut-
tering anxiously. Their expressions showed clearly that they felt
they faced a death sentence that could not be appealed. And how
different their attitude was from ours when we were being prepared
by their officers to be victims of their bullets.
Lt. Haremaker, who led the unit, was acting like a man who
had lost his mind. Consciously or unconsciously from his own mouth
we heard that the Japanese troops were carrying out a forced march
about 22 1/2 km. from Tarutung. This fact intensified his soldiers'
fears. The lieutenant rushed aimlessly to and fro like a man chased
by the devil. Sometimes he would halt by one of his subordinate of-
ficers and confer with him, then he would hurry away.
Most of the Indonesian soldiers sat calmly but silently. Thanks
to the color of their skin, which was dark brown, no one could see
how fast their hearts were beating.
The cars had long been ready to continue the journey. But
Haremaker had not yet given the order to depart. We waited ner-
vously. . . .
Finally at about 1:00 p.m. we were ordered to leave.42
Explosives on the Truck . . .
Before starting out we were told to change vehicles. The one
now assigned to us was the kind usually used to transport supplies
—there was no roof. In Minangkabau, cars of this kind are usually
called "trash trucks," that is, trucks used to carry trash for several
town councils in West Sumatra.
The marsose sergeant heading our guard protested to Lt.
Haremaker about this switch. The officer responded to his protest
with a glare, but the sergeant persisted. As a result he was re-
placed by another man, and we were forced to get on the truck.
Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman also voiced our own objections to riding
on such a truck. Haremaker answered this protest with "Bah, that
place is good enough for you."
We were forced to get on. Inside were some sacks of letters,
possibly mail for the army. Apart from them there were also several
other barrels and chests, and all sorts of ropes and tools as well.
We were now guarded by eight marsose. Together with them
we sat down wherever we could. The best seats were the barrels
and cases, and they appeared to be deliberately arranged as places to
sit on.
It was only later that we learned that these barrels and cases
were full of explosives such as ammunition, dynamite, grenades, and
so on. We now know that we were placed on a "death car" that was
eventually intended to explode and be blown up. Perhaps we were
being made a target for the Japanese air raids they were so fright-
ened of. Traveling on a roofless truck, we were certainly clearly
visible from above, particularly as some of us were civilians, not
wearing uniforms like all the Dutch soldiers.
The marsose accompanying us looked at us wistfully and pos-
sibly affectionately. But we continued to smile, even though we now
knew the extent of the danger threatening us. If yesterday we were
trapped from in front and from behind, now the snare was from above
and below. Wasn't it possible that the explosives would go off by
themselves through the heat of the car's engine or through our own
mistake in throwing a cigarette butt or a match away, for example?
We became even more cautious.
With the heat of the sun's rays beating down on us, and inhal-
ing the dust rising from the truck in front, we continued on our
way. . . . Thanks to the quantities of dust floating through the air
our black peci soon became completely white. We were not alone—our
marsose guards were in the same situation. The only difference be-
tween us and them now was the different design of the clothes we
were wearing. Our emotions and our hearts had become one, and we
were one in our sorrow.43
Only the Packaging Is Different. . . .
The two groups of us riding on the truck now formed a single
community, one that the Dutch army was preparing as bait for an air
attack, and possibly also as a sacrifice from the bad luck that had
dogged our journey. If there was to be a tremendous explosion in
the Dutch army convoy, that explosion would be our truck. Such an
explosion could scatter the bodies of as many as sixteen human beings
(fourteen plus the chauffeur and his assistant) like fragments of por-
celain, fine powder that could not be brought together again. But
we, the six prisoners, who from the beginning knew we were being
prepared as targets for bullets, were not too "impressed" with these
new possibilities. For us they were only one way by which natural
forces could speedily destroy and dissolve our bodies, relieving those
we would leave behind of much of their burden. If our bodies were
already shattered, as if chopped by a knife, through that appalling
explosion, would it not then be unnecessary for others to bury our
bodies. . . ? And furthermore, we would then have died without
leaving behind a corpse or any other remains whatsoever.
We smiled at the thought.
But what of our captors? The eight marsose didn't say a word.
Only coughs and clearing of throats from the dust shattered the si-
lence. They were all busy enough with their own thoughts. At that
moment perhaps their memories wandered to their wives and children
and the other close relatives they had left behind, who in a moment
they might leave forever.
Suffice it to say that it was useless for them to be too sad and
to bewail their fate; we showed them by a gesture that the only dif-
ference between us now was the packaging of our bodies, everything
else was the same. They understood our gesture and a smile on their
lips reflected this.
"Do you know," said one of them in a voice loud enough for us
to hear above the noise of the car's engine, "In battle, these weapons
are completely useless," indicating the machine gun he was carrying.
"If we see the Japanese army, then we will pull this out and
wrap it up in this," he continued, showing the civilian clothes under
his uniform.
"Our fate is now the same, and what separates us is only our
uniform," said another.
We smiled hearing these words. In our hearts we ridiculed the
big-shots of the Dutch government and the Dutch Indies, because
what they imposed in time of peace they could not make stick at the
moment of stress when it needed to be implemented.44
Dust, Rain, and Night Wind
We continued to struggle with the dust. It could not defeat
us, nor could we overcome it. To protect ourselves, we covered our
noses and mouths with our own handkerchiefs and small towels.
In an effort to ease their consciences the soldiers made occa-
sional remarks, but we sometimes could only acknowledge these with a
nod or occasionally a smile. But this meant more than conversation,
for our mouths were unable to speak.
The stifling heat and the swirling dust finally abated, then dis-
appeared, and they were succeeded by drizzling rain. Apart from
breaking through the Japanese army's siege, the truck in which we
were riding now seemed to be "chasing" the rain so that we could
more quickly become soaked. The downpour was perhaps a piece of
luck for the retreating army, because it meant there was less chance
for them to be taken by surprise and attacked by their enemy's
army. But for us on the truck it meant increasing misery. As had
been the case with the dust on the main road, the rain could now
drench us as it wished, it didn't care that we got soaking wet. We
had to battle the rain, a battle for which we had no weapons to de-
fend ourselves. The farther we went the more our marsose guards
grumbled and groused, and the harder it rained. They were fortu-
nate compared with us, because they had real caps to protect their
heads from the downpour. Every grumble and grouse from them we
greeted with a smile. And our constant smiles gradually relieved
their irritation.
In the driving rain, we arrived at Siborong-borong. We had
passed the point so feared by the Dutch. They began to breathe a
bit more easily, because we had been able to reach Siborong-borong
and we had not been attacked by the Japanese army on the way. We
stopped here a while to wait for further orders. On Haremaker's face
there were signs that he was happier, and there was a faint smile on
his lips.
Not long afterwards the order came to resume the journey and
the long convoy began to move forward.
We were	now all	soaking wet from the rain.	The one	way for
us	not to	get	too cold	as a result, was to huddle	close to	one an-
other. The rain was still pouring down. And the farther we went
the colder	the	air felt,	for we were now in the midst	of hilly	country.
Our	car	crawled	along, gradually cutting the	distance	we still
had to travel along that long main road. There were a few funny in-
cidents. Some of us thought it more important to save our pecis than
protect our heads from the driving rain and the stifling heat that had
preceded it.
At about five in the evening we stopped at a place where the
air was very cool. They said it was called Simpang Tele. Our car
stopped in front of a small resthouse, built high among the hills.45
The night breezes had arrived, further chilling our bodies that
were already almost stiff with the cold. Far below us stretched the
beautiful Lake Toba. Seeing it, we now knew that we were on the
left [i.e. west] side of the lake. The rain had eased and the sky
was clearing again, but the darkness of night was already falling.
We were surprised that thus far not one of us had caught a
fever, not only fever caused by influenza, but even from the common
cold; while the soldiers guarding us had all fallen sick. They
coughed, sneezed, shivered from the cold, swore, grumbled and so
on. We stayed calm. They were surprised and astonished at our
attitude.
We were very grateful and thankful to Cod that thus far we
had been protected and saved from the many dangers and disasters
along the way. It appeared that God had made us a present of "im-
munity" from all kinds of ills, even though we had no previous train-
ing in how to protect ourselves from such disasters.
Not long after our truck halted there, several other cars joined
us, filled with Dutch soldiers. These were not the same troops who
had accompanied us on our journey from Tarutung, for they had long
ago come to a stop behind our truck.
The soldiers who had just arrived were said to be fleeing from
Prapat and other places around Lake Toba. From this, we realized
that the Dutch army in Sumatra was already surrounded on all sides
and was only awaiting the right moment to bow in unconditional sur-
render. The new arrivals quickly joined up with the military forces
escorting us.
As time passed our soaking shirts and clothes began to dry,
thanks to the heat emanating from our bodies in the cool and humid
air.
As we awaited the order to set off again, several Dutch soldiers
quietly began to prepare their evening meal. Seeing them so occu-
pied, we wondered whether we would again have to fast as had been
the case yesterday, for there was no sign that anything was being
prepared for us.
Sgt. Matiari, one of our marsose guards, who during the jour-
ney had become one of our friends, told us we shouldn't worry but
should just wait patiently. Hearing that, we were no longer anxious
about our evening meal.
The large group of soldiers included many from the
Minangkabau—men working as chauffeurs for the army's vehicles. At
this stopping place they sat in groups and walked around together,
so it was easy for us to distinguish them from the others. Unfortu-
nately, we were unable to talk with them, and moreover they were
afraid to approach us because the troop commander strictly forbade
this. So we could only hold "conversations" from a distance, in the
form of signs that might or might not have been understood by the
two sides. Through gestures we conveyed to them that if they later46
returned safely to Minangkabau, we hoped that they would please let
our friends know that at least as far as Simpang Tele we were still
breathing.
Here we were given the opportunity to wash ourselves before
prayers and if we liked we could also bathe. But we didn't want to
bathe, as merely in washing our hands we became too cold, because
the water in that place was like ice.
After finishing our prayers, we were put aboard a bus in the
yard of the small resthouse. The cars around our vehicle were full
of all kinds of explosive devices and bullets. Capt. Kappel's chauf-
feur, Sdr. Kimin prepared our food. Because of the degree of cold
and the hunger in our stomachs, we ate very greedily, and very soon
we had consumed all the rice and side dishes Sdr. Kimin had pre-
pared. Now with our stomachs satisfied we could lie back and get
some rest.
The marsose and soldiers around seemed kind and friendly to-
wards us. Many of them gave us their cigarettes. Through their
gifts we became flooded with cigarettes. From left and right they
came—Davros, Mascot, Universal, and many other kinds.
Preparing to Resume Our Journey. . . .
The night was cold and dark, even though we were surrounded
by large numbers of soldiers. All the flames in the hearth where the
food had earlier been cooked were now extinguished so that no longer
was there a single dying ember to send out a light that might be vis-
ible from above. The men could only smoke in places sheltered from
above and not in any open places.
Small bushes and fields of long grass covered the ground
around our resting area, a fitting place for us to be separated from
the busy world. But we still could see no sign that our lives would
soon be cut off. And even if such signs had appeared, we still could
have done nothing but submit ourselves to God who governs all the
world. Now we no longer paid heed to that problem; we used to the
full the opportunity we were given to rest and recover from our ex-
haustion, whatever might be going to happen to us later.
While each of us was wrapped up in his own thoughts we were
approached by one of our marsose guards, nearly all of whom now
saw us as friends and comrades. He whispered to us that the previ-
ous night the Japanese had bombed several villages around Lake
Toba, not far from where we were, and possibly the Japanese army
itself was no longer very far away. He gave us this information in a
whisper only, as if he was passing on a great secret, which only we
were allowed to hear.
The tale of the bombing reminded us of the position we were in
at that time. We were in the midst of piles of war materiel. Around47
us were objects that could easily ignite and explode, things that be-
came both object and subject in a battle.
If the Japanese army attacked the place that night, or bombed
it from the air, then we would become the prime targets, because we
were surrounded by the armaments. Through these tactics, it was as
if the Dutch army had given the enemy army the opportunity of de-
stroying us completely, because they felt they were no longer in a
position to do the deed themselves.
Nevertheless, we weren't greatly concerned. As long as we
had a chance to rest, what happened later was not a problem we
would worry about.
Observing the situation around us, we felt we would be able to
have a good sleep that night. But we were clearly mistaken.
At around midnight, we were awakened. We were ordered to
get back on the same vehicle, that is, the roofless truck, as we were
to resume the journey immediately. Apparently the new orders were
unexpected and we were hastily told to get up and move out. We
obediently followed the order, although unhappily.
Just before the order came, we saw the flash of a torch that lit
up our resting place for a moment. It later became clear that the
flash was a "code signal" transmitting news, and it was the cause of
our leaving the place in the pitch blackness.
We soon heard the roar of motors and car engines starting up,
tens or perhaps hundreds of them, and we moved forward.
Day Approaches. . . .
We left Simpang Tele in the predawn mist. Drizzling rain had
begun to fall. The chill of those hours can only be appreciated by
those who experienced it, above all by us sitting on top of that roof-
less, open truck that had to move fairly rapidly in order to keep up
with the car in front.
The route we were following was also apparently not very good.
We had to keep to a road that was climbing and winding. Nor was it
built up with stone and sand as ordinary roads are. To prevent
skidding, it was just strengthened by small pieces of wood that
criss-crossed in several places. On that "braiding" our truck now
had to crawl and occasionally slide. Under these circumstances, all
of us on the truck were like playthings flung here and there, and
sometimes we were thrown up higher than the height of the seats we
were sitting on. Because of this, the grumbling soon began again,
from our marsose guards, the only sound discernible above the roar
of the engine. We just kept quiet because of the cold and because
we were being bounced around by the motion. The question now
arose whether the explosives among which we were sitting might not
blow up by themselves, thanks to the force with which they were be-
ing bounced and knocked about by the truck? Our only protection48
came from Sdr. Mansoer, our driver, who drove cautiously so that,
sitting on top, we did not fall off the truck, or were not thrown out.
As the drizzle abated, we reached a quiet place and stopped.
There were already military vehicles and a lot of Dutch soldiers
there. We didn't know whether they were stationed there or had just
arrived before us. Seeing our faces they scornfully called us "bad
children" in their own language, which we didn't understand at the
time. We were completely oblivious to their glances and words be-
cause we were so cold.
We didn't stop long, but soon continued the journey.
At about four in the morning, we arrived at a small village with
apparently very few inhabitants. The arrival of the huge Dutch army
convoy, must have startled the local people from their sleep, for after
our car stopped, from one or two of the houses along the. road we
heard people beginning to wake up, coughing and clearing their
throats.
The place was Sidikalang. Some of the soldiers jumped down
from their trucks, and soon you could also hear the commotion as
their boots struck against the asphalt. They roused the local shop-
keepers, not one of whom was brave enough to open the door of his
coffee stall or shop, apparently because they were all terrified. Only
with the assistance of the Controleur and the village Chief of Police
were the coffee shop owners finally persuaded to open their doors.
Most of them were Chinese. On the orders of the military officers
and the village big-shots, the warung owners began to prepare
breakfast for the retreating army.
The morning dew had begun to fall, cooling the air. We were
grumbling about the cold, and our stomachs felt very empty. Now to
alleviate the chill, we on our truck were using the "worm's system,"
that is hugging each other, sleeping and sitting stuck together. Our
eyes had no desire to sleep.
Dawn broke. We were ordered down to have breakfast. We
didn't need to be told twice, as we were already intending to ask for
food.
We were taken to a Chinese coffee stall, and told to breakfast
there. White coffee and rice fritters had been prepared for us. How
great was the pleasure experienced by our tongues in that chilly
morning as we swallowed the white coffee and rice fritters. Perhaps
we seemed too greedy when we were offered the food because we con-
sumed it so lustfully. We had no further opportunity to consider
whether what we were eating was allowed or forbidden, for we knew
that in an emergency situation like the present one, Islam permits
what normally would be proscribed. These Chinese rice fritters were
so delicious that each of us ate enough for two or three people.
What if the fritters were mixed with pork? What could we do. . . ?
After we had eaten the food and paid for it, Lt. Haremaker
came to where we were sitting, accompanied by the Controleur still in49
his pyjamas, and showed us off to him [the controleur]. What was
the purpose of our being displayed in this fashion to a man still half
asleep? Were we now to be handed over? And was our story to end
here in Sidikalang? At the time we were unable to answer these
questions.K
N
i
0	50 Km
1	________________i
Land above 1000m.
