Intellectuals and Nationalism in Indonesia A Study of the Following recruited by Sutan Sjahrir in Occupation Jakarta J. D. Legge Cornell Modern Indonesia Project Monograph SeriesIntellectuals and Nationalism in Indonesia A Study of the Following recruited by Sutan Sjahrir in Occupation Jakarta J. D. Legge1988 Cornell Modern Indonesia Project ISBN 0-87763-034-8 PRICE: $8.00CONTENTS Preface V Note on the Spelling of Proper Names 1x Chapter I Introductory 1 Chapter II Nationalism and the Role of Intellectuals 1n Indonesia 13 Chapter III The Formation of the Sjahrlr Circle 1n Occupation Jakarta 42 Chapter IV The New Recruits: A Profile 67 Chapter V Principles and Possibilities: Sjahr1rfs Policies 1n Practice 91 Chapter VI Conclusion 123 Appendix A 141 Appendix B 142 Select Bibliography 143 Index 151 111PREFACE The purpose of the following pages 1s to examine the character, Ideas, and attitudes of one section of the youth of Jakarta during the Japanese Occupation and Immediately after, to consider Its place 1n the history of nationalist thought, and to reassess Its contribution to the struggle for Independence. The group 1n question was composed of those who gathered about Sutan Sjahrlr and who were later to form an Important element within the party led by him, the Indonesian Socialist Party (Partal Soslalis Indonesia— PSI). Radical changes have taken place over the years 1n the way students of the Indonesian Revolution have perceived Sjahrlr and h1s followers. Thirty-five years ago the fashion was to see them as belonging to the mainstream of the Independence struggle. A decade later the demise of the PSI had changed that perspective. The elections of 1955 showed that, for all Its considerable Influence 1n parliament and the bureaucracy, the party had no significant constituency In the country at large and 1n 1960, because of Its alleged Involvement 1n the rebellions of 1958, 1t was banned. Since then observers have tended to read back the later Impotence of Sjahrlr and h1s circle Into the wartime and Immediate postwar years, to play down their significance even then and to see them as not central, or at least as not of long-term Importance, In the history of the Republic. It 1s time to reconsider those judgments and a study of Sjahr1rfs younger followers during the Occupation forms part of such a reassessment. They were not an accidental collection of people. Convinced from the beginning that the Japanese Occupation was a temporary phenomenon, Sjahrlr actively sought out sympathetic Individuals, mainly tertiary students and ex-students, with the Intention of preparing them for a future struggle for Independence, and 1t was their relationship with him which defined them and distinguished them from other circles to be discerned 1n the ferment of Occupation Jakarta. It Is thus reasonable to speak of a circle or group, though there are problems In Identifying Its boundaries with precision. It was necessarily Informal and Its members enjoyed varying degrees of closeness and Intimacy with him. The difficulty of deciding who should be regarded as members of the group and who should be excluded from 1t will be discussed 1n Its place; but 1n broad terms 1t can be said that we are concerned with people most of whom were born between 1918 and 1922, who had received a tertiary education 1n the Indies, unlike many of their predecessors who had studied In Dutch univer- sities, and who were attracted by Sjahrlr’s particular brand of social democratic thinking. Sjahr1rfs younger followers are Interesting for a number of reasons but the present essay 1s concerned with two 1n particular. They are Important, first of all, 1t will be argued, as representing a significant strand 1n the history of Indonesian nationalism and as having a distinctive contribution to make to the struggle for Independence and to the subsequent political life of the Republic. If they are to be vseen as deliberately recruited by Sjahrlr, they were recruited to a particular political tradition# whose origins must be sought over a dozen years earlier. 1931 saw the beginning of what was to be a long-standing division within the Indonesian nationalist movement. A few years before# 1n 1927# the Indonesian nationalist party (Partal Naslonal Indonesia—PNI) had been formed 1n the aftermath of the abortive Communist risings 1n West Java and West Sumatra# and 1t quickly established Itself as the main voice of what has been called "secular” nationalism# secular 1n the sense of not seeking a base either 1n Islam or 1n the all-embracing Ideology of a Communist party. By devoting Itself explicitly and solely to the common struggle for Independence# rather than to the service of a wider Ideological commitment# the PNI# under Sukarno’s spectacular chairmanship# was able to attract what might otherwise have been Incompatible elements. Its momentum# however# was to be checked two years later when Sukarno was arrested, tried, and convicted for contributing to the disturbance of publ1c order. During Sukarno’s period 1n prison some of those who had been uneasy about the whole Idea of a mass party broke away to form a new organization# the Club Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indonesia (Indonesian National Education Club). The Influence behind this move was that of Mohammad Hatta# the acknowledged leader of Indonesian students studying 1n the Netherlands. Hatta believed that the struggle for Independence was likely to be a long drawn out and weary business. He was critical of the style and content of Sukarno’s leadership and held that the urgent need was not for oratory, attempts at mass mobilization# or the maintenance at all costs of a superficial unity but for careful analysis of the colonial situation and the painstaking education of nationalist leaders. On the eve of h1s return to the Indies he sent out Sjahrlr ahead of him to direct the formation of the new Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indonesia. When Sukarno was released from prison at the end of 1931# he was thus faced by a divided nationalist movement 1n place of the apparent unity he had brought about between 1927 and 1929. To Sukarno# the differences between himself and Hatta seemed unimpor- tant when compared with their common aspirations# but he failed to close the gap which separated them and 1t became clear that the lines of division cutting across the movement were more fundamental than he had believed. What was at stake# 1t seemed, was not just a matter of personalities nor of minor differences of strategy but of opposing conceptions of the nature of the struggle. In 1934 all three leaders, Sukarno# Hatta# and Sjahrlr, were exiled from Java and the Indies Government enforced stricter controls over all nationalist activity. Pend1d1kan members# however, retained their sense of Identity and the Ideas of Hatta and Sjahrlr remained as a distinct element In nationalist thinking. We are concerned here with a part of that story. When Sjahrlr was brought back from exile by the Dutch at the beginning of 1942 he set himself deliberately to take up the threads of 1931-1934 and to bring the Pend1d1kan back to life. This was to be done 1n part by making contact with former members of the party who had escaped exile and In part by seeking out suitable representatives of a new generation of nationalist youth. An examination of the latter group 1s thus part of the longer history of a distinct stream within Indonesian nationalism. Secondly# because of the Western education experienced by all the members