Highway
Provincial road
U1
©SUNDAY, MARCH 15, 1942
The sun had risen and Sidikalang was bathed in its rays.
People had begun to gather along the road. Probably they had
gotten up earlier than usual in order to see the large Dutch military
convoy. Several other streets in the place had also "come to life"
and were apparently as busy as usual. Via the marsose we asked if
we could buy a few slices of bread in preparation for the journey
ahead. And before we left we were able to have another drink with
some of those accompanying us on the truck.
About nine o'clock in the morning, we heard the order to re-
sume the journey. Our car started, moved forward, following the
army commander's sedan. But we only advanced a few meters, then
came the order to "stop" which the driver immediately obeyed. A
Dutch officer told us that at any sign of danger from the air, or if a
siren was heard our truck should immediately be parked in a shel-
tered place.
Why should there now have been such an order? What was
going to happen? Were we now actually going to face some great
danger?
One of the Dutch soldiers told us that the forces had been
readied to go towards Kabanjahe. But the place was under too great
a threat of attack.12 Thus he was unclear as to the direction we
would be following.
Meanwhile, the scene was getting busier. Military vehicles,
tanks and armored cars went back and forward, hither and thither,
as if searching for shelter. Several Dutch "volunteers" who were
somewhat older, were distributing cigarettes and cheroots among the
crowd of soldiers. They were apparently very friendly. We also got
our share.
Our vehicle moved forward: placed in "the front line," with the
only vehicles preceding us one sedan and one bus full of marsose.
Behind us followed tens, perhaps hundreds of other vehicles. All
were filled with soldiers and weapons for waging war.
12. In fact, Kabanjahe had been occupied by the Japanese the previ-
ous day.
5152
Attacking the 11 Road of War"
The war road we were now embarking on avoided Kabanjahe—
the place reportedly already too dangerous to enter—and it was nar-
row and slippery, going in and out of the brush. Its bridges were
very crude and had been built only "for the purpose of war." All
these bridges were made entirely of wood. To get over them, our
truck had first to retreat and advance several times, because it was
apparently larger than the cars that had gone over earlier. We told
Mansoer to be more careful in negotiating the road, and he promised
he would. And because of the size of our truck, on the first bridge
he had to "scrape" the parapet, slightly damaging it. The car be-
hind us also couldn't go forward immediately because its load was too
high. Part of the load had to be thrown off first before it could
cross the emergency bridge. The process took rather a long time.
The stuff that was unloaded had just to be left as it was on the side
of the road, and we then continued our journey.
We had to stop repeatedly. The officers and soldiers preceding
us were apparently not willing to continue if the cars behind got too
far separated from us.
The Dutch in front were clearly very suspicious of the soldiers
following behind, suspicious that they would desert, or would not
want to proceed any further. Thus several times they would stop on
the road and wait until the following vehicles came into sight. And
once those cars became visible, they started forward again, and so
on. This meant that we too kept on having to stop. Mansoer again
resumed his "naughtiness." Sometimes our truck would stop much
longer than the officer's car and when he came to a halt, Mansoer
would kill the engine. This evidently made the Dutchmen in front
grumble even more. But Mansoer was completely oblivious.
The road gradually became quieter and narrower as it left the
villages, and the bridges became more numerous. Several of them
were now damaged by our truck crossing them. We urged Mansoer to
be more careful in his driving. Recalling the steepness of several of
the ravines spanned by these simple, small bridges, and remembering
the number of large and heavy vehicles that would be crossing them,
we were doubtful that they would long remain intact. This led us to
tell Mansoer that if we had to die, we didn't want it to be because of
an accident on the journey, but we wanted to die as a result of fac-
ing a genuine death. Hearing our remarks, Mansoer apparently be-
gan to change his "tactics" in driving the car. He now began to be
cautious.
The road we were on was the only route by which the Dutch
soldiers could evacuate and save themselves as they opposed the Jap-
anese forces, of whom there was as yet still no sign. It was the
most dangerous road we had ever traversed. Many of the river
banks were steep, as were the chasms that lay in wait beneath the
road. Each time we overcame a danger that could have felled us, we
congratulated each other, and also the marsose accompanying us.53
Thus, full of trepidation, we traversed the road that had been
cleared and cut through for the "war" needs of the Dutch army. We
had to overcome many small obstacles on the road and, so far, Cod
continued to protect us.
Experiences at Tiga Lingga
Our truck could no longer continue, nor could the vehicle in
front of us. We had now arrived in the middle of a peaceful forest.
Our road was blocked and apparently petered out there. So Lt.
Haremaker issued his orders, and places were prepared for all the
vehicles to park.
We were now in Tiga Lingga, a place in the middle of the
jungle. There was only a single coffee shop here, a warung that had
become a stopover for the various peddlars from around the region.
We were now really exhausted, and were ordered to get off the truck
and wait under a clump of banana trees growing not far from our
stopping place. We followed the order obediently and sluggishly.
The place became more and more crowded as military vehicles
continued to arrive. Because the clearing was small and the road
narrow, most of the big army trucks had to be backed here and there
along the edge of the road, to allow the smaller cars to move for-
ward.
Lt. Haremaker divided his forces in two. One group he or-
dered to prepare to clear a new road. This work was to be done by
the Indonesian soldiers. The others were told to set up camp on a
plateau at one side. This easy light work was to be done by totok
Dutch and Indos.
Under our cluster of banana trees at the edge of the road, we
were guarded by two Dutch soldiers. They were apparently reserv-
ists, who most people called "militia" soldiers. Both were armed with
carbines and drawn bayonets. They looked at us scornfully. Talk-
ing among themselves in their own language they were certainly say-
ing that we were men who had no hope of living and were only await-
ing a few bullets to end our story. Their words echoed only in our
minds as we did not understand them.
When several tents had been set up, we realized that the army
would be resting or spending the night there, even though the sun
had only just begun to slide towards the west, and the heat was still
stifling. As we were in a direct line of the sun’s rays, we asked our
guards if we could move to a more shady place. They agreed, while
threatening to shoot us with their rifles if we dared to run. We
smiled at these threats, because there was no use our running and no
chance of our getting away.
Soon after, it started to rain heavily. The six of us were or-
dered to move under the roof of the one coffee stall in the place and
our guards stood to our left. Inside and behind the stall it was54
crowded with soldiers and marsose most of whom were exclusively
Dutch. They were doing various things then. Some were lying back
and chatting, some were playing cards, and others were drinking tea
and eating bread.
But not the Indonesian soldiers. In the teeming rain they had
to carry out their assigned duties, setting up tents for the comfort of
their masters, the Dutch, and clearing the road to simplify the escape
route for their masters too. They had to withstand and suffer the
heat and rain. How sad was their fate, the fate of our compatriots.
Our guards had changed three times. Each group was assigned
to guard us for just one hour. The third group was made up exclu-
sively of Dutch, totok or Indo. As the guard was changed each
time, they hurled only insults at us, as if this were the behavior of
all that race. They stuck many titles and labels on us. There were
those who called us "the fifth column," "traitors," "people whose sin
could not be forgiven and who did not deserve to live," "people who
wanted to become generals and should just be nailed to the wall of
the warung," and so on. Who knew how many accusations would later
be brought against us by the military court, if we were taken there
and if these men were to act as prosecutors. We were forced to smile
at the thought.
Despite the amount of rain that day, the insults directed
against us made us very thirsty, as if the degree of their derision
increased the dryness of our throats. So we asked our guards for
some drinking water. But our request was answered merely by "just
wait" accompanied by more of the insults mentioned above.
So our throats were feeling parched and bitter and our stom-
achs were very hungry as for a long time they had not been filled,
but all of this we had to bear with patience.
So it went on until night approached. . . .
Plan to Kill Us
The rain had still not abated. It was already five-thirty in the
evening and our guards were now Indonesian marsose—men who had
become our friends in the course of the journey from Bukittinggi.
They had barely taken over their guard duties, when they asked us
if we had eaten. We answered firmly "not yet."
"They're ill behaved," grumbled Pak Haji (one of the marsose)
when he heard our answer. "These Dutch no longer have brains or
humanity. They'd let people die of hunger," he continued, looking
very annoyed. Even if we were to get no rice until the next day,
our stomachs felt satisfied hearing Pak Haji's complaints—complaints
that concealed a clear sympathy for us. But he left at once. Not
long after, he returned carrying several dinner baskets filled with
food and drinking water and gave them to us, inviting us to eat. We55
accepted his gift with joy, and expressed our heartfelt thanks. Per-
haps because we were too hungry, we couldn’t eat much of the rice
and side dishes. It was the water that rapidly disappeared.
After our meal, we went to face Lt. Haremaker to ask where we
would be staying, as night was falling. Before Haremaker assigned
us a place, several of the Dutch militia who had been guarding us
came forward, to propose that they should immediately be given the
duty of guarding us, and they would later be the ones to decide
where we would pass the night. A quarrel arose over this proposal,
because the Indonesian marsose were not willing to release us from
their protection. It was evident to us that their "tempers were ris-
ing," because some of the marsose raised their weapons and grasped
the handles of their swords.
To solve these "problems" Lt. Haremaker let the marsose keep
custody of us, perhaps because their energies were more needed in
battle, than were those of the Dutch who were still very green in the
military world. The Dutch soldiers grumbled when they heard the
lieutenant's decision.
At our request, we spent the night on one of the many buses,
and Pak Haji and his companions agreed to this. We now felt more
secure because we were guarded by men who possibly could guarantee
our safety.
Night fell. The tents on the plateau across from us became
full. There the Dutch soldiers and the marsose passed the night with
their minds full of thousands of images of the fates that could strike
them and their families. And we stretched out on the bus, packed
together, each with his own thoughts, once we had finished our
prayers.
The Dutch militia who took turns in guarding us that afternoon
had made plans to kill us that night. Together, they had reached an
agreement on the tactics for carrying out the killing, an agreement
they thought we didn't understand because they spoke in their own
language. The plan was very simple and was easy to carry out. Ac-
cording to their decision, in the middle of that night several of them
would shout out, loudly and clearly, the word "Rebellion." The noise
they made and the word they were shouting would certainly cause a
commotion in their camp, and we six would also be startled when we
heard it. In response to the ensuing commotion we would be certain
to jump out of bed or at least stick our heads out to see what was
going on. At that moment bullets would be directed at each of our
heads. In this way our lives would end simply and without incident.
Thus ran the plan that they had concocted and agreed on—the
plan they were to carry out that night, the moment that had almost
come. After discussing it, we informed our comrades in the marsose,
particularly Pak Haji, of these Dutch soldiers' bad intentions.
"Just wait, and don't worry," they ordered us with red eyes,
biting their lips in anger, as they listened to what we said. They56
too discussed the tactics they should follow to prevent the planned
incident from taking place.
They told us what they decided. The guard over us would not
be rotated, and they would stay on duty until the next morning. If
there were later signs that the Dutch were beginning to carry out
their wicked plans, they would knock once on the side of our bus.
This would be a signal for us all to be on our guard and to watch
our actions. And if the knock was repeated many times, then we
should seek a place of shelter up the steep hillside to our left, be-
hind the marsose. There would be an exchange of fire between them
and the Dutch militia, should the cry of "rebellion" be heard from
them. In that way we would be protected from any danger whatever.
Furthermore, they explained that, if nothing happened, we
would be informed by two knocks on the side of the bus. Those two
knocks would be a sign that we need not worry, and could joke,
chat, and so on.
We were very moved to hear and see the honest hearts of these
Indonesians—hearts embedded in bodies clothed and wrapped in uni-
forms. Our hatred of these uniforms was not because of their green
color, but because by wearing them, the spirit of independence and
nationalism of our people was suppressed and paralyzed by the Dutch
reactionary group. We were moved by the honesty hidden in the
hearts of several of the men who were compelled to wear such a uni-
form, pure hearts and spirits encased in clothing that symbolized
confusion and shame. But what could be said? Fate and the current
situation compelled them to wear those uniforms.
It is easy to guess that we did not sleep deeply that night, be-
cause we had to listen for the "code" on which our safety depended.
Even though, for example, our guards were changed, not one among
us could close his eyes at such a time. Calmly we awaited whatever
was to happen. . . .
That particular night was the only one of many that seemed to
last forever. The calm quiet atmosphere around us made us even
more weary and restless. Because of that, we would sometimes wish
that the outbursts would occur quickly, or that daylight would come.
Indeed we had already been evading death ever since we had taken
our first steps out of Padang Panjang several days ago, but the
death we had avoided was one that would come from in front and in a
clear open space, not from behind and in complete darkness as that
night. In an atmosphere full of deceit we could only wait and submit
ourselves to whatever destiny awaited us, with complete faith that our
fate was predestined by the will of Cod, as well as that it was only
through God's help that we could be saved.
Thus we endured that long night, the night that finally elimi-
nated and destroyed the dangers threatening us.MONDAY, MARCH 16, 1942
Dawn came. We poked our heads out of the bus, and breathed
in the cool, fresh air of the approaching morning. Our anxieties had
disappeared, and our breasts were again unburdened. We smiled like
men who had just gained a victory and we congratulated one another.
The marsose who were still on guard were also smiling, and they
stretched out their hands to us. It was at that moment as if we were
freed from every pressure.
Weary and exhausted by the previous day's journey, we had
had no opportunity to sleep that night. And our wakefulness
throughout the night had increased our weariness. So, after we had
given thanks to Cod who up to that time had kept us alive, we
stretched out wherever it was possible to lie down. Soon afterwards,
we were all asleep. The marsose still stood guard over us.
The sun was already high when we woke. Our bodies were
somewhat refreshed. After washing our faces and performing our
prayers, we were given breakfast. We ate the food greedily.
The Dutch army whose retreat route had disappeared began to
busy themselves with their jobs. Most of them were called on to im-
prove (read: clear and make) the road, so that the long convoy could
continue its journey. They did not only use soldiers for this task
but they also on the local people. Several soldiers went to the sur-
rounding villages and forcefully mobilized the village people for the
work, not only grown youths but also young children. Yes, the
work forces they collected from the villages numbered scores of
people, and amongst them many were mere children. Several inci-
dents struck us in that mobilization. Sometimes the villagers, who
were still quite primitive, were treated inhumanely. Not only were
they abused with crude words that wounded one's ears, but several
of the children were kicked and trampled on. We were saddened to
hear the children's screams as they were kicked with those hobnail
boots, screams for mercy. Our hearts were angered to witness the
harsh arbitrary behavior and the incidents taking place before our
eyes. If we had not been in the situation we were, we would cer-
tainly have stopped those inhumane acts. Unfortunately, we were
now prisoners, men whose every movement was strictly watched, men
who at any time would become the target for bullets. So we could
only restrain our feeling, holding them back in our hearts, hearts in
which a deep hatred was sprouting.
That day was one when ferocity and acts of cruelty were di-
rected against us, apparently intentionally, similar to those that had
been aimed against the whole Indonesian race from century to century
5758
to ensure the prosperity of the Dutch race. That day was only one
example from the thousands of days that the Dutch race had spent in
enhancing their grandeur in the Indonesian archipelago, a grandeur
that had to be paid for by the Indonesian people with sweat and
blood, with torture and suffering.
Somewhere, somewhat distant from our stopping place, we heard
the sound of detonations and explosions, dynamite explosions to break
up the rocks. Everywhere the troops were very busy. This bustle
was occasionally interspersed with several small incidents that broke
out among the soldiers. One of the "small" incidents we witnessed
was as follows. Because the day was very hot, one of the Indonesian
marsose went to the army mess to ask for water as he was very
thirsty. But, who knows why, a Dutch soldier who was one of the
cooks in the mess, sprayed the face of the marsose with hot water.
His face scalded, the marsose roared with pain. As a result, a num-
ber of his companions rushed in, and a commotion broke out. Fortu-
nately the cook quickly ran away to seek refuge, and the other
Dutchmen apparently kept quiet. If the cook had not fled so
quickly, or if any of the other Dutchmen had protected him, then a
fight could not have been avoided.
From that moment the air in the camp became increasingly
heated, and the atmosphere more tense. We didn't know how that
so-called "small" incident would end, and we could only tend to the
burns of the Indonesian marsose. Truly this Indonesian race is very
patient, we thought. Or hadn't there perhaps crawled into that pa-
tience some small desire to defend oneself. We didn't know for sure.