of the group, and because of their highly Intellectual character, v1they provide a case study of the roles of Intellectuals 1n transitional societies. Being left-wing 1n outlook and to a considerable extent theoretically Inclined, they were affected by the major crises of left- wing thought 1n the period under discussions Spain as a symbol of the sharpening divisions of the thirties, the popular front, the cold war, and the Two Camps doctrine of the late forties (the 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union falls outside the period with which we are dealing). How did they react to these events? At a more basic level, these were the people who, because of their training, had to face 1n their own lives what might be called ,fthe challenge of the West.” Did 1t pose for them problems of Identity? How far did their experience match that of Western-educated Intellectuals 1n other colonial situations? In particular, were they open to the common charge that, having been steeped 1n Western culture, they lacked roots 1n their own society? The following pages will question recent judgments about the Importance of the group. It 1s the view of the present writer that, 1n spite of some later realignments and changing of sides, the split of 1931 and 1932 was an Important and long-term split, that Sjahrlr, 1n gathering a coterie about him during the Japanese Occupation, was concerned to revive the Pend1d1kan tradition, and that the Inheritors of that tradition were of quite central Importance from the mid-forties to the early fifties. Even after Its loss of formal Influence, this stream continued—and continues— to represent a significant element 1n the complex of political outlooks 1n Indonesia. The exploration of Sjahr1rfs recruitment of a group of followers during the Japanese Occupation and of the character and attitudes of the group 1s based, 1n large measure, on Interviews with Its surviving members. A highly articulate body of people, they clearly enjoyed recalling their youth, remembering particular experiences, and thinking back on the Issues that had preoccupied them and the Ideas that had excited them as students. For many of them 1t had obviously been a golden age, perceived all the more vividly now because the world they had hoped for had never come Into being. There 1s, perhaps, a good deal of nostalgia 1n their memories of what 1t was like to be a part of a crucial period 1n their countryfs history and no doubt some misjudgment about the parts they played. Oral history 1s a risky business, given the fallibility of human memory and the tendency for Interviewer and subject alike to collaborate 1n re-shap1ng the past 1n the light of their later perspectives. The dangers of such a method are discussed below. Nevertheless, provided 1t 1s kept 1n mind that memories are documents of the present and not of the period with which they deal, 1t 1s Important to gather these recollections while members of the generation 1n question are still alive. There 1s, of course, an element of autobiography 1n this study. Being roughly of an age with my subjects I am aware of the fact that the political and theoretical matters which preoccupied them 1n the late f30s and early f40s were the preoccupations of my own student generation, albeit 1n a very different, and very sheltered, setting. And like them I am remembering what 1t was like then, and remembering 1n a very different world 1n which different perspectives and different concerns no doubt give shape to what 1s remembered. # # * I am Indebted to all of those 1n Indonesia who allowed me to Interview them, or who discussed with me, 1n an Informal way, their memories of the v111940s, Their names are listed 1n Appendix B. In particular I am grateful to Mrs. Poppy Sjahrlr# who gave me an account of her wartime experiences and her meeting with her husband# to Soebadlo Sastrosatomo# Marla Ullfah Soebadlo# Murdlanto# Soedjatmoko# Aboe Bakar Loebls, A11 Budlardjo, Miriam Budlardjo# Roeslan Abdulganl# Sltorus# and And1 Zalnal Abidin who gave generously of their time and memories and who discussed frankly with me the kind of conclusions I was reaching# and to Hazll Tanzll and Mrs. Sjah- roezah# who helped me to recover details of the life of Djohan Sjahroezah. The original Idea of the study emerged from discussions with Herbert Felth and Jamie Mackle. Since then many people have read and commented on successive drafts of the manuscript. Jane Drakard has brought to the role of "gentle reader11 a critical eye and has followed the progress of the work from start to finish. Herbert Felth has continued to argue points of Interpretation with enthusiasm. George Kahln shared with me his own direct and first-hand knowledge of Sjahrlr and h1s followers during 1948 and 1949. S1t1 Nuralnl Barnett# David Chandler# Herbert Felth, David H111# John Ingleson, George and Audrey Kahln# Jacques Leclerc# Aboe Bakar Loebls, Anton Lucas# Tony Milner, Soebadlo Sastrosatomo# and Tony Reid have read drafts of the work or parts of 1t at various stages of Its preparation and their reactions have saved me from many an error. Surviving defects are# of course, my own responsibility. I am grateful, too# to Rudolf Mrazek who 1s himself working on Sjahrlr and who gave me permission to quote from an unpublished article. A debt of a different kind 1s owed to Ben Anderson whose approach to the study of modern Indo- nesia has been a stimulus to me as to others. The fact that I take Issue with him 1n Chapter I# and seek to effect a reconsideration of some of his judgments# should not be allowed to obscure that debt. The Australian Research Grants Scheme and the Monash University Special Research Fund gave financial support without which the Inquiry could not have been carried out. Finally# Joy Tuckett coped nobly with successive drafts of the manuscript and uncomplainingly Incorporated my Innumerable revisions. J.D.L. Monash University# 1986 v111NOTE ON THE SPELLING OF PROPER NAMES Over the years a number of changes have been made 1n Indonesian spelling conventions. Early in the history of the Republic it was decided to change the Dutch "oe" to wuw in official use. Subsequently further steps were taken to bring Indonesian and Malay conventions into line with each other, with Indonesian adopting the following forms: "c" replaces the former "tj," "sy” replaces "sj," "j" replaces ftdj," ,fy,f replaces f,j.,f In the following pages the new conventions have been used for place names (Jakarta, not Djakarta, Aceh, not Atjeh, Surabaya, not Surabaja), but this is not so easy for the names of individuals who may have their own preferences for the old or the new spelling. For this reason no attempt has been made to impose a consistent usage. The current rules have been followed where there is no other guide. However where a person is known to have a preference for the old usage (Aboe Bakar Loebis, Soedjatmoko) that has been respected. Again, the old spelling has been used for persons, now dead, who are better known in that form (Sjahrir rather than Syahrir, Tjokroaminoto rather than Cokroaminoto). Sukarno rather than Soekarno follows the President’s declared wish even though he always signed himself Soekarno. In at least one case a person has chosen to use a mixture of the old and new conventions within the one name (Ahmad Subardjo Djoyoadisuryo). In some cases these changes of convention give rise to doubts about the identity of an individual. On p. 64 is a reference to Soedjono Djembloeng, an associate of Djohan Sjahroezah. In that case