The above incident served to increase the gap separating the
two racial groups combined in this one military force. The Indonesian
soldiers apparently became braver and increasingly free in overstep-
ping the regulations. On the other hand, the Dutch soldiers yielded
more often. Probably they knew that in such a situation, they had
to "give in" a lot because their numbers were so much fewer than
those of the Indonesians, especially as the Indonesians too were
armed.
For three days and three nights we had to rest in Tiga Lingga.
During that time it was as if we were being entertained, but some-
times as if no more attention was being paid to us. Our guards gave
us far more freedom of movement than usual. We were allowed to
bathe and wash our clothes as we wished, even though still super-
vised and guarded. Our food and drink were well prepared, particu-
larly because we had been able to "gain the affection" of the marsose
whose duty was to guard us.
So things went on until the day ofWEDNESDAY, MARCH 18, 1942
Early that morning all the Indonesian drivers were ordered to
assemble. At first we thought that they were certainly going to be
told to get everything ready to resume the journey. But our guess
was apparently wide of the mark. They were not ordered to get
ready, but rather to join in the work of constructing the road they
were later to drive along. Their disgruntlement was obvious. But
they were weak and lacked the power to defend themselves.
". . . It's Here that the Earth is Asking [for our mortal remains7"13
Before we knew what was going to happen with the Indonesian
drivers, we too were told to get ready. After the six of us got down
from our truck, we were then ordered to follow several fully armed
marsose. We weren't told where we were being taken. In front of us
walked two marsose, and behind followed five others. All seven were
Indonesians, but they weren't people we knew.
As we left, we had to pass the group of drivers still gathered
there. Several of them seemed very apprehensive and looked at us
wistfully. Mansoer, above all, watched us as if he were weeping. In-
distinctly, while passing in front of him we heard him say sadly:
"Sorry sirs, probably it is here that the earth is asking [for your
remains]." The statement was very short, but clearly issued from
sadness and a heavy heart.
We greeted Mansoer's words with a smile, though we had no
reason to smile.
The troops guarding and surrounding us were headed by an
Indonesian sergeant who seemed a rather rough character. Perhaps
in order to "advance" in the eyes of his commander, he glared at us
and brusquely ordered us to walk smartly along the road that was
still being constructed. We had to walk two by two, and couldn't
look to left or right. As we went along a Dutch soldier standing on
an embankment watched us attentively. With arms akimbo he spoke
arrogantly, to whom I do not know, saying: "If I was charged with
guarding them, I guarantee they wouldn't arrive at their destination.
That would be taken care of." After that he smiled. Certainly he
was not concerned that we had overheard his words. We continued
on our way.
13. The Indonesian is "disinilah tanah meminta," of which there is no
approximate translation in English that is not very awkward.
5960
From their behavior towards us, we knew where we were going.
We were not being led to a safer place, but to one where we could be
eliminated completely. Death was waiting ahead, and the Dutch
troops now accompanying us were the forces that would assume the
duty that God surrendered to Gabriel.
Having left the large group of workers behind, we were now
walking along a quiet path. To our left and right everything was
mountainous, with here and there some farmers* dry rice fields.
Leaving the hilly region, the narrow path crossed lalang fields.lh
The path was winding. Since our departure the heat had intensified.
The sun's rays grew stronger, and we felt them more as we continued
our journey through the field of lalang. Because our stomachs had
not been filled since morning, our strength was failing. We were not
allowed to take the smallest scrap of provisions with us.
We didn't know where we were being taken nor why we were
going so far. Only . . . that now the moment had arrived when we
would meet our death. But where we would encounter it was not
clear to us.
We walked along for several hours under the hot sun through
the quiet countryside. The supervision and pressures on us at the
beginning of the journey were gradually relaxed, for the harshness
and glares directed at us at first had really only been a way to "get
ahead." Now we were fairly free to talk. Now too we could see the
faces of the marsose escorting us. And it became evident that not all
of them were unknown to us. Pak Haji, our "closest" acquaintance
was in the group. Seeing this, our hearts lightened a bit. But we
didn't want to ask him where we were being taken. The guard was
led by an Indonesian sergeant who also came from Sumatra. His adat
was clearly a little rough and his behavior, as had been evident when
we first set out, demonstrated his liking for praise and flattery. His
attitude towards us differed little from that of other Dutchmen we met
in the unit and was in sharp contrast to our other friends. His de-
sire for flattery clearly made him unpopular among his colleagues and
sometimes he became the butt of jokes behind his back.
We were compelled to bear the weariness and hunger. Our only
relief was our remaining cigarettes.
After walking for some time, we reached a valley that was not
too deep for us to hear a small stream running along the bottom.
Soon afterwards, we came to a small wooden bridge that was already
very rotten. Several Dutch soldiers were guarding and overseeing
the repair work on the bridge. They were at the time in the middle
of cooking their meal. Among them were two Indonesians who were
still very young, two privates who were then called "landstrom" or
"prajurit negeri." The name "landstrom" was then given to those In-
donesians who had to bear arms and fight on the side of the Dutch
14. Lalang = A tall grasslike weed that spreads over previously cul-
tivated areas.61
army. Most of them, so it was said, were people who had not been
able to pay their taxes at the beginning of 1942. Contrary to the
usual custom, those who were in arrears did not have their posses-
sions seized to pay their debts, but instead they were pushed into
becoming "prajurit negeri." In practice they were not recruited to
fire at enemy forces but their energy was used as forced labor to
serve the [Dutch] soldiers' needs. So, they were present in that
quiet place not to guard, search, or defend, but to repair the broken
bridge. Looking at their faces, still so young, and their expressions
that showed their fear, we had to feel sorry for them. But what else
could they do except obey.
We stopped there a while. The Dutch passed hot water around
for the marsose to drink, but nothing at all was given to us. Look-
ing at us, one of the Dutchmen pointed at the little stream running
far below the bridge, as if to say, "If you are thirsty, you can go
there to drink."
While they were drinking they discussed us. One of them ap-
parently	had been born	and brought up	in Padang Panjang.	His
friends asked him if he knew who we were. As a result he scruti-
nized us carefully for a while, then bowed his head. What he remem-
bered at	that moment we did not know,	but	his expression	was
gloomy. Perhaps his wife and children were still living in Padang
Panjang? The two "prajurit negeri" looked at us with expressions of
pity. But they could do nothing.
After the marsose had finished their drink, we resumed the
journey.	The Dutchman	who had earlier	told	us to go down	and
drink at the stream instructed our guards that if we made the slight-
est suspicious movement, then we should just be shot. Hearing that
order, we realized that we were not yet being taken to our graves,
but possibly were being withdrawn to some distant place. This
caused a	surge of our	earlier energy,	and	despite our failing
strength, our feet felt a little lighter each time we raised them. For
the time being sufficient hope would be alive to relieve our hunger
and thirst.
The Dutch Army's Defense Fortifications
In view of the length of time we walked and our loss of energy
during the journey, we could not have traveled less than 20 kms that
morning. With our remaining strength, we had to force our legs to
continue walking through that silent region.
Finally, we reached a shady, flat area. Scattered around were
the rinds of many young coconuts. Our weakness and fatigue made
us stop there. Not far away we could see several coconut trees, with
their fruit still young. A great longing arose in us to drink the milk
of the young coconuts. We told the sergeant in command of our
wish. But unfortunately there wasn't anyone in our group who was
able to climb the coconut tree to pick its fruit, and there were no62
signs of any way of getting them by other means. So we had to be
patient again for the time being and bear our thirst. We continued
our journey again but with faltering steps.
We had not walked very far when we came upon a large bus
halted at the side of the road, with its driver sitting behind the
steering wheel. Presumably he was waiting for someone. The com-
mander of our escort approached the driver directly and asked who
owned the vehicle. The driver answered that he had been ordered to
wait for the return of "tuan letnan" who had gone off on foot not
long ago to a place not far away.
Hearing this, our commander half ordered the driver to take us
to Kota Buluh which he said was quite near. Crumbling, the driver
obeyed the request that was more like an order as if he had no alter-
native but to do so.
We got on board cheerfully. Soon the vehicle moved forward in
the direction of Kota Buluh, along a mountainous, narrow, and twist-
ing road.
As we drove along we passed many Dutch army camps on either
side of the road. In front of them were many Netherland/ soldiers,
both Dutch and Indonesian. And many light and heavy weapons had
been gathered and stacked in front of them. Most of tne soldiers
weren't working at anything. They were joking and chatting and so
forth among themselves, as if they had forgotten (or were trying to
forget) that their lives were in danger. Several times our vehicle
stopped in front of those camps and our commander got down to ask
where the captain was. He received various answers. There were
those who said that the captain was "down there," there were those
who said he was "up there" and there were those who carelessly an-
swered "don't know," "look for him yourself," and so on. Our com-
mander grumbled mightily when he got these replies. While he was
inquiring about his captain, we had the chance to quench our thirst
with tea that Pak Haji requested from the camp kitchen. So our wea-
riness gradually disappeared and we were no longer so conscious of
our hunger.
Approaching Kota Buluh we stopped again in front of a large,
crowded Dutch army camp. Our commander ordered the cook at the
camp to prepare food to take along with us. The food he asked for
was soon ready, and not long afterwards baskets filled with rice and
vegetables were put in our hands. Because of our hunger our share
of the rice had very soon completely disappeared into our stomachs.
We did not worry that, while we were eating, several pigs kept by
the local people were loafing near by. And only after we had
finished eating, did we become aware of what was happening around
us.
We were now in the middle of a village, where the Dutch troops
had set up their defenses. Here and there they had put up tents
made of various kinds and shapes of sailcloth. The Dutch soldiers
wandered up and down, sometimes in groups, sometimes in ones and63
twos. Apparently we were not a focus of their interest, and they
didn't seem to notice us. Thus we were able to look at everything
quite freely.
Apart from the armed soldiers we also saw ones who acted as
"prajurit negeri." The majority of them were working as cooks and
servants for the middle- and higher-ranking officers. Many were also
washing the soldiers' clothes. Clearly a lot of the local villagers'
property had been destroyed to meet the needs of war, because some
of the tents had been erected on cultivated land, vegetable gardens,
and so on. And possibly they had just seized many of the peoples'
other possessions, pigs, chickens, cattle, and so on. But they all
looked like men who had lost their spirit and enthusiasm. They
seemed listless and discouraged, even though they had abundant food
and enough tools and materials to meet their needs. In a situation
like the present, position, rank, and sufficient livelihood brought no
feelings of joy and success.
After we had smoked a cigarette or two, we resumed our jour-
ney. We again got on the bus that our commander had "confiscated"
earlier, together with its driver. Outside the village, our vehicle
was forced to stop again because it was impossible to continue. An-
other vehicle was halted at the edge of the road down which we had
to pass. Because ours was rather large, and the road we were on
rather narrow, the two vehicles could not pass each other, so we
were told to get off, and then ordered to climb on the vehicle in
front.
We then continued our journey to Kota Buluh packed inside that
smaller vehicle.
Finally we arrived at Kota Buluh, a small and rather simple
place. There were not many houses and shops, but a lot of Dutch
soldiers were camped there. It formed one of the most forward
posts, where a Dutch army headquarters headed by a major had also
been set up.
We didn't stay long, only long enough for our commander to re-
port to the senior officer at the headquarters. Then our car started
off again. We were now approaching Kota Cane, the final and re-
portedly strongest Dutch army fortification, where the Dutch armed
forces would put up a struggle, "to the last drop of blood" to fight
and block the advance of the Japanese army. . . .
Where the Dutch Armed Strength Was Hidden. . . .
During our three days at Tiga Lingga, we had witnessed events
that were "foreign" and "strange" in our experience. These events
sometimes brought tears to our eyes, and sometimes were very "amus-
ing," so that we couldn't help smiling to ourselves. But whatever
their nature, these events and experiences formed material to enrich
our spirit, and from them we received useful lessons.64
What we saw in Tiga Lingga, in addition to what we experienced
on the rest of the journey to Kota Cane, provided us with a series of
perspectives from which to know from close to where the "force and
strength of the Dutch army" were hidden as they confronted the
struggle that would decide whether most of them would stand or fall
in the days ahead.
Each child of Indonesia, who had reached maturity by the year
the Japanese army invaded Indonesia in the first quarter of 1942, had
experienced or knew to some extent the most important mistakes the
Dutch colonial government had made at the moment when it needed the
Indonesian people's energies to protect its interests and defend its
future position.
The Japanese occupation of Indonesia was not only a great loss
for the Dutch kingdom, but the Indonesian people would also not
profit from it. Because of that, the Indonesian people themselves ini-
tially demanded that the Netherlands Indies government give them too
the opportunity to defend their country from the attacks and assaults
of foreign forces, irrespective of the race of those who were carrying
out these attacks. To this end, Indonesian leaders urged that Indo-
nesian youths should also be given the responsibility of military ser-
vice {militieplicht) so that they would be capable of bearing arms to
defend their country. They made this demand at the beginning of
1940 at the time that the tremendous conflict was beginning on the
continent of Europe.
But, as had been the case with the demands put forward by
GAPI15 that "Indonesia have a parliament" and those made by Sdr.
Soetardjo in the Volksraad in 193916 that the words and name of "In-
donesia11 be used for the territory, people, and language of Indonesia
by the Dutch government and the Netherlands Indies, the demands
for the right to bear arms too were neither acceded to nor granted.
15.	Gapi (Gabungan Politiek Indonesia), a federation of Indonesian
nationalist political organizations, was formed in May 1939. Among
the points in its Manifesto of September 20, 1939, was a call for "a
parliament elected by and from the people" in order to effect coopera-
tion between the Indonesian and Dutch peoples in facing fascism.
This call was rejected by the Minister of the Colonies on February 13,
1941.
16.	The Soetardjo Petition (passed in the Volksraad in mid-1936)
called for the convening of a conference of representatives of the
Netherlands and Netherlands Indies to discuss plans for the evolu-
tionary development of Indonesia over a ten-year period toward self-
government "within the limits of the existing Dutch Constitution." It
had actually been formally rejected by the government on November
16, 1938. (George McT. Kahin, Nationalism and Revolution in Indone-
sia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1952), pp. 96-97.) The
Volksraad (People's Council) was established in 1917, and was chiefly
an advisory body, though in 1927 it had been officially granted co-
legislative powers with the Governor-General.65
Actually this denial did not necessarily cause the Indonesian people to
be discouraged, because it was hoped that the era of Dutch colonial
rule would not last much longer.
And when the sequence of this history extended a bit further,
people had to recognize honestly that at the beginning of 1940 the In-
donesian people had shown fairness in their struggle by demanding to
fight for the ideals of their independence. The Nazi German army's
occupation of the Netherlands and the evacuation of the kingdom's
government to London was greeted with spontaneous sympathy by the
Indonesians, so that it was even proposed that the Dutch government
that had withdrawn should make its home in Indonesia. But because
of the size and depth of the chasm that the Dutch government itself
deliberately dug in facing the Indonesian people, and the complete
lack of understanding it showed towards the proposals and demands
of the Indonesians, suspicion rather than mutual understanding arose.
Thus, it is not surprising that at the moment that Indonesian
strength was most needed—above all in confronting the attacks from
the Japanese armies—the Indonesian people paid little attention and
would not give enough help. The Japanese army's advance, that pro-
ceeded so swiftly that the Allied defenses in Singapore were not able
to check it, sparked intense panic among the Dutch soldiers. The
occupation of the whole island of Java on March 9, 1942, and the
unconditional surrender of all the forces of the Netherlands Indies
government by Ter Poorten and Tjarda van Starkenburgh on March
12, 1942, in Kali Jati to the Japanese military leaders, actually meant
that all fighting on the part of Dutch and Allied forces throughout
the Indonesian archipelago should have halted, including the head-
quarters of the Allied army (ABCD front),17 with all their goods and
equipment moved to Australia.
Perhaps impelled by the desire not to lose hope, or because he
wished to witness with his own eyes the spirit with which the Dutch
Indies army would oppose the Japanese attacks, the Dutch Indies
Governor for Sumatra [A.I.] Spits, decided to demonstrate his "stub-
17. ABCD was a short-hand term frequently used by Indonesians in
the 1940s to denote the Allied forces = Australian, British, Chinese,
Dutch, though at the end of the war the "A" more often referred to
American than Australian forces, at least when used in Sumatra. The
Allied command, formed in late 1941, was actually called the ABDA
(American, British, Dutch, Australian) Command. For an account of
its formation, dimensions, and responsibilities, see H. P. Willmott,
Empires in the Balance: Japanese and Allied Pacific Strategies to April
1943 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1982), pp. 262-64.