the use of the old spelling, taken from Dimyati’s article, leaves no doubt about the name. On p. 63 is a reference to Sujono, an old Pendidikan member and also an associate of Djohan Sjahroezah. There is no way of telling whether this name is given in the new spelling (= old Soedjono or Sudjono) or in the new (= new Suyono). If the former, there is the further ques- tion: is this Soedjono Djembloeng or another Soedjono? ixCHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY It has always been a matter of national pride that Independence came to Indonesia not as the result of a negotiated transfer of sovereignty# though the process was completed 1n that way# but through a struggle of heroic proportions 1n whose fires the nation Itself was forged. The revolution, Indeed# 1s central to the Republic’s perception of Itself. To call 1t a revolution 1s, of course# to beg a number of Important questions. What 1s a revolution? Is the concept# developed 1n modern thought on the models of the French and Russian revolutions, applicable to a nationalist struggle for Independence? Or must a revolution Involve also a transfer of power from one social class to another and a subsequent social transformation? For Indonesians looking back to the birth of the nation, however# such questions do not arise. For them there 1s no question but that the events of 1945-49 constituted a revolution, a revolution that 1s seen as the supreme act of national will# the symbol of national self-reliance and# for those caught up 1n 1t# as a vast emotional experience 1n which the people—the people as a whole—partici- pated directly. For historians of modern Indonesia, too, the revolution has Its symbolic role to play# encapsulating one view or another of the nation’s past# present# and future. But for historians the symbol has been less firmly fixed and unchanging. Some accounts# seeing the revolution as the natural product of the years of colonial rule and the nationalist resis- tance that organized Itself before World War II, have dealt with 1t primarily as a struggle for Independence and have focused sympathetically on the older nationalist leadership which presided over the conflict. Others have been concerned rather to explore different Ideological strands within the revolution—nationalist# social democratic# Communist# Islamic— or have examined the shifts of power that accompanied the struggle or considered the possibilities 1t provided for fundamental social change. Others again have observed the progress of events at the local level and have examined the way 1n which national Issues became entwined with the pressures of local circumstances.* For some 1t 1s the similarities 1. George McT. Kahln# Nationalism and Revolution In Indonesia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press# 1952) Is the leading representative of the first approach: B. R. O’G. Anderson# Java In a Time Revolution: Occupa- tion and Remittance 1944-1945 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1972)# offers a close study of the first year of revolution# with a strong emphasis on the Ideological strands to be observed within 1t; A. J. S. Reid# Indonesian National Revolution, 1948-1950 (Melbourne: Longman# 1974) offers a general survey addressing 1n particular the origins of later political alignments and the failure of social revolution; J. R. W. Small# Bandung In the Easily Revolution, 1945-1946 (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project# 1964)# A. J. S. Reid# The Blood o£ the People (Kuala 1between the Indonesian experience and the forces of nationalism elsewhere that command attention and for others 1t 1s the distinctiveness of the Indonesian case. Shifts of emphasis and changes 1n Interpretation spring from a number of causes. Most obviously they result simply from the passage of time and the events that have unfolded since. The strains and stresses of the parliamentary experiment of the early fifties, the achievements or excesses (according the point of view) of Sukarno’s Guided Democracy, the economic miracle or oppressive authoritarianism of Suharto’s New Order (again according to the point of view), the rise and subsequent destruction of the Indonesian Communist Party (Partal Komunls Indonesia—PKI) and the Army’s acceptance—or seizure—of a central political role, all combine to affect later assessments of the constellation of forces which were present during the struggle against the Dutch. Later students of the revolution have the advantage, denied to their predecessors, of knowing what actually followed It. But 1n part the changing fashions of Interpre- tation reflect the preferences and sympathies of the observer. Those more 1n tune with the European-style, social democratic thinking of Hatta and Sjahrlr are likely to differ 1n their approach from those attracted to the populism of Sukarno, or to the PKI’s drive towards social revolution (If Indeed that was the goal of the PKI). And at a further remove are the conceptual frameworks within which historians work. Is an explanation of the twists and turns of Indonesia’s modern history to be sought 1n the personal contributions of event-making Individuals—the charisma of a Sukarno or the economic rationality of a Suharto—or 1n the changing balance of competing political Interests or 1n the form and workings of political Institutions which might, or might not, be appropriate to Indonesia’s political realities? Or should one look to profounder forces, Including cultural forces, which might be held to underlie the overt actions of the figures on the political stage? In practice, changing fashions of Interpretation probably owe something to all of these factors. That 1s not to suggest, however, that 1t 1s all simply a matter of fashion—that 1t 1s open to historians to choose one Interpretation rather than another according simply to taste. Matters of fact and of judgment are Involved as well. It 1s true that some historio- graphical disputes may be more apparent than real 1n that they reveal differences on the part of historians about what 1s worth studying rather than about what actually happened; but competing accounts, for all the admixture of differing prejudices, political preferences, alternative conceptual frameworks, and differences 1n focus that are likely to be present, are usually concerned also to assert or deny statements about what was 1n fact the case. ’’Fact” and ’’judgment” are themselves slippery notions. Judgments are made and facts are perceived differently by different observers for the reasons already outlined. Nevertheless, at the heart of any historiographical Inquiry, 1n addition to sorting out Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1979), and A. Lucas, ’’The Bamboo Spear Pierces the Payung: The Revolution against the Bureaucratic Elite: North Central Java 1n 1945” (PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1980) are examples of regional or local studies. Audrey R. Kahln, ed., Regional Dynamic* o£ the Indention Revolution: Unity om Vlvewlty (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1985) presents an account of local conflicts 1n eight regions and draws together a number of threads uniting the local and the national struggles. 2the elements of value and perspective# there must also be a concern with evidence, and with accuracy 1n discovering what was the case. The present essay takes as Its point of departure what has perhaps been the major Interpretative revision of the revolution: B. R. O’G. Anderson’s 1972 revision, 1n h1s Java In a TZmz o£ Rzvaluttan, of the perspective established 1n 1952 by George McT. Kahln 1n h1s Natcanal^Um and Revolution In Indonesia. It 1s a revision which owes something to events that occurred between 1952 and 1972, but there are also differences both 1n analytical method and 1n Ideological preference which affect what 1s observed, how 1t Is observed and how that 1s worked Into a total picture. Kahln’s focus was on the prewar leadership; 1n h1s account, the radical challenges of the Persatuan Perjuangan of 1945-1946 and later of the Indonesian Communist Party were external to the mainstream of revolu- tion. Anderson allowed the validity and centrality of these more radical streams 1n the political mix of the revolutionary years and h1s judgment of the dynamics of the revolution Is very different 1n consequence. # * * Amongst the casualties of Anderson’s revision of Kahln’s account 1s Sutan Sjahrlr, three times prime minister of the Republic 1n the first two years of the revolution, and the group of young men and women—and older ones too—who constituted h1s following. Kahln's sympathy for that group has not always been shared by later students. Disagreements about the role of Sjahrlr and his followers have focused on a number of related Issues. First there have been differing judgments about the activities of Sjahrlr during the Japanese Occupation. According to what was for many years the received view, at the very beginning of the Occupation the nationalist leaders, Sukarno, Hatta, and Sjahrlr, after their return to Batavia from their respective places of exile—Sukarno from Bengkulu and Hatta and Sjahrlr from Banda Nelra—reached an agreement that the two well-known leaders, Sukarno and Hatta, would work openly with the Occupation government, moderating Japanese actions where that could be done and using public office under the Japanese to advance the national- ist cause whenever possible, while the lesser known Sjahrlr would work 1n a clandestine way, keeping 1n touch with the older and more prominent leaders, but concentrating essentially on creating an underground movement of resistance to the Japanese authorities. Charles Wolf, translator of Sjahrlr’s letters from exile, spoke of him "organizing and directing a resistance underground that operated all over Java during the occupation.”2 3 In late 1945 Sjahrlr became a vehement public critic of Indonesian leaders who had collaborated with the Japanese.3 it was therefore Important, 1n the received view, to emphasize the fact that Sjahrlr had been a party to this agreement and that he had favored the playing of a public role by Sukarno and Hatta. Sjahrlr, writing 1n 1947, was himself careful to acquit Hatta In particular of the charge of collaboration. For Hatta, Sjahrlr agreed, working with the Japanese was Inescapable and he was 2. Charles Wolf Jr., "Introduction” to Sutan Sjahrlr’s Out o£ Exile (New York: Day, 1949), p. x11. 3. See Sutan Sjahrlr, Oust Struggle, published as Pexdjoeangan Klta 1n 1945, trans. B. R.> O’G. Anderson (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1968), p. 29. 3prevailed upon to accept a public position by ^once majeujie.^ Sjahrlr did not offer the same defense of Sukarno, but arguably 1t was as applicable to him as to Hatta and some of the pro-Hatta argument carried over to him. The testimony advanced 1n support of this version of events 1s Impres- sive. Sjahrlr himself gave an account 1n these terms of the meeting between the three men 1n Jakarta after Sukarno’s return from Sumatra 1n 1942.4 5 So did Sukarno, though he was recalling events many years later.6 So, 1n essence, did Hatta 1n h1s memoirs, also written long after the event.7 8 At the secondary level, Kahln, drawing on h1s contacts with Sjahrlr and others during the revolution, gave authoritative support to this Interpretation.® Others, however, without specifically rejecting the account of the compact made by the three leaders 1n 1942, have ques- tioned the Idea that Sjahrlr assumed the role of a genuine underground leader. During the Occupation he remained visible, moving between Bandung and Jakarta. He was one of the occasional lecturers 1n the courses offered 1n the Asrama Indonesia Merdeka, an asrama set up 1n October 1944 under the patronage of Rear-Admiral Maeda, the liaison officer 1n Jakarta between the Japanese 16th army and the Makassar-based naval administration of the eastern Islands of the archipelago. Sjahrlr maintained regular contact with a wide circle of friends, Including student friends, 1n Jakarta. They were able to meet him at h1s house which became something of a center for political discussion. H1s contacts were made and main- tained with discretion but there does not seem to have been any excessive air of secrecy about the coming and going of h1s friends. One of h1s activities was clearly Illegal. He listened to foreign broadcasts and thus kept 1n touch with the progress of the war as seen through other than Japanese eyes, and he encouraged some of h1s followers to do the same. He, and h1s friends also, maintained contacts with Hke-mlnded people 1n other parts of Java. Insofar as there existed, 1n consequence, a loose network of people who kept 1n touch with each other, passed on Information about local developments and served as channels of nationalist propaganda, there were risks Involved. But Sjahrlr himself must have been visible to the Japanese and, since he remained free from arrest during the whole period of the Occupation, 1t would seem that he appeared unimportant to them. By the same token the groups with which he was 1n contact did not, 1n terms of organizational coherence and sophistication, represent an underground resistance of the kind to be found at the time 1n occupied Europe, or, for that matter, 1n the Philippines, Malaya, and Vietnam where local nationalist groups cooperated with the Allies. This does not mean, however, that the group and Its activities were without significance. A second set of Issues at stake 1n the historical revisions of the revolution concerns Sjahrlr’s standing as a national leader. In Kahln1s 4. Sjahrlr, Out a£ Exile, p. 242. For a brief discussion of the moral Issues Involved 1n the collaboration question see J. D. Legge, Sukarno: A Political Biography (London; Allen Lane, 1972), pp. 155-60. 5. Sjahrlr, Out o£ Exlte, pp. 245-46. 6. Sukarno, Autobiography a* Told to Cindy Adams (Indianapolis: Bobbs Merrill, 1965), p. 173. 7. Mohammad Hatta, Memoir (Jakarta: Tlntamas, 1979), pp. 414-16. 8. Kahln, Nationalism and Revolution, pp. 104-6. 