It should be noted that, according to George Kanahele, "Ter
Poorten's surrender order was not binding on units outside Java, for
there was a standing order to this effect." See his "The Japanese
Occupation of Indonesia: Prelude to Independence" (Ph.D. disserta-
tion, Cornell University, 1967), p. 255, n. 35.66
bornness.11 Governor Spits did not approve of Tjarda and Ter
Poorten's surrender of Dutch sovereignty over Indonesia, and for
that reason the fighting and struggle were to continue, even though
it was his soldiers who finally lost their last drop of blood. . . .
Since the time of our arrest in Padang Panjang the island of
Sumatra had actually stood alone and had fought according to its own
tactics and strategy. How great was the spirit and enthusiasm for
the struggle that we witnessed during our journey in Tiga Lingga and
in Kota Cane?
Possibly only Governor Spits himself, or perhaps also a few of
his comrades who never participated directly in the fighting, actually
possessed any enthusiasm for continuing the fight to defend Sumatra
from the Japanese assault. This was reflected in the appearance and
countenances of all the Dutch soldiers we saw during these several
days, both among the officers and in the lower ranks. Sometimes the
white skinned soldiers showed pride and arrogance, but in our opin-
ion this pride and arrogance merely appeared because it was the ha-
bitual attitude they adopted in belittling and looking down on others,
particularly all those who had the shape and form of Indonesians. It
was difficult for them to discard this unpleasant attitude, even
though they themselves realized that in such a situation it should be
abandoned.
Throughout our journey, the white soldiers' behavior toward us
which in our opinion, sometimes overstepped the bounds of courtesy,
but which we had to accept, although with difficulty, because of our
position and situation at the time, apparently had become a common
problem in the ranks of the army in general.
Racial discrimination developed tremendously and rapidly, and
this distinction on the basis of skin could be found in all fields. The
heavy jobs had to be performed by soldiers, and the soldiers had to
be those of Indonesian race, even if that work involved responsibility
or confronting death. And if any danger arose, those who first had
to be saved were those with a white skin. If it had not been his
duty as the highest officer in his unit, a commander probably would
not have been willing to ride in the leading vehicle of the convoy.
These differences in duties and responsibilities, together with
those in position, had probably become merely routine matters in the
ranks of the army, attracting no attention whatever from the Indone-
sian soldiers. Only for us was it an oddity, and we were very un-
happy when at times it became very obvious.
Above, we have reflected on the events that became evident to
us on that journey. And in order to penetrate the fighting spirit of
the Dutch in particular at that time, and to know where that spirit
was stored, we will lay out below one or two other incidents. There
is no need for us to comment; people can later make their own judg-
ments.67
Several of the Indonesian militia related these incidents to us,
that is men who at some time or other formed part of our guard while
we were at Tiga Lingga. Not one of these four men had undergone
military training for longer than three months. Throughout this
three-month training, most of the time was spent studying drill.
Tactics for attacking, assaulting, and defending almost never formed
part of the instruction, the only exception being that they were
shown the way to use the weapons they were given.
Not one	of the four	men had voluntarily, of	his own	free	will,
joined the militia. As young men, in the	village	of their	birth (all
four came from Central Java), they had been students, traders,
farmers, and one of them had been spoiled by his parents who were
quite well off. While each of them was busy in his own field, "Mr.
Policeman" approached them and they were dragged from their jobs.
Not for a single moment were they given the opportunity to meet with
their families	before they	were compelled	to don	their military	uni-
forms colored	leaf green.	Then they were	forced	to march	and	bear
arms. After less than three months in their barracks they were sent
to various regions throughout the Indonesian archipelago to fight the
Japanese attacks. In these regions, which were still very new to
them, they more frequently wept than laughed. And relating this to
us they were again in tears. For many reasons they had become
very dejected, because not a single promise they had received had
yet been fulfilled. They were treated very badly both at the front
and in the camp, perhaps because they were still viewed as "green,"
the more so as they were only "militia." Thus they more often had to
work for the officers than work for the purposes of war.
The situation was different with the "stadswacht," "landwacht,"
"landstrom," "hulp-politieand so on, all of whom became part of
the armed forces' strength of the Dutch Indies as they faced the Jap-
anese attacks. The majority of them had only had two or three
weeks' training, and some had not yet had the chance of any training
at all before they were turned over to the battlefield. It did not
seem strange to our eyes that a "town guard" [stadswacht] should be
thus stationed in the middle of the jungle, because the town he
should have been guarding had long since been occupied by the Japa-
nese, and because of that these town guards had been brought to the
front lines to face Japanese bullets, even though they had no idea of
how to protect themselves. The "lightning training" that had been
given to many of these soldiers now became the backbone of the
battle.
And what of those select, long-time troops? The marsose and
ordinary soldiers, who for years had been on contract with some sec-
tion of the Dutch Indies army, and even included men who had been
born in some barracks or other, those soldiers who were viewed as
the "essence" or "core" of Dutch strength in Sumatra at that time?
Most of them were Indonesians from a variety of ethnic groups. Even
though they shared a single responsibility, the attitude towards them
varied in accordance with their ethnic identity. Soldiers from one68
group were prized more highly than those from another, even when
they were of the same rank. Because of the differences in how they
were viewed and appraised, there then developed various divisions
within the unit. As one can imagine, tensions rose between one
group and another. And because of this there was never a close
brotherly atmosphere in any unit.
There was no visible sign among them that they would fully
carry out their responsibility of confronting the enemy—even those
who called themselves "black Dutch."18 This was clear in that prac-
tically all the Indonesian soldiers wore ordinary clothes under their
uniforms. Thus, they could transform themselves into "civilians,"
when their military uniforms no longer gave them a guarantee of
safety. And whenever wearing civilian clothes under their uniforms
might cause their superior officers to become suspicious, they would
put those clothes into their haversacks. And if that too was not fea-
sible, then these clothes were put into the case intended for their
gas-mask, for everyone was supposed to have one of these masks.
They threw out the mask, and in its place the case was now filled
with a complete set of civilian clothes—shirt, sarung, kupiah,
pyjamas, and sometimes also a pair of sandals.
Our digression concerning what we witnessed and experienced
in Tinga Lingga would be very long if we were to consider every in-
cident individually. But this story would also not be complete if we
did not explain as briefly as possible what we encountered among the
ranks of the Dutch soldiers themselves.
That some of the Dutch soldiers were not able to shoot and
make use of their weapons is evident from the following incident.
One soldier—white, pure-blooded—lightly armed approached us.
In his behavior and appearance there was no sign that he was suspi-
cious of us. In his hands he held a half-cocked rifle. Earnestly he
asked us if we could explain to him how one could insert the bullets
into the rifle, and from a distance of how many meters one could fire
with a rifle like this. Initially, we thought that he was feigning
ignorance, and was just mocking us, or letting us know in an indirect
way that our lives would be ended with that gun. But seeing his
earnest manner, we then asked him, why he didn't ask one of the
other soldiers, as they were much more skilled than we. His re-
sponse was that if he were to put this question to his fellow soldiers
he was ashamed lest they would laugh at him. After we told him that
we didn't know the slightest thing about firearms, he left us, per-
haps feeling disappointed and ashamed of himself. After that he
never showed us his face again. It's easy to guess why.
18. This refers to the Ambonese soldiers, who had the reputation of
being the fiercest fighters. Their identification with the Dutch was
often so complete that they referred to themselves as "Black Dutch-
men" and to their islands as the "Twelfth Province of Holland." See
Dieter Bartels, "Can the Train be ever Stopped Again" [Indonesia,
forthcoming).69
That is one example from many that we witnessed ourselves
during our three days at Tiga Lingga. And there were certainly
many others that provided us with valuable data. Apart from signs
of the narrowness of mind and opinion within Dutch military ranks in
that tense situation, there were also indications of a change in spirit.
Several soldiers acted as if they did not want to disturb the situation
that was developing around them, and possibly didn't feel worried
about what was about to strike them. These men were very diligent
with their bibles. Wherever they went they carried the Holy Book
with them. They used their spare time to study the gospels, and
caress the crucifix that hung around their necks.
Koto Cane, Stronghold and Graveyard
From Kota Buluh we were taken directly to Kota Cane, the
Dutch army's final stronghold in all Indonesia. To get there we had
to cover a distance of 125 kms.19 The main road we were now follow-
ing was among the very best, because this was the one economic
artery between Kota Cane-Kabanjahe-Medan. Even though the road
was mountainous and twisting, the scenery was beautiful. The hills
and mountains surrounding the place formed a natural bulwark be-
stowed by Cod, fortifications that were the reason the Dutch army
had chosen this region for their final stronghold. From here they
could put up strong resistance, and from here too the victory and
fusion of Dutch power over all the Indonesian archipelago would be
decided in the future.
Approaching both Kota Buluh and Kota Cane we saw many
Dutch military camps along the road. Belimbing, Kota Binanga, and
Kali Batak were villages that had been transformed into army camps,
villages that since their founding had known only security and peace.
Sigalagala, located between Kota Buluh and Kota Cane, also
formed a "military hideout" that was of great significance too for the
defense of Kota Cane. At Sigalagala, supposedly, a large Dutch bar-
racks had been built, complete with military hospital, and here too
were a large portion of the Germans whom the Dutch had earlier in-
terned. We stopped here briefly to report to the senior Dutch officer
there, Major Hazenberg. While our commander was making his report,
Pak Haji, one of our marsose escorts, brought young coconuts and
oranges for us. This touched us, because at a moment like that, a
gift that is given sincerely, however small, is of greater value than
an expensive gift in normal times.
Here too we met an old friend from Lubuk Alung, who was
working as a driver for Major Hazenberg. But unfortunately we
weren't able to exchange greetings with him, perhaps because he was
too afraid of his boss, as we were then prisoners. Unlike the local
19. This must be a miscalculation, for the distance does not seem to
exceed about 70 kms.70
people, that old friend of ours was apparently very reluctant to meet
us, even merely to ask after our health.
Not long afterwards, Major Hazenberg came out of his head-
quarters. After studying our faces for a moment one by one, he
then got into his car and drove off. Apparently we were now to ac-
company him to Kota Cane because our car followed behind.
Apart from Sigalagala, we went through many other small vil-
lages that resembled those we had already passed, in that they were
now camps for the Dutch troops, including Ulubalang.
Twilight was falling, about 5:00 in the evening, when we ar-
rived at Kota Cane, the main town of the Alas region in the southern
part of Aceh.
Before arriving at our destination, the commander instructed
his subordinates on their behavior. Among his instructions were
that, if later we entered the yard of "tuan jendral's" house, all the
marsose escorting us had to get out, and surround the car with
drawn swords. Our friends greeted this order with nods of their
heads, but each face reflected scorn and mockery.
Sergeant John—A Stupid and Arrogant Commander
Before entering the yard of "tuan jendral's" house, the top
Dutch commander who was leading this final stand, our car stopped
for a moment, and all the marsose jumped out and stood three men on
each side of the car. But not one of them drew his sword. Com-
mander John (by his friends called "Bas John") had no chance to
control them, because the car immediately entered the courtyard of
the large house.
A moment later, a Dutch officer, with the rank of lieutenant,
came out of the house, and Sergeant John greeted him with respect.
In Dutch the officer ordered John to take us to "gevangis," or jail.
John responded to this order with "Ja, Meneer," the first Dutch we
had heard him speak and possibly the only words he knew. Our
friends hid their smiles, hearing Bas John's "Ja, Meneer."
"He's pretending to know Dutch, the braggart," grumbled Pak
Haji. "We'll see later how he'll behave," said his friend after they
got into the car again.
Pak Haji spoke the truth. Not long after we left the general's
house, we saw on our left the prison that the lieutenant meant when
he gave the earlier order, with a large sign "huis van bewaring,"
that even for us who were not acquainted with "boter" and "/caas"
was still equivalent to "gevangis."
Seeing the situation, one of the marsose said, "It's as we said
earlier Bas John knows how to talk Dutch but doesn't know the Dutch
language." Sergeant John didn't hear this as he was standing close71
to the driver to show him the way. We joined in the laughter that
greeted the remark.
Probably because he didn't know where the prison was located,
Bas John finally took us to the Dutch army barracks. Arriving
there, he told us all to get out.	John tried to hand us over to a
lieutenant on guard there. The lieutenant refused to take us, saying
that there was no room for us, as the place was already full of sol-
diers.
"But I was ordered to bring them here," said John. Hearing
that, we had to smother our smiles. "These men aren't just ordinary
prisoners," he continued.
The lieutenant then got on the telephone and spoke with head-
quarters (the general's house).
"The order wasn't to bring these men here, but for them to be
taken to jail," the lieutenant snapped at John.
Our marsose escort couldn't restrain their laughter, and we
were forced to laugh too.
"Get up again," John ordered us. "To gevangis," he told the
driver. The truck retraced its path.
Again we passed the "huis van bewaring" but our truck didn't
stop. "We'll beat him up," said Pak Haji. We all laughed. Probably
because he still couldn't see the name "gevangis," we rode around the
place several times. Night had already fallen and it was getting
dark. Finally our truck stopped somewhere. Our commander jumped
down and asked one of the soldiers who were on guard where the
"gevangis" was. He responded by indicating the place we had just
left.
"It's not there," answered John.
"What do you mean, it isn't there—look at the sign," the sol-
dier replied.
"Why do they make the sign so small?" asked John.
"That's not my business. Complain to the local authorities,"
grumbled the soldier.
Again we had to suppress our laughter, as we listened to the
exchange.
When he returned we heard John order the driver to go back to
the earlier place.
"Now he knows," said Pak Haji then, and we all laughed.
After one of our friends announced our arrival, then our
vehicle entered the yard of the Kota Cane jail, a "State School" that
was big enough to serve as a jail.
We were handed over to the warder, Sdr. Cindo, who came
from Minangkabau.72
After Saudara Gindo had received us, the marsose ail shook our
hands. We now bade farewell to those who had accompanied and
guarded us all the way to Kota Cane from Bukittinggi. Our farewells
were so affectionate that many of them wept. Pak Haji himself was
weeping as he shook hands with us and asked us in behalf of his
friends to forgive any behavior that had been rough or unseemly.
And he also expressed the hope that we would meet again in a differ-
ent atmosphere.
We were moved as we listened to his words of farewell.
"God will surely protect us all, and we will meet again," we re-
sponded hopefully, even though at that time such a hope was very
slim for us because both groups were being readied as targets for
bullets, even though in a different fashion.
In the Kota Cane Jail
Sdr. Gindo received us jovially, greeting us with cheerful
words. Such a welcome provided a good start for our stay in the
jail.
We were all put into a single large room, and were not sepa-
rated from one another. Our treatment was more than adequate and
very satisfying. We had not been in the room long when Sdr. Adam,
the jail's clerk came in. After he had noted down our names one by
one, together with the date and place of our births, we could finally
ease our weariness.
We performed our prayers, ate dinner, and now we could roll
over and go to sleep as we wished.
We were soon fast asleep, the best sleep we had had since be-
ing taken from Padang Panjang on March 12, 1942. On this night of
March 18, we could get rid of all the tiredness from our dangerous
and eventful journey.THURSDAY, MARCH 19, 1942
When we awoke this morning, our bodies felt more refreshed,
and our minds were clearer than usual. Our breakfast, brought by a
prison inmate, also tasted good to us.
New Acquaintances in the Jail
This morning we learned that the jail at Kota Cane had many in-
mates. We had actually been assigned to a single large room because
there was no space in the regular quarters.
As we were classed as political prisoners, the attitude towards
us differed somewhat from that towards the others. We were "freer"
to move around inside the jail, the more so in that most officials there
came from the Minangkabau. The history of our arrest, was also
more or less beneficial to us in the jail, earning us respect.
We used much of our free time that day and in the days that
followed getting to know the other prisoners, and from them we got
much new information about what was happening around us.
We won't introduce the characters and personalities of our fel-
low inmates, because they were so many and varied. What attracted
our attention were the reasons for their being sentenced to jail and
the crimes they had committed to be so condemned. Below we note a
few of these.
As we have already said, Kota Cane was the capital town of the
Alas district, the region of one of the ethnic groups of Aceh resi-
dency. This region was ruled by a "raja bumiputera" [native raja]
who, it was said, was greatly feared by the people. But this "raja"
had no power at all over the land and its people. All power was in
the hands of the B.B. Controleur.20
This Controleur's power was so great that the "raja" had to
submit to him. Perhaps with the aim of paralyzing any spirit of op-
position among the local people towards the Dutch Company,21 and for
20.	B.B. = Binnenlands Bestuur, the colonial government service.
The Controleur was the lowest rank in the European branch of this
service, usually heading a district.