4view he was Influential In the days preceding the proclamation of Indepen- dence and after 1t. He was the architect of the November 1945 shift from the presidential system laid down 1n the Initial Constitution of the Republic to a parliamentary system# a shift# achieved not by constitutional change but by the adoption of a convention by which the Constitution would operate In a parliamentary fashion. And then as prime minister he was the man responsible for steering the Infant Republic through the shoals that surrounded 1t# gaining a degree of recognition for 1t from the outside world, and pursuing a policy of negotiation with the Dutch and Indeed demonstrating great skill 1n shaping the course of those negotiations. In this Interpretation the policy of negotiation represented the maturest political wisdom. The weakness of the Republic and Its need to find allies In the International community 1n order to counter the Dutch view that the Indies were legitimately the property of the Netherlands, made It essential that the Indonesian Government should appear as a moderate# rational# and competent government. American sympathies# 1n particular# were most likely to be enlisted by the argument that a success- ful non-Commun1st nationalist movement offered the best safeguard against the advance of communism 1n Southeast Asia. Sjahr1rfs opponents within the Republic# who criticized h1s moderation and h1s willingness to enter Into discussions with the Dutch and who wanted# Instead# an uncompromising resistance to the Dutch presence# were seen as a threat to that Image of moderation and competence. The principal such challenge came 1n 1946 when Tan Mai aka brought together a united front# the Persatuan Perjuangan (Struggle Union)# 1n opposition to the policies of the first Sjahrlr government. The Persatuan Perjuangan presented a "Minimum Program" which demanded "100 per cent merdeka#" a concept Involving a rejection of all negotiations while the Dutch were still 1n Indonesia# and the seizure of Dutch property. In Kahln’s Interpretation the Minimum Program, though Initially claiming to be a means of mobilizing support for the government# was 1n fact a cover for Tan Mai akafs ambition to unseat Sjahrlr.9 It could be argued that 1t was# 1n any case, an unrealistic program. Its demands were likely to throw the Republic Into chaos just when there was a prospect that progress might be made through negotiation. The success of Sjahrlr 1n resisting the radical challenge thus showed the strength of moderate nationalism and gave the Republic a chance of consolidating Its domestic authority and Its International standing before the Dutch police action. In presenting this picture Kahln drew heavily on h1s own close personal contacts with Sjahrlr and with those associated with him. It was natural that h1s assessment of Sjahr1rfs role and h1s Interpretation of Sjahr1rfs policies should reflect that close connection. In the preface to the paperback edition of Na£icnal p. 15. 15. This sympathy 1s acknowledged 1n the paperback edition of 1970. 8from the difference 1n the time of writing (Anderson knew what had happened to Kah1nfs dream), partly from differences 1n analytical categories (Anderson thought 1n terms of cultural configurations within Indonesian society rather than purely political groupings), and partly from differ- ences of Ideology (Anderson, reflecting the new left ethos of the late ’60s, looked to more radical solutions for Indonesia than those hoped for by Kahln). The result was a very different assessment of the closing years of the Occupation and the first year of revolution. For Kahln, Sjahrlr was one of the heroes and h1s story, tentatively at least, had a happy ending. Anderson saw that Kah1nfs happy ending was false, but h1s own account, with Tan Mai aka as hero/v1ct1m, was still tragedy. * # * If Kahln’s account was too partial to Sjahrlr, Andersonfs revision may have swung the balance of Interpretation too far 1n the opposite direction, and 1t 1s time to look again at the role of the Sjahrlr group 1n the hope that, from a different point 1n time and within a different perspective, a fairer assessment of Its role may be made. The present study alms to contribute to such a reassessment. Such a project will be open, of course, to the normal hazards of historical Inquiry. It will not be free of the Influences of hindsight, focus, point of view, sympa- thies, and preferences of the kind which have affected the work of other students of the revolution. Nevertheless, one reading of the past 1s not as good as another, and 1n suggesting and defending a revision of emphasis 1t 1s contended that real Issues are at stake and not merely legitimate differences of viewpoint. On February 12, 1948, the followers of Sjahrlr were to end an uncom- fortable association with other groups by breaking away from the Partal Soslalls (PS) to form the Partal Soslalls Indonesia (PSI). For some years thereafter the PSI remained a very Influential element 1n the Indonesian political scene. It was a participant 1n governments, both before and after Independence (the presidential cabinet formed by Hatta 1n January 1948, the Natslr cabinet of 1952, the WHopo cabinet of April 1952, the Burhanuddln Harahap cabinet of 1955), and other members of those governments had links with the PSI or were sympathetic to Its approach to the problems of the Republic. The provisional parliament of the Republic, formed after the creation of the unitary state 1n 1950, was based, 1n the absence as yet of any electoral test of party appeal, on a rough estimate of the strength of respective parties. Under that arrange- ment the PSI faction was composed of 15 members out of a total house of 236. This made 1t equal third 1n size among the 17 formally recognized groupings 1n the Dari lament, outnumbered only by Masyuml (41 members) and PNI (41 members).16 its members or close sympathizers also occupied more 16. The formation of the provisional parliament 1n 1950 followed broadly the arrangements made during the revolution when a Central Indonesian National Committee (Komlte Naslonal Indonesia Pusat—KNIP) was formed to give representation to the main political groups 1n the Republic. Appoint- ments were made, and varied from time to time, by the president though with the broad agreement of the leaders of political parties, and KNIP quickly emerged as the effective parliament of the Republic. With the transfer of sovereignty from the Dutch to a United States of Indonesia 1n 1949, 1n which the Republic was merely a constituent state, and then with 9than their fair share of senior positions 1n the civil service, holding 1n particular the secretary-generalships of the Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Defense, and were represented, though not so strongly, 1n the higher levels of the Army, commanding for a time the position of Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces. Its members Included journalists whose Influence made Itself felt 1n the leading organs of political opinion, and one dally paper, Pedoman, the country’s most prestigious 1n the eyes of many, was 1n effect a PSI paper. In spite of Its strong Influence over men 1n such strategic positions, the party’s direct Influence was to be short-lived. Unlike Its political rivals, 1t failed to build for Itself a mass organization based on local branches able to recruit members and supply a grass-roots strength. As will be seen below, that omission was not accidental. Leading members of the party had always seen Its role as educational rather than organiza- tional, though It was assumed that educational efforts 1n the long term would create a mass base for the party. In the meantime, the PSI saw Itself as a cadre-training party rather than as a mass party, and this weakness was to prove fatal when elections were eventually held 1n 1955. The party proved to have little electoral appeal. It obtained only 2 percent of the vote and Its seats 1n the House fell from 15 to 5 out of 257 post-election House seats. The loss of a strong parliamentary base did not mean the end of the PSI’s Importance. From Its other vantage points 1n the Indonesian polity 1t continued for a time to exercise Influence on both policy and adminis- tration. Nevertheless, political currents were flowing 1n new directions that were not advantageous to 1t. The gathering crisis of 1956 began to come to a head at the end of that year with a series of separatist move- ments 1n Sumatra and the withdrawal of West Sumatra from the authority of the central government. The following year saw Sukarno, theoretically a constitutional head of state 1n a parliamentary democracy, playing an Increasingly direct part 1n politics. The resignation of the government 1n March was accompanied by a presidential declaration of a state of emergency and the formation by the president of a new government, and, the conversion of that federal state Into a unitary state 1n 1950, similar principles were followed 1n creating parliamentary Institutions. After 1950, and pending the holding of national elections, the parliament of the unitary state Included representatives from the constituent states 1n the federal House of Representatives and Senate and representatives of the working committee of the Republic of Indonesia. There are some minor Inconsistencies 1n figures of ^Aaksl and total parliamentary membership of this provisional parliament, probably resulting from changes 1n friaksl membership and changes brought about by death or retirement. The 1954 Ministry of Information publication, Kepaetalan dan Parliament ant a Indonesia (1954) gives the PSI &raksl as comprising 15 members on August 1, 1954 (p. 631) and the parliament as containing 234 members on August 15, 1950, two more being added when the unitary state was formed (pp. 624-25). In The Decline oj> Constitutional Democracy In Indonesia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1960) Herbert Felth gives the provisional parliament as having 232 members at March 5, 1951 and the PSI \raJesl as 17 strong (p. 128). The same author gives the pre-election house 1n 1955 as containing 233 members, Including a PSI friaksl of 14 (Herbert Felth, The Indonesian Elections o£ 1955 [Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1957], pp. 58-59). 10later 1n the year, the seizure of Dutch property as part of a stepped-up campaign for the recovery of West New Guinea. In 1958 the formation, 1n West Sumatra, of the ,fRevolutlonary Government of the Republic of Indo- nesia” represented an act of open rebellion, which was supported also by North Sulawesi, against the central government. The rebellion was sup- pressed quickly and with comparative ease, by an army which achieved a new unity 1n the process. Out of the two years of turmoil and uncertainty came a decisive and new distribution of political power In the Republic. Political parties had already been largely discredited and so, Indeed, had the whole parliamentary experiment. The president, who for six years had been uncomfortably confined within the conventions of a parliamentary system, had now broken free of those constraints and, simply by adopting a direct political role, he had acquired, 1n effect, the right to do so. The Army, having put down a rebellion, had also become a political force 1n Its own right and 1n the new situation, president and Army, 1n a somewhat uncomfortable alliance, moved to abrogate the provisional Consti- tution of 1950, to restore the so-called "revolutionary” Constitution of 1945, and to use that Constitution as a framework for the Implementation of Sukarno’s concept of Guided Democracy. In 1960 the dissolution of the parliament which had been elected 1n 1955, and Its replacement by an appointed body selected 1n large part on the basis of functional group representation rather than party representa- tion, completed the transformation of the setting 1n which the PSI had been an effective political force. The party, together with Masyuml, was banned 1n 1960 because of the association of some of Its members with the West Sumatran rebellion. Before then senior public servants of PSI sympa- thies had been transferred from their positions and a ban was placed on the political affiliation of public servants. Even these steps did not mark the complete end of PSI Influence. Many of Its members remained as critics of the new regime and were per- mitted to exercise such a role provided they did so with restraint. And what might be called the PSI approach remained one of the Identifiable and representative views among the Jakarta elite (Including the military elite) throughout the Guided Democracy period. Its adherents emerged with a new confidence when Sukarno’s slide from power began 1n October 1965.Nevertheless, the realities of the post-1959 situation allowed former members of the party little room for maneuver. What was the PSI approach? The stereotype of the party had been fairly clearly established. It was seen by observers as essentially an Intellectuals’ party. This was not always a friendly designation. To be an Intellectual carried, for many, the connotation of being alienated from the surrounding society, without roots 1n the local soil, detached from the ’’real” aspirations of a revolutionary period. Of course all parties of the prewar nationalist movement were led by people who could reasonably be described as Intellectuals. The Honor Roll on which were Inscribed the names of Wah1d1n, Tjokroamlnoto, Tjlpto Mangunkusumo, K1 Hadjar Dewantoro, Douwes Dekker, Dr. Sutomo, Haj1 Agus Salim, Sukarno, A11 Sastroamldjojo, Sartono, Husnl Thamrln, Dr. Sam Ratulangle, and many others, was composed of people who had at least a Dutch secondary education 17. R. William Uddle, ’’Modernizing Indonesian Politics,” 1n VoJLitlcaJL PaAtCcXpatian In Mcdtnn IndonzAla, ed. Uddle (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), p. 179, sees the secular modernizing Intellectuals of Suharto’s New Order as descended 1n direct line from Sjahrlr and the PSI. 111n the Indies and many of them a Dutch tertiary education 1n the Indies or 1n the Netherlands# and whose political action was Influenced self- consciously by the categories of European political thought. The same applied to the leaders of the Republic 1n the early fifties. But there were differences between these and the leaders of the PSI which gave some basis 1n reality for the judgment that the PSI was especially the party of the Intellectuals. These were partly matters of self-perception. Many members of the PSI undoubtedly saw themselves as representatives of an Indonesian Intelli- gentsia and as belonging to a wider Intellectual stream. They felt themselves to be 1n tune with modern currents of political and social thought# flowing especially 1n Europe and America but also 1n other parts of Asia. And they felt themselves to be different from others of their countrymen who# like them# had had a Western education but who# as they thought# had been less successful 1n making Its central concepts their own. These self-perceptions were shared by others# sometimes critically— the alienation charge—and sometimes approvingly# a fact which enabled the PSI to perform# as Felth puts 1t# a kind of bralns-trust function for the elite 1n general. The leadership of the party took pride 1n adopting a rational approach to problems of Independence# applying economic theory, albeit 1n a pragmatic way# to the tasks of modernizing the economy, seeking rational bureaucratic procedures for the administration of ration- ally conceived policies# and distrusting the populist rhetoric of other parties# not to mention that of Sukarno himself. As a contribution to the study of the PSI stream 1t 1s proposed 1n these pages then to examine one section of 1t# those members of the student or ex-student community who were brought together during the Japanese Occupation and shortly thereafter# whose political Ideas were shaped then, and who 1n 1948 were to follow Sjahrlr Into the new party. How far should that group be Identified with Sjahrlr himself? To what extent did he become the focus for their aspirations and a directing force 1n the emergence of their self-perceptions? If there was an Angkatan 45—a 1945 generation—students represented an Important element within 1t. Did those about Sjahrlr form anything that could be called# 1f not an underground# at least a distinct circle? If so, did Its members share a coherent view of the world as might appear from what has already been said? Such an Inquiry# by arguing for a "rediscovery” of Sjahrlr and h1s circle# may contribute to a reassessment of the part played by the ”PSI stream” 1n the formation of the Republic. It may also have Implications at a more general level for an understanding of the contribution of Intelligentsias elsewhere. Such a consideration may conveniently begin with some observations at a general level about Intelligentsias 1n colonial society and with a brief account of the situation to be found 1n the Indies. 