21.	Either this name is being used anachronistically, in that the
Netherlands East India Company ceased to exist at the end of the
18th century, or it refers to a local Dutch manufacturing company or
estate.
7374
his own benefit, the Controleur in everything he did behaved in a
very despotic way. None of his orders could be contradicted and no
one wanted, or was brave enough, to oppose them.
This despotic character was evident in the way he judged and
condemned those men who, in his opinion, had to be sentenced.
None of the sentences was imposed by a court, nor after the case had
a prior hearing. For example, if he [the Controleur] were walking
along and on the way met a man that he didn't like or of whom he
felt suspicious, then he would just order the man's arrest, and he
would be jailed for a month or so. The victim was completely igno-
rant as to what crime he had committed or what law he had broken.
One prisoner told us that he had been sent to jail for two years
because he was accused of having stolen the sum of 45 cents. An-
other told us that he had been sentenced to three months' imprison-
ment because his crime was viewed as very serious—he had deliber-
ately looked at the face of the Controleur's wife. One tailor was in
jail because he had strongly objected to being forced to pay a tax as
high as f 12.50 for his simple job, and had therefore been sentenced
to 1 1/2 years in prison. He strongly protested such an unjust sen-
tence. And because he was brave enough to protest to the Con-
troleur, the sentence was doubled to three years, with the declaration
that if he protested again, this three year sentence would become six
years. It was this form of multiple punishment that had caused many
people in the region to spend many years in jail.
These were the men who became our new friends in the Kota
Cane prison. It is not possible that they were lying to us because
we also got the same information from their guards.
And regarding Kota Cane itself, according to the explanation we
got, it had at that time been deserted by its civilian population. The
whole town had become a Dutch army camp. There was not a single
house in which they were not quartered. Thus, the inhabitants had
had to evacuate the town.
The country around Kota Cane was well suited to a defense
strategy, thanks to the hills and mountains which resembled certain
parts of the Minangkabau. Because they had failed to make use of
West Sumatra and the Anai valley, they said, this Alas region was to
become their final fortress, and Kota Cane formed its center. This
was their headquarters, because here were stationed the armed
forces' general staff. And now here too, for certain, would the final
Dutch military court be set up, because everywhere else had been oc-
cupied by the Japanese army. For this reason we had been brought
to this place.
The Young Singer in the Jail
It is rather "romantic" to hear the word "singer" in a jail,
where men were gathered whose characters were viewed as damaged
and broken.75
But it was indeed thus in the jail we now had to occupy, who
knows for how long. We first heard the singer's voice the moment we
entered the jail. The sound of	his	song was	pleasing	and sweet.
Perhaps because everybody enjoyed listening to him, and his voice
constituted the only entertainment for all the jail's inmates, no ban
was placed on his making a "noise" even far into the night. Not only
was our loneliness relieved by the	jail	singer's voice, but	so was that
of the soldiers stationed around	the	prison.	We felt	this in the
nights that followed.
This "jail singer" was an Indonesian Batak who was still very
young, and whom we in our group usually called "Washington." As
he explained later, he was still	a student at	a MULO22 school in
Pematang Siantar. He had been arrested a few days before we ar-
rived. The reason he became an inmate of the prison was because of
a good deed he performed for a Dutch fugitive, namely the wife of
the Controleur of Pematang Siantar. The story goes thus:
Some time before the Japanese army occupied the town of
Pematang Siantar, the Controleur there, together with his child and
his wife, withdrew to search for protection elsewhere. As a govern-
ment official, he should not have left his district, whatever hap-
pened. But perhaps because he was in too great a panic, he did not
obey these laws. Together with his family, he abandoned his post
and responsibilities and left with no fixed destination in mind, so long
as he could save himself.
The Controleur's fear and panic were so great that he was no
longer able to take his wife along with him, where he was going. So
the husband and wife, together with their two children, were forced
to separate, or more exactly, the wife together with her children had
to be left behind.
Because of his pity for this woman and her children, and more-
over because the Dutch lady pleaded with him, Sdr. Washington felt
it was his duty to accompany them in searching for her husband.
At a certain place, the Dutch army arrested the group. Wash-
ington was sent to Kota Cane, and what happened to the Controleur's
wife, he didn't know. Why the Dutch army officers repaid his kind
act by imprisoning him, he didn't know, and this was still a riddle
for him.
One way he could relax, when his thoughts could fly far away
to his father and mother, and his home village, was through the har-
monica that he took with him wherever he went. When he became
tired of playing the instrument, he would sing. In our opinion he
was very skilled in both these branches of "art." He could not only
sing the songs of his home region, although these were certainly fa-
mous, but he was also skilled in Western singing. When he played a
22. MULO = Meer Uitgebreid Lager Onderwijs (More Extended Lower
Instruction School), more or less equivalent to junior high school.76
song on his harmonica, silence fell all around, and everyone's atten-
tion was fixed on the sound alone. And when it stopped, you could
hear clapping from inside and outside the jail (from the soldiers sta-
tioned outside), and raucous shouts of encore, encore (bis . . . bis
. . .). We joined in the clapping. This was even more so when he
sang the Toba songs that were so popular. His music touched the
hearts of everyone.
Thanks to his skill, Washington, this young Indonesian Batak,
became a focus of affection for the prisoners. We established very
strong ties with him because among us there was a skilled musician
(Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman), particularly on the viola. It was a pity he
hadn't brought his instrument with him. . . .
Before the Military Court
Before midday on March 19, 1942, a low-ranking Dutch officer,
escorted by the jail warden, came to our room. The officer was hold-
ing a piece of paper, and he asked us, which of the six of us was
called Anwar. As none of us was named Anwar, we responded, "No
one." He then went off again accompanied by the warden.
After his departure, several questions arose in our minds:
whether the person he was asking about was Anwar, our comrade in
the struggle, the Director of the National Bank, the person who was
also known by the military and Dutch civilian leaders as "anti-
scorched earth." And if it was indeed that Anwar, then he too cer-
tainly must be in detention. But where he had been put, and if he
would be brought here, were questions it was difficult for us to an-
swer, and there was no one in the place we were to whom we could
put the question.
About half an hour later, the same Dutch officer returned with
a piece of paper on which was written the name of Sdr. Chatib
Sulaiman. Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman was taken from the jail, escorted by
the man who had summoned him. We now knew that our investigation
was continuing, and we too would soon be sentenced.
It was a long time before Chatib Sulaiman was brought back to
the prison, about two hours after he left. Before there was an op-
portunity to find out the course of his interrogation, Leon Salim was
also ordered to accompany this lower officer. About two hours later,
Leon Salim was returned to the jail, and Sdr. A. Murad Saad was
taken away. Thus three of us were interrogated that day.
So we were questioned one by one outside the jail. These
three interrogations were carried out by a Dutch lieutenant, who was
said to have previously lived for a long time in Bukittinggi. It was
he who acted as the Army's Public Prosecutor.
The course of the interrogation is summarized below, in the
conversation of Sdr. Leon Salim with the Dutch officer:77
Letnan: Sir, you are named Leon Salim? Where were you born, how
old are you, and what is your work?
Leon Salim: True, I am Leo Salim. I was born at Tiakar,
Payakumbuh. My age is 30, and I work as an administrator
at the Sekolah Diniyah in Padang Panjang.
Letnan: Are you married, and do you have children?
Les:	I'm married and don't yet have children.
Letnan: How many teachers are there at the Diniyah school, and
what does it cost for each student?
Les:	There are 38 men and women teachers. There are 700 stu-
dents. The cost for each student is F7.50 a month, all told,
for food, lodging, and other schooling needs.
Letnan:	Has this school got a permit from the government?
Les:	No.
Letnan: Why not? Was one not requested?
Les:	It was never requested and there was no need to ask for
one. Such was the opinion of the school management.
Letnan:	It wanted to stand by itself?
Les:	Yes.
Letnan: What groups have you belonged to since you were a chi Id [ ? ]
Les:	Youth movements	were: Persatuan Murid2 Diniyah School
(PMDS) in 1926, El Hilaal in 1928, and Kepanduan Indonesia
Muslim (KIM) in 1931. The political party was the
Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia (PNI) in 1933.
Letnan:	Have you ever been sentenced to jail?
Les:	Yes.
Letnan:	How many times?
Les:	Three times.
Letnan: Which was the longest, and for what?
Les:	One year. For writing.
Letnan:	Is it true that on March 12, 1942 you were planning a dem-
onstration in Padang Panjang and the surrounding areas?
Les:	True.
Letnan: And that on that day you and several of your friends were
arrested?
Les:	Yes.
Letnan: What was the reason for that demonstration?
Les:	It was to guide the spirit of the people towards higher and
more perfect ideals—political ideals. At that time the souls
and spirits of the people were being affected by all sorts of
currents of understanding that could have harmed them,
currents wishing to do ill (plundering etc.), currents want-
ing revenge, to kill all Dutch officials etc. Because of this,
in order to prevent these influences from harming the
people, and so that they did not deviate from the fundamen-
tal goals, we guided them into political channels. Each per-
son had to be more attentive to the fate of his people and
country, not to fall asleep so that he was deceived by mate-
rialism and profit, together with his own selfish interests.
By our demonstration we intended to awake and raise the
spirit of unity that had long been buried. And we de-78
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
manded that the Red-and-White flag and our homeland of In-
donesia be recognized as ours. We wanted group differences
to disappear, together with differences of rank and status.
If the government head in Padang Panjang at that time had
not wanted to recognize and consent to your request, what
attitude would you have taken?
There was no other attitude for us to take. We had ex-
pressed the feelings and desires of the people. And if the
government did not recognize and approve them, that was up
to them.
In order to raise your flag, would you have lowered the
Dutch flag?
No.
In a tense situation like the present when the head of the
regional government lacks the power to carry out his duties
adequately, if he were to ask you to participate in governing
the region, what would be your thoughts and opinion on
this?
I will work to save my country and people, the Indonesian
people. But I do not yet intend to "join" the government.
If the police had forbidden the demonstration, what would
you have done?
We would have stopped.
Do you know, that we are now in a time of war?
Yes, I know.
Should the Japanese later come and occupy your country and
they too are not willing to acknowledge your flag and
people, what would be your attitude towards the Japanese
government that also refused this recognition?
I will thank any people whatsoever who are willing to appre-
ciate my people.
About how many would have taken part in the demonstrations
and where would they have been held?
According to our calculations there would have been no
fewer than 10,000 people from Padang Panjang and the sur-
rounding areas. Similar demonstrations would have taken
place throughout the Minangkabau region.
So, the conversation between the Dutch officer and Sdr. Leon
Salim continued. And its course was very similar with the other two
comrades.
By the time Sdr. A. Murad Saad's interrogation was over, it
was almost night. Meanwhile, the six of us discussed the course of
the questioning. From this we realized that there had been a unity
of "spirit" among the three of us in the answers each of us had
given.
Night had almost fallen. The young singer in the jail, our
friend Washington Damanik, began to play his harmonica. Sad and
happy songs alternated with one another.79
During the night the atmosphere in Kota Cane jail was rather
different from that in the other prisons where I'd been interned.
Even though we were separated from the outside world by the strong,
high, thick walls of the prison, it was as if there was a tie between
us. This was channeled through the song of Sdr. Washington
Damanik. Because of that we almost never felt isolated. And when-
ever feelings of isolation began to rise, we would just ask him to en-
tertain us. And if we asked, he never refused.FRIDAY, MARCH 20, 1942
Very early this morning, the low-ranking military officers from
yesterday came back to the jail. We guessed that they had come to
summon our three friends who had not yet been interrogated. And
we were right.
Trap and Snare
Sdr. Chaidir Cazali went first. Our youngest friend's interro-
gation didn't take long, and the problems he faced were not too diffi-
cult. About half an hour after he had been summoned, he was
brought back to the jail. Probably his interrogation was so short be-
cause of his youth, as he was not yet twenty years old.
Then came the turn of Sdr. Jamaris glr. Datuk Mandah Kayo.
It appears that this second interview must have gone quite smoothly
because it too didn't take long. Finally Sdr. Moh. Husni glr. St.
Rajo Bujang was called.
These three friends of ours were questioned in a somewhat dif-
ferent manner from those of us interrogated the previous afternoon.
And their interrogations were also not the same.
And because different men were conducting the investigation,
their methods were different. The questioning was very harsh. This
was very harmful to the three of us who had been interrogated the
previous day. For although they were unaware of it, the answers
our friends gave were to cause the six of us to pay more dearly.
We were now in a trap and only had to wait for its door to be
closed. The reason for our now being snared lay in our two friends'
responses to the questions regarding our aims towards the govern-
ment then still in power and whether we were willing to change the
current government.
The previous day we three had answered that we had no inten-
tion either of violating the current government or of becoming gov-
ernment officials. The planned demonstrations were only intended to
express the desires and wishes of the people.
But this did not accord with our two friends' responses today.
They said that, if the Dutch government handed over governmental
affairs to us, we were willing to accept them, and that we had al-
ready chosen the people who would occupy the important positions in
this government.
8081
Even though these two friends gave such answers on their own
responsibility, the emergence of these two currents within our group
was in itself very lucky for the Dutch military government. We
guessed that this issue would trip us up further.
Automatically worry and disappointment now rose among us. It
was certain that we, except probably Sdr. Chaidir Gazali who was
still too young, were about to be caught in the trap we had walked
into.
The only way out still open was for the two of us, that is Sdr.
Leon Salim and Chatib Sulaiman, to make clear if we were interrogated
a second time, that full responsibility regarding the charges brought
against us all fell on the shoulders of only the two of us; our other
friend were only involved as our assistants. In this way, our
friends1 mistakes could perhaps be rectified.
That evening, as we had expected, a summons came for Sdr.
Chatib Sulaiman. An hour later he was brought back to the jail.
Then it was the turn of Sdr. Leon Salim.
Our interrogation that day was conducted by the lieutenant who
had questioned Sdr. St. Rajo Bujang and Dt. Mandah Kayo the previ-
ous morning.
Below is a summary of the course of Leon Salim's interrogation,
which went more or less as follows:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Is it true that you were organizing demonstrations on March
12, 1942?
True.
(reads the text of the answers and admissions of Sdr. Ch.
Sulaiman regarding the contents of the pamphlet we distrib-
uted before March 12 concerning the demonstrations that
were to be held). Is this correct?
Correct.
Who were the leading members of that Committee?
Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman and myself.
No one else?
As far as I know only the two of us. The others only car-
ried out our decisions.
Is it true that the projected demonstrations were aimed at
changing the legal Dutch authorities in Padang Panjang at
that time?
No.
Your friends have admitted that this was indeed the case.
Therefore you have to answer correctly and not play games.
I am answering honestly and not playing games.
Then who is lying in this matter, you or your friends?
The correct answer is the answer I have given and the an-
swer of my other friends is not correct. And as I said be-
fore, I and Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman were the members of the82
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Letnan:
Les:
Committee. So it is our answers and confessions that you
should believe.
You know that the Dutch Indies is now in a state of war
with Japan. From this, are you willing and ready to work
with and help the government?
I know that the Dutch Indies government is now at war with
the Japanese army. But it is not my intention to help or
support either side.
So you are anti-government in this time of war?
I do not like war, and I don't wish to assist.
Would you not like to show the Dutch Indies army how to
advance and win?
No.
If the Japanese army enters this region, would you be will-
ing to carry out sabotage and other forms of assistance to
the Dutch, Americans, and English?
I do not want to do anything, because I do not like war.
According to the explanation of Tuan Chatib Sulaiman those
pamphlets had to be typed by Tuan Murad Saad. Is that
true?
I know nothing of that. But with regard to the contents of
the pamphlet it was indeed the two of us who decided that.
I don't know who Sdr. Chatib Sulaiman told to type them.
How many copies of the pamphlet were distributed?
About fifteen.
After he finished answering these questions, Sdr. Leon Salim
was returned to the jail and it was again Murad Saad's turn.
The course of all our interrogations was almost the same.
That evening there was another change in how we were treated.
We were now divided into two groups, the first consisting of Sdr.
Chatib Sulaiman, Leon Salim, and Murad Saad, the other made up of
Sdr. Dt. Mandah Kayo, St. Rajo Bujang, and Chaidir Cazali.