18. Felth# VzclZnz CarutltwilanaL Dmocsiacy, p. 130. 12CHAPTER II NATIONALISM AND THE ROLE OF INTELLECTUALS IN INDONESIA The role of Intellectuals 1n the nationalist movements of Asia, whether to be found 1n countries under colonial rule or not, has been much discussed and clearly enough characterized. They have faced common problems, said Edward Shlls, writing at the highest level of generality, and have responded 1n similar ways: "Nationalism, populism, xenophobia and nat1v1st1c revivalism, Inferiority feelings, curiosity and resentment 1n the face of the metropolitan culture are found throughout the Aslan continent.”1 John Kautsky, after Identifying "traditional” and "new” classes 1n developing societies, all of which were likely to have specific grievances against a colonial regime, argued that the main Initiating role 1n the mobilization of popular support and the organization of a nationalist political movement was provided by Intellectuals who had absorbed some of the Ideas and values of Western civilization through an education provided by the colonial power, but who were frustrated by the 11m1ted pol1t1cal and other opportunities open to them within a colonial regime.^ Highly competent—and confident 1n the knowledge of their competence—and yet blocked 1n their efforts to find what they had come to regard as suitable employment, the Western-educated Intellectuals were likely to become highly politicized, able to give Ideological form to the diverse and often Inchoate aspirations of the masses, and to provide political leadership for movements of resistance to the colonial power. Harry Benda, carrying that analysis further, distinguished between the position of the Intellectual 1n advanced societies and that 1n developing societies. In Western society Intellectuals did not form a social class 1n themselves. They existed as an adjunct to other classes and were to be defined 1n terms of Ideas, life style, and self-perception, rather than 1n terms of common economic or soda! position or common Interests. In developing societies, by contrast, an Intelligentsia acquired position and exercised Influence simply by virtue of being an Intelligentsia. Its members formed a class 1n Its own right and Intelligentsias therefore wielded political power "Independently . . . as Intelligentsias rather than as spokesmen for entrenched social forces.”3 Moreover, to be an Intellectual was to follow a vocation, a calling, with Its own values and prescriptions, disciplines and codes of honor. 1. Edward A. Shlls, "The Aslan Intellectual," 1n Atla: A Handbook, ed. Guy W1nt (New York: Praeger, 1966), p. 597. 2. John H. Kautsky, "An Essay 1n the Politics of Development,” In Political Change In Underdeveloped CounVues: Nationalism and Communism, ed. Kautsky (New York: Wiley, 1963). 3. Harry J. Benda, "Non-Western Intelligentsias as Political Elites," 1n Political Change, ed. Kautsky, p. 237. 13These general observations Imply a rather special definition of Intellectuals# a definition not 1n terms of a certain kind of higher education but 1n terms of attitudes and outlooks and participation 1n what Shlls, at the risk of introducing a slightly tautological flavor, describes as ffmodern intellectual culture."4 As colonial powers began to widen the educational opportunities for members of local elites 1n depen- dent territories 1t was, with important exceptions, a literary or legal rather than a scientific or technological education that was provided. Some of the products of that education were able to find employment, though not necessarily at a level appropriate to their knowledge and skills. These people were to be found largely 1n the civil service, journalism, teaching, and the law (the "Intellectual professions" as Shi Is calls them) .5 Some of them were happy enough to be incorporated Into the colonial regime and served 1t honestly and devotedly. Others were drawn rather Into paths of resistance. There was a series of student generations whose members imbibed a modern cultural tradition either 1n the newly established tertiary institutions 1n their own countries or 1n tasting the excitement of new Ideas and new and possibly bohemian life styles in the universities, rooming houses, and cafes of the metropolitan country. Some of these gained political experience 1n student political clubs and 1n due course came to provide much of the leadership of nation- alist organizations. For such people, being part of an Intelligentsia was very much a matter of self-perception. They felt themselves to be new men, modern, 1n touch with the mainstream of European thought and action. As such they formed a part of the educated members of society and not the whole of that group. The Ideas which they brought to their political action varied widely. Some absorbed the values of liberal democracy. Others became Marxist 1n outlook, whether or not they became members of local Communist parties. In the ranks of Muslim nationalist leaders who had received a Western education, some were attracted to reformist Islam which emphasized the possibility of a reconciliation of orthodox doctrine with modern scientific thought and which allowed the possibility of radical political action. Whether social-democratic, Marxist, or Muslim, they were likely 1n the eyes of some observers, to lean towards a collectivist rather than an Individualist conception of the role of a nation state. According to Shlls, colonial Intelligentsias sought the "authoritarian collectivity of the nation to replace the colonial authority which they aimed to destroy."6 W. F. Werthelm suggested that, unlike emerging middle classes 1n the West, which were the standard bearers of individualism, the nascent bourgeoisie 1n colonial societies (which he links with the "new Intellec- tuals") arrived late on the scene and found themselves 1n a world where trade and Industry were dominated by foreign concerns. They therefore looked to the state for protection.? In similar vein, Kautsky concluded that the emerging professional class of white collar workers and Intellec- tuals found allies 1n a late-developing native capitalist class which 4. Shlls, "The Intellectual 1n the Political Development of the New States," Wasted Politic* 12, 3 (April 1960): 329-68. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. W. F. Werthelm, Indonesian Society In TnanilXlon, 2nd ed. (The Hague/ Bandung: van Hoeve, 1959), pp. 44-51. 