When we were divided in this way, we knew that there was to
be a division in the charges brought against us. And with this too
would come a difference in the sentences we would later receive.
Nevertheless, we were still encouraged, because these actions meant
that we would not be subjected to equal danger but only in accord
with our individual responsibility. Possibly we would have to under-
go the death sentence, but our three comrades, particularly Sdr.
Chaidir Cazali according to our guess, would certainly be freed from
prosecution and would be able to tell our other friends in the
Minangkabau what had happened to us.
Thus, we passed that night lost in our own thoughts. It's im-
possible to express the remorse and inner burden felt by Dt. Mandah
and St. R. Bujang, for they were the ones responsible for what was
now happening. And their remorse was even greater in that they
would not share our fate.SATURDAY, MARCH 21, 1942
Koto Cane Attacked from the Air
Today, for the first time, Kota Cane was attacked from the air
by the Japanese. Warnings and sirens wailed throughout the prison
town, before the airplane appeared in the sky. Everywhere, in both
the town and the jail, there was an uproar. The jail inmates, num-
bering more or less fifty men, all sought somewhere to shelter, as did
the officers, from the warder to the prison attendants. They hid
themselves wherever they could feel secure. The holes for shelter in
the jail were chock full, and many hid under their beds.
We sheltered under the beds in our cell, because that was the
only protected place to which we had access.
We don't know how many Japanese planes came to attack. We
only heard the sound of the planes as they roared out of the sky and
the sound of machine gun explosions. But it wasn't clear to us
where the shooting came from. But if we were correct in our guess,
the shooting was coming not from the air, but from the Dutch army's
defensive positions which were located all over the town and the sur-
rounding area, because the noise seemed to come from all sides.
Indeed, we were not mistaken in our guess, for later we
learned that not a bomb nor a single bullet was fired from those
planes that were said to be attacking us. The violent and over-
whelming bursts of firing came only from below, shots at an unknown
target. And because the Dutch defenses were everywhere, so it was
that the firing of the machine guns came in so many forms and sizes
from all sides. So, it is not really correct to call this an air raid by
enemy planes.
The Japanese planes were carrying out not an attack, but only
a surveillance mission, during which they scattered pamphlets and
letters from A. I. Spits, the Sumatra governor who had now surren-
dered to the Japanese army. One of the thousands of pamphlets the
Japanese forces scattered that day fell into our hands. It contained
an order written in Indonesian, Dutch, and English, with the follow-
ing message:
Order
1) All soldiers, and civilians, who have left their homes,
must return immediately and resume their normal occu-
pations;
8384
2) In the towns and villages we must now live peacefully
and quietly as before under the good protection of the
Japanese Empire.
Former Governor of Sumatra.
Two days later, that is on March 23, 1942, the sound of the
siren again warned of danger from the air. Pieces of rubber had
earlier been distributed for us to chew on if there was an air-raid, to
stop our teeth chattering and causing concussion from bomb explo-
sions, one of the theories the Dutch military leaders told the people
at this time, as well as distributing cotton wool for them to plug their
ears.
That day the ground fire was far more terrifying than on the
previous day. The noise was further increased by the sound of bomb
explosions rocking the surrounding areas. But apparently the Japa-
nese bombs were not aimed at wiping out the town and the Dutch
army's defenses there, because they were dropped on places well out-
side. Perhaps the attack this time was a message that the Japanese
forces were on their way towards Kota Cane, so that it would be
better to surrender than to put any pointless resistance.SUNDAY, MARCH 22, 1942
We three were again called before the military authorities. Fac-
ing us now was Lieutenant W. J. Botterman, an officer who was actu-
ally also the military prosecutor. After being given an opportunity to
sit down for a while, each of us was handed a two-page letter con-
taining the charge against us, the proses verbal [sic] that we had to
sign. This was written in Dutch, and in it the accusations and
charges against us were laid out. We were accused of having violated
various provisions, something that cannot be done in a "staat van
oorlog" and a "staat van beleg," [state of war and siege]. Because
of that we had to be sentenced before a military court. And before
being told to sign we were allowed to analyze and consider what was
written down.
Because the best thing to do at the time was to sign those let-
ters several moments later we did so.
It was now perfectly clear that we three would be sentenced,
while our three friends would be freed of all charges. Perhaps our
three friends would be produced as witnesses against us.23 Never-
theless, we faced the situation happily and with determination.
Rather we were encouraged because not all of us would be convicted.
After we told our three friends what had happened, they said
they would not return home without us. If they were freed, then we
too had to be free, and if we were sentenced to death, they had to
receive the same sentence. They didn't want to taste freedom if we
were not free as well.
Their protestations moved us even more. They did not want us
to suffer anything that they also did not suffer in the present situa-
tion. But they did not want to heed our words.
We passed that day with deep emotions.
23. According to Leon Salim, "in order to sentence anyone there had
to be witnesses that the accused had committed a crime ... so
finally these friends were the ones to become witnesses. We three
became the accused." (Interview, Jakarta, June 1985).
85MONDAY, MARCH 23, 1942
Today the three of us who signed the proses verbal were to be
brought before the military tribunal; so we were told by the officer
who came for us. At first, we too thought that our fate would be
decided that day, and we even thought that we were now to be sepa-
rated from everything around us.
Contrary to these expectations, we were not brought before a
full-fledged military tribunal.
We were only brought before a high-ranking Dutch military offi-
cer, Captain E. C. Hart de Reijter, who acted as a commissioner for
the military court.
Before he asked us anything, we had the opportunity of noting
his behavior and appearance. His panic was obvious. He was appar-
ently very restless, and could not sit calmly. Sometimes he got up
from his chair, taking no notice of us whatsoever. After wandering
around aimlessly for a while he would sit down again. He took out a
cigarette, drew on it for a moment, then threw it away.
The next moment he directed his attention to us. One by one
we were questioned as to whether we fully acknowledged the charges
against us, as laid out in the proses verbal we had signed.
He wrote our answers down on a piece of paper.
He didn't ask much and we did not have much to explain to
him.
Without giving any reason, he then told a sergeant to take us
back to the jail.
Retreat before Fighting
With this brief interrogation soon over, we passed the rest of
the day with various unanswered questions in our minds. This was
because of the cloud of uncertainty that had hovered over our jour-
ney. It was not only Captain de Reijter who seemed nervous. All
the officers from the highest to the lowest, even the ordinary soldiers
appeared restless.
We had no idea what happened after that. We had no communi-
cation with the people and events outside the jail.
On the next day, Tuesday, March 24, 1942, nothing important
occurred that we needed to note down. In the jail there was nothing
8687
for us to do but to amuse ourselves. Only the singing of Washington
Damanik entertained us. Even though now divided into two groups,
we still had sufficient freedom to joke and chat.
As evening fell, from our jail we could hear noises coming from
the Dutch troops who were stationed around its walls. We heard the
sound of orders, harsh, even sometimes abusive. The engines of
lorries, tanks and armor-plated cars droned here and there. Al-
though we couldn't see what was happening, we could guess what was
going on. We became convinced that the Dutch army was beginning
to evacuate Kota Cane. Whether this retreat was because the Japa-
nese army was now too close, or only in order to "consolidate their
position" at that time, we did not know. Whatever the case, we
guessed that it was for the first reason that they were withdrawing
their headquarters and all their remaining forces. And what about
us? Was there still a chance that they would think of us, their pris-
oners whom they considered so dangerous? At the beginning we
thought it certain that we too would be taken along as they re-
treated. Thus, throughout the night we stayed alert, without waiting
for any prior orders.
That night the atmosphere outside the prison was busy and
chaotic. We could no longer hear the sound of Sdr. Washington's
harmonica or of his voice. Everything was overshadowed by the roar
of engines outside the jail.
That was the climate that night. It was far into the night be-
fore we finally closed our eyes. We were now sure that we were just
to be left behind. And if that was indeed the case, then we were
about to experience another change in our fortunes.WEDNESDAY, MARCH 25, 1942
That morning when we awoke, the prison guards told us that
the Dutch army had already fled to Cunung Setan, about 30 km. to
the north of Kota Cane. Not a single one still remained. Thus we
now knew we had in fact been left behind. This raised our spirits
tremendously. The first change we experienced then, was that the
six of us, once more united, were moved to better quarters. Despite
this, we still could not really believe that we had been left behind
and forgotten. At any time they could come back and take us from
the jail, particularly before the Japanese army entered Kota Cane.
From the prison gate we could witness the stillness outside.
Not a single Dutch soldier passed along the main road.
Then we saw the local children begin to raid each army camp
that the Dutch had evacuated. As time passed the noise increased.
They raced with each other to carry everything from inside each
camp and barracks and soldiers' house to their individual homes.
There were people carrying cupboards, typewriters, rice, milk, ciga-
rettes, blankets, mattresses, and thousands of other kinds of things.
There were even those who were bearing Dutch weapons that they
had abandoned when they fled during the night.
March 25 was a "carried earth" day for the people of Kota
Cane, a day of carrying and moving all the remaining possessions of
the Dutch soldiers, which had now become the property of each of
them. From our jail, we smiled as we watched all this. We guessed
that however valuable the possessions the Dutch army had left be-
hind, and which were now being "lifted" by the people, they still
would not equal the value of the people's belongings that had been
seized during the occupation of their country.
We also guessed that very soon the Japanese army would enter
Kota Cane to replace the Dutch occupying forces who had now fled.
Throughout the day, we were in a state of "awaiting" the arri-
val of the military forces of that "elder brother." When they came we
would certainly automatically be freed from prosecution by the Dutch
military court and would be liberated from this jail. If possible,
through the mediation of the army officers who would arrive later, we
might be able to return to our home regions. This was our guess.
But for the present, whatever we "awaited" still had not become real-
ity, and it was now almost evening.
8889
The Japanese Army Occupies Kota Cane
The jail door was again closed and we had entered the room as-
signed to us. We chatted there about what we would later do when
the Japanese soldiers entered the town, and what means we should
use in order to get home as soon as possible. There were many
other additional problems we had to discuss and decide about.
While we were talking, we suddenly heard from a distance the
sound of loud cheering. Almost with one voice we said "the Japanese
army." And almost in one movement too, as if activated by a single
wheel, we leapt to the cell window to see through the bars what was
happening outside. As the barred window overlooked the main road,
we had an unobstructed view of places that were some distance away.
Indeed, it was not really very far away that we saw a unit of
Japanese soldiers, all of whose bodies were covered with grass and
weeds, looking very strange at first sight. The group was made up
of about fifty soldiers, each riding a bicycle. Indeed, in our eyes
the behavior and transportation of the advancing army seemed very
different and rather strange.
They acknowledged the yells and shouts of the people greeting
their arrival with a smile and a wave of their hands.
They continued to pedal along on their bicycles. As they
reached the front of the jail, right in front of us, one of us shouted
"Banzai" in a loud voice.
Hearing that, one of them, an officer, got off his bicycle, and
approached the prison. The jailer opened the gate.
Soon afterwards, we were face to face with the officer.
Freed from Jail
That evening all the prisoners were freed, including us. Most
of the inmates left Kota Cane the same day for their own homes. But
we had to stay and spend the night there because we had no other
place to "perch."
That night the prison gate was not locked as usual. We used
the opportunity to see what was happening around the town. Not
long after the arrival of the first group of Japanese soldiers (about
fifty men), they were followed by a force that was large and noisy.
As they took over the town, they settled in the places previously oc-
cupied by the Dutch army. They were very busy, and groups of
them could be seen everywhere. Events in Kota Cane that evening
really seemed strange to us.
An ex-Dutch driver came up to us. With tears streaming down
his face he greeted us. He said: The Dutch officer said that the
prisoners from West Sumatra had been shot to death. But before that
they had been tortured. Their fingers were cut off until they con-
fessed. And the military court sentenced them to death.90
As night was falling we returned to the jail. Sdr. Gindo had
lit a lamp for us. He had also prepared cigarettes, tobacco, and
other things to meet our needs. Together with him and our other
friends, we passed that night with thoughts that were relieved and
with joyful hearts. It was far into the night before we slept. That
night we thought and planned by what means we could send news of
our situation to Padang Panjang, so that the friends and family we
had left behind would not be worried for too long. Earlier that eve-
ning outside the jail we had asked about the possibilities for sending
a letter, or, better, for returning home. But all avenues seemed
closed. Communications, other than to Medan, had been completely
severed. But for someone who was not a soldier to get to Medan,
was very difficult indeed.THURSDAY, MARCH 26, 1942
Today we left the jail. We were the very last to be imprisoned
and we were also the very last to leave, even though we had only
spent a few days there. We were very grateful for what Sdr. Gindo
and his friends had done for us and in parting we thanked them sin-
cerely.
We moved	to	a small restaurant	owned by	a Minangkabau.
There we stayed	for	a while, eating and	drinking.	Now we had the
complete freedom	of	Kota Cane. No one	would stop	us from moving
around wherever	we	wanted to go and observing whatever we wanted
to see. So we saw and learned a lot. The former Dutch military
headquarters, their last in Indonesia, had now changed hands without
the slightest struggle. Wherever one looked only the Japanese army
was visible. They outnumbered everyone else, including the regular
townspeople. This was because most of the inhabitants, so it was
said, had withdrawn from the town because their homes had been
taken over first by the Dutch and now by the Japanese army. All
the places formerly occupied by Dutch soldiers now housed Japanese.
We witnessed many "funny" and "sad" incidents that day. The
"funny" ones included the way the Japanese soldiers "spoke" with the
people, when neither side could understand what the other was say-
ing. They spoke in sign language that was sometimes misunderstood
by the other side. If mistakes arose, then small "incidents" broke
out, in which the Japanese was always on the side that was "good"
and right. And for the first time we heard the word "bagero"24 that
became very popular, as well as other words which at that time the
Japanese soldiers often used towards Kota Cane's Chinese population.
Many Indonesians too were abused in these terms.
Also here we heard for the first time "Indonesia Nippon sama
sama."25 The "sad" incidents we witnessed that day were ones that
had begun when the Dutch army left Kota Cane. Who knows whether
the people had "gone berserk" or whether it had become a "matter of
pride" for them, but it was as if they were competitors in carrying
and moving the remnants of the Dutch army to their houses, no
matter what kind of things these were. Even though it was forbidden
24.	Bagero = bakayaro, a strong term of abuse frequently used by
Japanese soldiers towards the Chinese and others they considered
their inferiors. The meaning is something like "you stupid oaf."
25.	"Indonesians and Japanese united."
9192
by the Japanese army, they continued the looting. And as a result,
it was not surprising that undesirable incidents frequently occurred.
We had to regret this behavior, because in our view most Indo-
nesians there at that time were acting shamefully. But, yet, what
can you do? The colonial rule which had lasted for centuries had
made them view themselves as lower than other races.
Apparently the Japanese army that day was to continue its ad-
vance to Cunung Setan, where the Dutch army still had its hide-out.
But they did not actually attack it, because it was said that the
Dutch soldiers themselves had blown up and destroyed the bridges
between there and Kota Cane.
Meeting a Japanese Military Officer
That day, we also realized our wish to meet and talk with a
Japanese army officer. Perhaps just by chance, a lower-ranking offi-
cer came to ask us to help plane a piece of board. We gladly did so.
Then, while he waited for us to finish the job, we told him in English
of our wish to meet with his superior officer.
Immediately on hearing this, he asked us to get in his car and
took us straight to a building, which was perhaps their headquarters.
There he brought us to another officer who introduced himself as T.
Hukata.
Contrary to what we expected, Hukata was very fluent in Eng-
lish. Thus, we were easily able to explain our reason for coming to
him. He then promised to take us to one of his superiors, and ask-
ing us to wait a moment, he went off to get him.
Shortly afterwards, he returned and asked us to accompany him
to a room, which was very simply furnished. We were invited to sit
down, and soon a Japanese officer came in, who we later learned had
the rank of captain. Before taking his seat, he extended his hand to
us, with a smile. He seemed very friendly.
In our subsequent conversation, Tuan T. Hukata acted as in-
terpreter; we spoke in Indonesian and he in Japanese. After Hukata
had completed our story, he questioned us as follows:
Question:	Did the Dutch bring you here in the clothes you are now
wearing?
Answer:	Yes, just these clothes. And throughout the journey we
were placed at the very front of the convoy.
Question:	You were very fortunate not to run into danger on the
journey. If you had met the Japanese army, it is uncer-
tain whether you would still be alive. The Dutch behavior
was very wrong. Civilians are not allowed to accompany a
war convoy. In the Japanese forces, too, civilians are
used as drivers. But about 30 kms from the front, the
soldiers are ordered to leave the trucks and continue their93
Answer:
Question:
Answer:
Question:
Answer:
Question:
Answer:
Question:
Answer:
Question:
Answer:
Question:
journey by bicycle. But how are your clothes still clean
and still apparently in good condition?
Because throughout our imprisonment we had the opportu-
nity to wash our clothes. Our jail is situated not far from
here.
When did you arrive here in Kota Cane?
At dusk on Wednesday, March 18, 1942.
Were you with the nine Japanese that the Dutch also
brought here?
No. But we did hear that nine Japanese were taken by
the Dutch army to Blangkejeren about 100 kms. away.26
According to your estimate, about how many thousand men
made up the Dutch forces who fled from here to Cunung
Setan?
We don't know. The groups and lines of trucks criss-
crossed many times, and it was difficult for us to estimate,
as we were prisoners.
According to your story, you were brought by the Dutch
from Padang Panjang. Where is that Padang Panjang?
In the region called Minangkabau or West Sumatra.
By what roads did you come to get here?
The roads Siborong-borong, Tele, Tiga Lingga (entering
the jungle), Kota Buluh, and then straight here.
Exactly the roads we followed.
"And now what do you intend to do?" the Japanese officer then
asked. We explained our wishes, and asked his help so that we could
return quickly to Padang Panjang.
In reply, he explained that he was very sad not to be able to
grant our request immediately because there was no army vehicle that
was about to leave for West Sumatra. The Dutch army had deliber-
ately damaged and destroyed the vehicles they did not need for their
flight, and the ones that remained now had to be used to attack
Cunung Setan. According to the report from the airforce spy planes,
many cars had been hidden by the Dutch in sheltered places, but for
the moment we would have to wait for them to be collected and re-
paired.
From this we realized that we would still have to be patient for
a few more days.
Hearing the Japanese officer's answer, we asked how much
longer we would have to wait. He thought it would be for about a
week more. Then he continued, as they were the vanguard troops
they too would possibly soon have to leave the town. But he ex-
pected that the soldiers replacing them would help us as much as
possible.
26. North of Cunung Setan.94
Then we spoke further, asking what his opinion would be if we
were just to fulfill our wish by traveling on foot. He replied by say-
ing that to go on foot to Medan alone would take as much as about
eight days. According to him, such a journey would be safe for an
Indonesian.
Then we asked if he could give us a letter of authority so that,
if necessary, we could use it on the journey. He replied that he did
not think such a letter would be useful, because in the course of his
duties, his direct communications were only with his general staff and
not with other units. So a letter of authority from him would be no
help to us. Thus neither of our requests was granted.
Our conversation continued like this for some time.
Finally he related his soldiers' bitter experiences on their jour-
ney to Kota Cane and the cruelty of the Dutch army, both from what
he heard from his own men and what he heard from the local people.
Nor did he fail to explain the "sacred ideals of Dai Nippon" in
carrying out this Dai Toa warfare, that is to "liberate" Asia from the
colonialism of foreigners. It was also certain that what the Japanese
had done was for the future "happiness" of Indonesian people. He
hoped that we would willingly give them all our help in achieving this
"sacred" goal.
We heard too many stories from the lips of those two officers.
When we were to return to our lodging, Tuan Hukata told us to
take with us rice and oil that was then stored there. We respectfully
refused this gift but to make sure that he did not think badly of us,
we took a little rice, enough to be carried in a handkerchief.
Then we took our leave, after we had given the officer our ad-
dress.
While "Resting" in Kota Cane
There was nothing else to restrain us any longer from going
wherever we wished. But we had had to curb temporarily our desire
to return immediately to our birthplace because of the lack of trans-
portation. Good! Several of us proposed to go on foot to Medan and
from there many cars would surely be going, for example to
Bukittinggi; but after we worked this out as well as possible, partic-
ularly after investigating the situation on the roads we would have to
travel, we felt we should be patient for a while longer.
Apart from the six of us, also staying at Pakih Baringin's eat-
ing shop were several former Dutch army drivers from Minangkabau,
who had been left behind by the Dutch forces when they fled to
Gunung Setan.
In our lodging that night, we wrote a few short letters contain-
ing the same message, which we intended to send to various ad-
dresses in Medan, asking that the recipients should let people in95
Padang Panjang know that we were safe and sound and were only
awaiting a vehicle to take us home. We sent such letters to Sdr.
Adinegoro, Kasuma, Hamka, Asbitan Jacoub, A. Z. Ahmad, Jakob
Siregar,27 and others in Medan.
Bearing in mind the difficulties and breaks in postal communica-
tions at that time we hoped that out of so many letters one would ar-
rive at its destination.
The next day we sent off our letters to Medan with some of the
men traveling there, especially the Indonesian driver who would be
taking Japanese army's cars to that town.
27. The three best known of these were Jamaluddin Adinegoro,
Hamka (H. Abdul Malik Karim Amrullah), and Jakob Siregar.
Adinegoro, a journalist, was born in West Sumatra in 1904; he had
received legal training and also education in Holland and Germany,
and was editor of the newspaper Pewarta Deli. Hamka, son of the
Minangkabau ulama Haji Rasul, was born in Maninjau in 1908. He was
a novelist and journalist, and was at this time managing editor of the
Mojaloh Mosyarakot in Medan. Jakob Siregar was the son of a
Mandailing businessman and publisher. He joined Partindo in 1932
and was active in Gerindo in the late 1930s.FRIDAY, MARCH 27, 1942
After sending off our letters this morning, we moved from
Pakih Baringin's restaurant to the home of Sdr. A. Salam Raoef, a
teacher, the head of an Islamiyah school in Kota Cane.
Here we were able to move around more freely as the house was
pretty big, and Sdr. Raoef willingly gave us full use of it because
his wife was still out of town after having been evacuated. We were
accompanied by Sdr. Washington Damanik, the jail singer, and also
several former Dutch army drivers. Thus, many of us lived in that
one house. We cooked our own food and the former drivers also
cooked what they liked.
The house where we were staying now began to have frequent
visitors, friends who came to ask advice and guidance from us. It
became an "information office" [sic] an office where one could get ad-
vice, guidance, and information.
We also heard that rumors were going round that we were Bung
Karno and Bung Hatta, and their followers whom the Dutch army on
Java had arrested and then left here. We found this very amusing.
We explained to our guests that we were not Sukarno-Hatta, but only
followers of Sukarno-Hatta!
96SATURDAY, MARCH 28, 1942
The Dutch Army Surrenders
Contrary to what we had anticipated, at noon, we suddenly got
the news that the Dutch army had surrendered before its position had
come under attack from the Japanese army.
We were immediately able to witness with our own eyes the real-
ity of that news. Under the protection of a large white flag and a
Dutch flag, Major General Overakker, commander of the last Dutch
army division that was "defending" the Dutch Indies, together with
his assistants, came to surrender himself at Kota Cane, after the
three days in hiding at Cunung Setan.
With the surrender of that "courageous" army officer, the story
of Dutch colonial rule ended, a story that had lasted for centuries in
Indonesia, and which was brought to a conclusion with this uncondi-
tional surrender in Aceh, which itself had been the very last area of
Indonesia to be colonized by the Dutch.28 Even though the high
commander and representative of the Dutch crown in Indonesia had
previously made a complete surrender of its power and sovereignty,
this act of Overakker was the final stage of that earlier surrender.
Events that day possibly constituted the most serious blow ever
delivered on the Dutch people.
And that same day we witnessed the rapid changes occurring in
the ranks of the Dutch army and its leaders. If when we arrived in
Kota Cane they had formed "the honored group" whose every order
had to be obeyed, now they had to obey the decisions of the Japa-
nese army leaders. We saw the "kontler" (Controleur) of that place
with his hands bound in the same way as the Dutch had earlier bound
their prisoners. Feeling those bonds, in my opinion, that Controleur
would certain recall how he had previously treated the Indonesian
people who in his view had behaved badly, even though in fact they
had not done so. We saw his pale face and his body shaking with
fear, even though he was not being tortured as the Indonesians had
been tortured several days ago.
There were also a number of incidents among the Dutch officers
who came to surrender that were occasionally amusing to the on-
28. After a war that lasted for thirty years, Acehnese Sultan
Muhammad Daud finally surrendered to the Dutch in 1903, but warfare
against the Dutch continued in many parts of Aceh even after that
date.
9798
lookers. The Dutchmen's faces were pale, their mouths tight shut
and they walked with bowed heads. Their movements were very
sluggish as if they had lost their energy.
We were that day able to see many things we had never seen
before in the ranks of the defeated army. The officers who came to
surrender no longer sat in their handsome shiny sedans, but they
traveled in broken-down cars and large trucks that they drove them-
selves. Occasionally the tires on these cars would suddenly burst,
and thus have to be repaired. And it was they who did the work
now—no longer could they force it on others and supervise the work
usually performed by laborers.
Among these Dutch officers we saw Haremaker sitting with
bowed head in the damaged car in which we had previously traveled.
Kota Cane was again crowded, this time with the victorious Jap-
anese, and the defeated Dutch army that had just surrendered. And
packed too with the evacuees who were returning from the places
where they had fled.
The atmosphere in the town that day, was one of defeat and
acceptance, and we were onlookers.MONDAY, MARCH 30, 1942
The defeated Dutch army continued to flood the town. Most
were Indonesians from various ethnic groups.
Here and there you could see piles of weapons of all kinds and
sizes, weapons surrendered by the defeated army. It was not only
weapons that were given up, but all kinds of war materiel. So, not
only were there huge piles of weapons, there were also heaps of gas
masks, shoes, knapsacks, and so on. But many cars could still not
get through, because the bridges destroyed by the Dutch during
their retreat were not yet repaired. The Japanese sent Dutch sol-
diers to do this repair work on the broken bridges, relieving Indone-
sian soldiers of the duty. The Indonesian soldiers who had evacuated
now became ordinary "civilians.11 Those who remained Dutch soldiers
were arrested together with their "masters" as prisoners of war.
And from then on, hundreds of former soldiers in the Dutch
Indies army began to leave Kota Cane, as well as some Chinese who
for some reason had moved there.
The defeated Dutch soldiers began to be transported to a new
place of exile, first it was said, to be concentrated in Medan, where
they were now being taken. From morning to night without a break
they moved out of the town. But it was clear that there were not
enough vehicles to carry the huge number of prisoners.
We were hoping to accompany one of the groups being sent to
Medan, but so far no opportunity had opened up.
In this task, the Indonesian drivers were again in demand.
They took advantage of the opportunity, because they wanted to re-
turn to their homes as quickly as possible. Sdr. Washington Damanik
also had the chance of a lift on one of the many vehicles.
Thus we began to feel lonely amidst this restless community,
lonely because most of our friends had already left.
99TUESDAY, MARCH 31, 1942
After eating breakfast this morning, with nothing else to do we
went off on our usual walk. The place that drew us was obviously
the one where the vehicles stood waiting to transport the prisoners of
war, where we could find out if there was any chance of our accom-
panying them to Medan, or at least as far as Kabanjahe.
Leaving Kota Cane
The long-awaited opportunity presented itself suddenly. We got
on one of the vehicles that was getting ready to leave, merely as an
"experiment" as we hadn't even bothered to make any preparations
for the journey. Several people in the car were wearing civilian
clothes, in addition to the various former Dutch soldiers who were
being transferred. One of the Dutch army officers in the group
glanced at us. I don't know whether it was because he knew who we
were, but he ordered us off the vehicle. To avoid an incident that
would benefit no one, we got down and moved to the vehicle behind.
As we were descending we saw Mr. T. Hukata standing beside
us with another Japanese officer. He smiled at us and we returned
his smile.
Our comrade, Tuan Hukata, invited us to get aboard a nearby
truck.	This vehicle was still empty and pretty big, with boards
around it, a truck for carrying former possessions of the D.S.M.
But we were happy to get permission to go along as passengers, with
the one condition that we should find a chauffeur to drive the truck.
This was not a difficult task, as not far away stood two former Dutch
drivers whom we knew.
We told the two of them to get on the truck and asked them if
they would like to drive it. We didn't need to repeat our request,
because this was indeed what they had been hoping for. In addition
to these two drivers we were also able to take along five Buginese,
former members of the Dutch army. The truck was apparently being
turned over to us completely, and we had the opportunity of picking
up other Indonesians wishing to go to Medan whom we met later along
the road.
We expressed our heartfelt thanks to him.
The vehicles leaving for Medan that day had to form a group, a
convoy. Thus there was a fixed time of departure and that time had
now arrived. We then had no opportunity to say good bye and shake
100101
hands with the friends we were leaving behind, above all with Sdr.
A. Raoef, Pakih Baringin and his wife, Gindo, and the others who
had done so much for us. Nor did we have the chance of collecting
our belongings and these had to be left behind, such as books and
other small possessions. Let them become souvenirs for the people
that remained. Each of us in our hearts said a prayer for those who
had been so good to us, that their kindness towards us should later
form a good deed in their favor in the eyes of God. In our hearts
we said good bye and in our hearts too we said "until we meet
again."
On the Road Home
Our truck moved forward, behind the vehicles that had already
started out. We left Kota Cane and its inhabitants behind. In front
and behind were vehicles filled with Dutch prisoners of war. Even
though we were again in a convoy, the situation was very different
from when we were brought here earlier. We were now no longer
their prisoners, but the opposite, even though we had not become
their guards.
Not long after leaving Kota Cane, we passed many people
standing at the side of the road. Only when we got closer were we
able to see that some of them were women. One group was carrying
young children, and another was bearing various kinds of bundles
and other packages in their arms or on their shoulders. The line of
women was quite long. Their eyes scrutinized each vehicle as it
passed them. It was clear that these were Indonesian women who had
become victims of the Dutch war. Perhaps they were the wives of
the common soldiers or of the Indonesian marsose who served here.
With the Dutch army's surrender the previous day, they were hoping
to meet their men again and resume their life as a family.
That was what they were searching for now. They carefully
inspected each vehicle that passed in front of them, to see if among
the passengers was the man they were hoping to see. But they
never met the men they were looking for. Even if their husband or
father were indeed on one of the passing trucks, they would certainly
not be allowed to accompany him, because they were not soldiers
under arrest. . . .
It was very sad to observe them. We could only share their
pain, thinking of the fate of these women, unknowing and innocent,
who had to endure such a sad and bitter harvest. How cruel is war,
and how great the suffering inflicted on our people, the weak Indone-
sian people.
Unhappily, we could not give any help or assistance whatso-
ever.102
Along the Former Battle Front
We passed Sigalagala. The situation in this town was no differ-
ent from that in the other places we passed through. Along the road
we were traveling stood women with their children in their arms, all
looking carefully at the passing vehicles. Here had been situated the
camp previously housing German prisoners29 and now apparently oc-
cupied by the prisoners of war taken by the Japanese, in other
words Dutch soldiers and officers.
Now we were crossing an area that had been the former "battle-
field." Here "violent" battles had taken place between the Japanese
forces and the Dutch army. Traces were still clearly visible. Many
ruins and burnt-out remains along the edge of the road were signs of
the warfare.
As we entered Kota Buluh, we had to hold our noses with our
handkerchiefs or anything we had with us, because of the awful
stench carried by the wind from the countryside around. That ter-
rible smell was the smell of the corpses, the victims of the warfare
still scattered about, as there had as yet been no chance for them to
be collected and buried.
Not long after leaving Kota Buluh, our truck had a small mis-
hap and ran out of water. While they were filling it up, the vehicles
following behind passed us. All the time we waited we never once
took our handkerchiefs from our noses, and we even tied them behind
so that they should not slip off.
The Buginese youths accompanying us on the truck, perhaps
just through curiosity, walked along by the small bushes bordering
the road, saying they wanted to see the corpses of the Dutch sol-
diers. They pushed aside the undergrowth with the blade of their
canes. When they came across the body of a Dutch soldier, they
would shout out, "Here he is, a real Dutchman," to their friends.
"Here there’s just a hand, but it is white," another would cry. "I
have his head," another called out.
This is only one example of what we saw as we crossed the for-
mer battlefield.
Our truck repaired, we continued the journey. But the ride
was not as smooth as before. The engine kept on stalling.
It was now 3:00 in the afternoon and our stomachs were feeling
rather empty. Since leaving Kota Cane we had only eaten a few ba-
nanas which we had bought on the road.
We had to make frequent stops because our truck's engine kept
giving out. In one place, a Japanese soldier on top of a goods truck
hailed us from behind. It was clear that his vehicle was full of
swords surrendered by the defeated Dutch army.
29. The Dutch had interned German civilians living in Indonesia in
the early months of the war in Europe.103
The Japanese soldier who had just hailed us with the word
"driver" [sic] (English = supir) jumped down from his truck and
pointed at one of his vehicle's tires. While pointing at it he was
talking in Japanese, of which we couldn't understand a single word.
But we could see that the tire he indicated was flat, and that he was
asking us to take it apart and mend the damage.
Initially we told him in English that we were not the "driver"
[sic] as he thought. But he clearly did not understand what we
were saying, and kept ordering us to repair the damage to his car.
Whether or not we wanted to we had to respond.
Thanks to help from the three drivers in our group, the work
was soon completed, even though we had to wipe off our sweat, as
this was the first time we had ever done this kind of work. After we
had pumped up his tire and put it on again, he left us, shouting out
various things that we couldn't understand. Perhaps he was ex-
pressing his thanks or praising our work.
Once that was over, we resumed our journey but not very fast,
as we were afraid lest our car would break down again.
About 8 kms. from Kabanjahe, we had to cross a river, the Kali
Batak. The bridge over this river had been destroyed and had still
not been repaired. So our truck couldn't cross, and as we arrived,
the rain began to fall.
It was said that a tremendous battle had raged on both sides of
that river. Many Dutch soldiers had met their end there, and also
many Japanese. The terrible smell blown by the wind from all direc-
tions gave us the feeling that some of the corpses of the battle vic-
tims had also not been buried.
In order to cross the river it was necessary to make one's way
over a narrow bridge that had been slung across from one side to the
other.
The place was naturally very crowded, because all of the ve-
hicles wanting to go to Kabanjahe had to stop there, and only one
man at a time could cross. All the bags had to be carried over too.
Hundreds of Dutch soldiers were carrying their baggage over.
Here we saw Dutch officers who previously had been so proud now
having to work like ordinary coolies, with their insignia of rank still
decorating their collars and shoulders. We felt sorry for them as
they performed tasks they had never previously had to do. But what
can be said; they had to accept their destiny from God with open
hands. Indeed we also felt pity for those people who in the blink of
an eye had to surrender all their wealth to another. Our hatred all
this time had been directed not at them as human beings but at their
character as colonizers.
We were able to go ahead of most of those prisoners, even
though they had arrived earlier. They had to carry over all their
baggage while we were only eight pieces of skin and bone.104
It was almost night. We were still in the front line of the
battlefield. Many sights screamed at us from either side of the road,
even though they could only be dimly perceived through the dusk.
Hungry and thirsty, we stopped at a booth by the roadside, a
Batak farmer's hut. We asked for drinking water from the friendly
farmer. He respectfully and kindly granted our request, also giving
us bananas which for the time being were enough to stay our hunger.
After thanking him we resumed our journey toward Kabanjahe, which
he said was not far away.
Just behind us, were several Japanese soldiers on bicycles.
They stopped near us and spoke to us in their own language. We
responded courteously, even though we couldn't understand what
they were saying.
Night had now fallen and we were very tired. We now faced
the problem of where to spend the night or where to stay if we
reached Kabanjahe.
Messengers from the Minongkabau Meet Us
Without realizing it, we were already in the town of Kabanjahe.
The town was packed with refugees from the war and Japanese pris-
oners.
Tired and hungry our first priority then was to find a place to
spend the night. Not one of us had any "spirit" left. Thus we paid
no attention to what was happening around us. We were like people
who had just awoken from a very deep sleep, while our eyes still
wanted to close again.
Suddenly we heard someone calling our names in a hopeful
voice. We turned in the direction of the sound. ... In front of us
stood Sdr. Munir Rahimi. At first we did not believe our eyes, be-
cause it was impossible that in that situation Sdr. Munir should be
there.
He gripped our hands and embraced us one by one. . . .
Only then did we believe what we saw—that it was in fact Sdr. Munir
Rahimi in front of us, not his ghost.
Before we could utter a single word, from a rice stall nearby
Sdr. Bujung Atik suddenly appeared and he immediately embraced us
too....
Our eyes were full of tears and we had lumps in our throats
because we were so moved by the unexpected meeting. Before we
were really aware of what was going on, we were taken into the rice
stall from which he had emerged. As soon as we entered, we saw
there Sdr. Majid and Manan. It's impossible to say how we felt then.
"We were sent to Kota Cane to search for you," said Sdr.
Munir Rahimi. "Thank God we came across you here. We were about105
to leave for home. Our car is all ready, even with your own clothes.
You have to be in Minangkabau as soon as possible," he added.
"We meant to go to Medan first," one of us answered.
"Later to Medan,	if you have some free	time. Now Minangkabau
calls	you,	and you must get there as soon	as possible," responded
Sdr. Munir.
Our four new friends had been sent to search for us, with the
message that if we were still alive we had to return at once to Padang
Panjang.
Questions and answers were brief then because we were very
tired, despite the unexpected meeting which had lightened our
spirits. And the friends we now met realized how weary we were, so
they didn’t ask us many questions. Later on our journey there would
certainly be plenty of opportunity for conversation.
Only	with Sdr.	Nagakasi Brahmana,	an Indonesian who was
working as	a Japanese	policeman and had for	a long time worked with
the Japanese in Japan, did we talk rather extensively. We explained
to him briefly our experiences as prisoners of the Dutch army in Kota
Cane and the course of the interrogations they had conducted of us.
Return to the Minangkabau Region
After we had bathed, eaten and drunk, and changed our
clothes, that same night we continued our journey to West Sumatra,
returning to the region where we had been arrested and taken from
on March 12 last.
We were now traveling to Padang Panjang in the car that had
been sent to meet us, a Buick sedan of most recent model from the
Japanese headquarters for all Sumatra.
Obviously all of us could not fit into such a car—that is, the
six former Dutch army prisoners in addition to the four men who had
met us. But as there was no alternative, everyone had to pack in.
Even though there wasn't sufficient room, we had to manage. Thus
some of us in the car had to carry on our laps those who were a bit
lighter.
Unfortunately we could not take along the former Dutch army
drivers we had met in Kota Cane who also wanted to go to
Bukittinggi. We also regretted not being able to take Sdr. Washing-
ton Damanik, whom we had met again in Kota Jahe. Had there been
room, we would certainly have fitted him in, even though in that car
we were like sardines in a can.
That night at nine o'clock we left for Pematang Siantar, follow-
ing a road round the banks of Lake Toba. But because it was al-
ready night, we couldn't see the beauty of the lake stretching from
the side of the road.106
Return from Koto Cane
In the center from L to R.:	Leon Salim (wearing a tie); St, Rajo Bujang; A. Murad Saad;
Chatib Sulaiman; Dt. Mandah Kayo. (Chaidir Gazali is not visible)
107
The cool, fresh night air reinvigorated our bodies, making our
thoughts wander to the times we had passed. We didn't talk much or
discuss anything as we journeyed through the night.
At two in the morning we entered Pematang Siantar, which at
that hour was deathly quiet. Everything was blacked out in the town
and not a single gleam of light was visible.
The police stopped our car and asked for our identification
papers. These papers of ours were apparently "special" and more
than adequate, so we were allowed through as soon as we gave the
necessary explanation.
It was very difficult to find somewhere to sleep, particularly
because no owner wanted to open the door of his boarding house on
such a night. Possibly they were afraid that they would be robbed.
And in addition, because many had fled here from the dangers of the
fighting, the lodging places were all full.
After looking round for some time, we were finally put up by a
local Chinese.WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1 1942
We woke up very late from a deep sleep. After bathing and
eating breakfast, we strolled around the town of Pematang Siantar.
Here we met many of our former marsose guards. They
swarmed around us, seizing our hands as if we were intimate friends.
At first it was rather difficult to realize who they were, because they
had now become "civilians," no longer wearing their "impressive,"
"frightening" uniforms. We talked and chatted for some time, with
them asking us questions and relating their own experiences since
they had separated from us.
They were now in the process of returning to their homes in
different parts of Java, North Sulawesi, and other regions of Indone-
sia.
We were sorry not to be able to help them, particularly "Pak
Haji" and his friends who had done so much for us and been so good
to us. All we could do was ask them to stop later in Padang Panjang
on their journey. They happily accepted our invitation and promised
to stop by.
It was mid-day before we left Pematang Siantar. The road we
were now on still ran along the edge of Lake Toba, through areas
where many signs of battle were still visible. Here the Dutch sol-
diers had destroyed many roads to impede the advance of the Japa-
nese army. But these roads had now been repaired.
We had now in the course of the twenty days since our capture
by the Dutch army gone right round Lake Toba: as we went [north]
we had gone up its left bank and now going home we followed its
right bank.
Only now did we learn from the messengers who had met us
how busy our friends in the Minangkabau had been since our depar-
ture. The six of us who had disappeared without a trace30 for so
long had become the focus of attention not only for our comrades in
the struggle, but also for Bung Karno, who at that time was in
Padang, and who initiated investigations and searches for us.31
30.	Salim uses the Minangkabau saying, "hilang tidak berimba dan
hanjut tidak berlubuk."
31.	Sukarno had been in internal exile in Bengkulu since 1938.
When Japanese forces landed in south Sumatra in mid-February 1942
the Dutch took Sukarno via Muko-Muko, by truck and foot to Padang.
108109
As explained in a newspaper clipping published in Padang on
April 1 , 1942, Ir. Sukarno, as General Head of the Komite Rakyat
Sumatera Barat,32 had several days earlier come to visit the top lead-
ership of the Japanese Army for all Sumatra in Padang. This meeting
arranged by Bung Karno was to discuss several problems and put
forward various demands from the people. Among the problems
discussed was our situation. With reference to us, the newspaper
explained as follows:
The problem concerning Tuan Chatib Soelaiman and
his friends received very great attention from the Japa-
nese troop commander after his meeting with p.t. Ir.
Soekarno.	After the	meeting was	over,	Lt. Gen.
Sakaguchi that same day ordered Tuan Haroen Algamar to
act	as	intermediary to	investigate all	Dutch	authorities
and search for Tuan Chatib Soelaiman Cs.
In	this	connection	if it becomes	clear	that Tuan
Chatib Soelaiman Cs (and his friends) are still alive, they
have to free them as soon as possible, and if dead, to in-
dicate where they have been buried.
Let us	be patient while we wait the	results of
Sakaguchi's efforts.
Thus ran part of the item in the newspaper of April 1 about us.
During our journey they also explained at length what had hap-
pened in the Minangkabau since we left. Even though there was still
a lot we did not hear, we learned from their conversation that the
people's leaders in the Minangkabau were feeling worried because of
the actions and measures being taken by the Japanese army leaders.
Thus we did not focus much on what was happening along the
road we were traveling. But from an occasional glance we could see
that large numbers of houses on the road between Balige and
Tarutung had been completely wiped out as a result of the warfare.
At the edges of the road were piled heaps of wood and furniture,
things that had been damaged or completely destroyed. Most of these
piles were said to consist of equipment from various government of-
fices that had been deliberately destroyed by the Dutch army's
"vernielingscorps" so that it should not be used by the government
For his own account of this journey from Bengkulu see Sukarno: an
Autobiography, as told to Cindy Adams (New York: Bobbs Merrill,
1965), pp. 148-55. Sukarno was still in Padang when the Japanese
forces arrived on March 17.
32. These "People's Committees" were set up in the early days of the
Japanese occupation by Indonesian leaders in many parts of West and
East Sumatra, to function as an interim government and to maintain
order. Sukarno was active in sponsoring them. See Kanahele, "Jap-
anese Occupation of Indonesia," pp. 28, 259.110
that succeeded them. Also the local people themselves had smashed
some, in order to wreak vengeance against the Dutch leaders for
their tyrannical actions against the Indonesian people. Thus attacks
had been directed not just against Dutch offices, but the houses of
the B.B. officials had also been destroyed.
From Tarutung we took the Sipirok road. Along the way we
met many groups of returning evacuees. Perhaps these included
many former Dutch soldiers. Among them too were people who seemed
unable any longer to lift their own feet. Unfortunately we had no
chance to offer help to those who had been so mistreated.
Approaching	Sipirok,	our car got a flat tire. So we all had to
get	out and help	with the	work, while	many groups on foot passed
close by.
After our car started	off again, as	we were climbing an incline,
we were hailed by	a young	man who was	dragging his feet along with
great difficulty. When we reached a flat place, we waited for him.
He told us that four of his comrades had left in a car that had
passed by not long ago. He had been unable to accompany his
friends, and asked us to take him as a passenger. According to
what he said, he had formerly been in the Dutch militia. His feet
were swollen because of the distance he had walked, and he was now
finding it really very difficult and felt he could no longer continue
his journey. Even though the size of our car really could not permit
it, we felt sympathy for him, so told him to get in, although he
would just have to stand. As we were entering Sipirok, we came
across the car carrying the youth's friends, a big car, and he was
able to transfer to it and sit more comfortably.
In Sipirok we stopped a while at the Komite Rakyat's office.
They welcomed us joyfully, because for some time, this committee had
participated in the investigation and had even organized a widespread
search for us.
We talked happily for some time, while we had tea, and then
continued our journey. As evening fell we were approaching Padang
Sidempuan. It was dusk before we arrived in the town where we had
previously spent just a few minutes in the prison cell.
After eating dinner, and searching for benzine which was diffi-
cult to find in that place, we set off again. Before leaving, several
of the friends we encountered told us we would be greatly disap-
pointed with what we would find in Minangkabau. What we had
longed for and struggled for for so long, still gave no sign of being
realized, even though the Dutch colonization had disappeared.
Various explanations were given for what was described as so
disappointing. Nevertheless, we ourselves would soon witness and
experience the situation.
Before we reached Bukittinggi our car had another minor
breakdown, at a place a few dozen kilometers from Hutanopan. We
arrived at Hutanopan at about two in the morning. And because we
were so tired spent the night there.THURSDAY, APRIL 2, 1942
With help from several policemen, we got the parts our car
needed to continue the journey. Here twenty days ago we had been
given food while being guarded by drawn swords, and now we were
being joyfully welcomed.
We soon left Hutanopan. There is not much to record about
this final day of our journey. Everything went smoothly and not a
single danger impeded us.
Arriving at Our Destination
If our car had not broken down en route we should have ar-
rived in Bukittinggi around eight on the morning of April 2. But be-
cause we had to stay overnight at Hutanopan, it was not until three
in the afternoon that, with hearts thumping with happiness, we en-
tered Bukittinggi. As we approached the town, we had already de-
cided that not one of us would be allowed to stop there, even though
some of us came from the region and their families would perhaps be
waiting hopefully and anxiously. Padang Panjang had to be our first
destination because it was from there that we had been arrested and
taken to Kota Cane.
After stopping for a moment at the office of the Persatuan
Saudagar (Merchants Association) and N. V. Bumiputera in 31.
Tembok, just to shake hands with the friends who had been awaiting
our return for so long, we went directly to Padang Panjang.
At almost four in the afternoon our car entered the town of
Padang Panjang. Here now ended the story of our journey that had
lasted twenty days.
We returned to Padang Panjang with bodies that were still
breathing. We had not left it forever but only for a while. Now we
returned home as free men, not guarded by marsose and police who
would conduct us to our graves.
We were greeted warmly, and with resounding cries of "hidup"
[long life].
It felt as if our hands would fall off because of the enthusiasm
with which they were seized by all the people welcoming our return.
Among the friends greeting us some were weeping with emotion, to
meet us again in such an atmosphere.
111112
After the twenty one days separation we now received a wel-
come so warm that we would be unable to forget it for as long as we
lived.
Though tired and exhausted by the long journey, our weariness
disappeared as a result of our welcome. Not till an hour later were
we able to return to our own homes, where too scores of family mem-
bers and relatives were waiting, together with close friends.
Now ended the apprehension; here were presented greater op-
portunities to contribute our services to our land and people. The
struggles that we now faced would form a new phase demanding far
greater care and sacrifice, because what we had earlier hoped would
result from the arrival of the Japanese forces, in no way came about,
but rather the opposite.
Our homeland, Indonesia, freed from the mouth of the tiger was
in the jaws of the lion. . . .
We continued the struggle towards a truly free Indonesia to
achieve eternal and everlasting happiness.