14relied on the state to confirm Its enjoyment of the commercial opportuni- ties of Independence,® Given Its background and training, and the thrust of Its Ideas, the Intelligentsia was the group 1n "traditional” societies which was espe- cially concerned with what might be called the cultural challenge of the West, and Its members went far towards making its ideas their own. In the process of becoming absorbed Into a modern Intellectual tradition, some members of the new Intelligentsia were 1n danger of losing their footing 1n their own society. Hence the charge of rootlessness which has often been leveled against them. Indeed they were sometimes judged by other members of nationalist movements 1n much that way. It was said that they belonged neither to their own culture nor to the Western culture they had sought to adopt. It was said that they were out of touch with their own people. They were suspended between "tradition* 11 and "modernity," to borrow from the title of a Shlls monograph.9 Such charges are open to question and will be examined more closely 1n the pages that follow. For the moment 1t 1s sufficient to make two or three very general observations. First of all, the charge of rootlessness 1s obviously, 1n part, a moral judgment that Implies a criticism of the values and attitudes of the intelligentsia. But 1t 1s also much more than that. It contains an historical judgment—an adverse judgment—of the actual Importance and relevance of Intellectuals within the society about them, the contribution they could make to Its development, and the appropriateness of the Influence they have wielded. Perhaps 1t would be more correct to say that it takes for granted such a judgment. The charge of alienation 1s easy to make, but it does beg the question and 1t may not be so easy 1n the end to sustain it. Secondly, the separation of the "modern man" from h1s traditional culture 1s almost certainly very much less than the common stereotype would have 1t. With only rare exceptions even the most Westernized of Asian Intellectuals have family and other links which bind them to their own societies, and retain habits of thought which may be described as "traditional." Few have thrown off entirely the unconscious presupposi- tions of the culture 1n which they grew up, and 1n some cases 1t was no doubt possible to absorb Western Influences within "the tradition."1® Thirdly, the whole tradition/modernity dichotomy 1s Itself open to question, ignoring as 1t does the complex blend of Ideas, attitudes, and behavior patterns to be found 1n any Individual and 1n any society.H 8. Kautsky, "Essay on the Politics of Development." 9. Edward A. Shlls, Thz IntzUjLCtuaJL bztwz&n Tradition and Modernity: 77te Indian Situation (The Hague: Mouton, 1961). 10. See Rudolph Mrazek, "Tan Malaka: A Political Personal1tyfs Structure of Experience," IndonzAla 14 (October 1972). The Idea that 1n Mlnangkabau the absorption of Influences from the outside and the consequent adaptation of customary patterns 1s Itself a part of tradition will be discussed below. 11. J. R. Gusfleld, "Tradition and Modernity 1n India: Misplaced Polarities 1n the Study of Social Change," quoted 1n S. N. Elsenstadt, "Reflections on a Theory of Modernization," in Nation* by Vz*lgn, ed. Arnold Rlvkin (Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Books, 1968). 15What 1s to be classified as tradition and what as post-trad 1t1on must depend 1n large measure on where one takes one’s stand. To J. C. Van Leur, writing about Indonesia, the Indigenous tradition was not merely pre-European culture. It was something much more ancient than that—an age-old animism that lay beneath all later cultural Importations whether from H1ndu-Buddh1sm, or Islam, or European thought. All of these later accretions were superficial—"a thin and flaking glaze11 spread over a genuinely Indigenous culture.That was an extreme view. But even 1f one were to draw the line much later, the extent to which a so-called traditional society remained, as the stereotype would have 1t, compara- tively static and unchanging, and the extent to which such changes as occurred, whether arising from Internal stimuli or from the Impact of cultural challenges from outside, were absorbed so effectively as to make them Integral to a local tradition rather than external to 1t, must always be a matter for debate. It can at least be argued that even the tremendous changes brought to Aslan societies by the successive pressures of European commercial empire and later capital Investment, should be seen 1n some measure as examples of Aslan adaptation rather than simply as Imposed from outside. The emergence of a modern elite was one part of those changes, and the elite could reasonably be regarded as an Integral element of societies 1n the process of rapid change. That may appear to be essentially a terminological matter, answered according to the way 1n which one defines tradition and modernity; but, like many terminological questions, 1t has Implications for the value judgments that may be made about the elite and Its role 1n the struggles of the surrounding society. The charge of rootlessness 1s one such judgment. If It Is to be sustained 1t must be on the basis of an examina- tion of the actual role played by the modern elite. It cannot simply be deduced from a concept of such an elite as being, by Its nature, suspended between tradition and modernity. The same kind of test must be applied to the other traits commonly held to be characteristic of Intelligentsias. How far, for example, does Kautsky’s account of the pol1t1c1zat1on of Intellectuals, or Sh1lsf suggestion that Intelligentsias tend to be populist, xenophobic, nat1v1st1c, and resentful 1n the face of metropol 1tan culture, stand up to the test of particular cases? It will be Important, certainly, to consider how far the group under study—a section only, 1t must be stressed, of the Indonesian Intellectual elite—displays the characteristics of the stereotype. * * * At first glance the analyses of Shlls, Kautsky, Benda, and others do appear to apply 1n considerable degree to Indonesia as to other colonial countries, at least from the end of the nineteenth century. Before then, though a number of Indonesians had secured, 1n the Indies and 1n the Netherlands, a European-type secondary and tertiary education, they did not constitute an Intelligentsia of the kind referred to 1n the previous paragraphs. Their numbers were few, they were In any case essentially of upper pnlyayl origin, and they were able to find satisfying employment 1n the ranks of the Indonesian bureaucracy. (The term psUyayZ refers to the traditional aristocracy of Java which had been used 1n an administrative 12. J. C. Van Leur, "On Early Aslan Trade," In Indonesian Tnadbt and Society (The Hague: van Hoeve, 1965), p. 95. 16capacity by the Dutch and had been radically changed 1n the process.)13 The brothers Achmed, Huseln, and Hasan Djajad1n1ngrat were examples of Western-educated products of aristocratic families who were fitted 1n this new way for leading roles 1n Javanese society. In this case the three brothers moved 1n rather different directions. Achmed, educated to secondary level 1n the Batavia HBS (Dutch High School—Hogere Burger School) 1n the m1d-l890s, became Regent of Serang. Huseln studied litera- ture 1n Leiden and moved on to scholarly distinction. Hasan engaged 1n political activity and was one of the leaders of Sarekat Islam. Another example was Koesoemo Oetojo who, like Achmed Djajad1n1ngrat, made a career for himself 1n the pangneh psiad/a (the Indigenous civil service) after a HBS education. And there were others, not least of whom was Kartlnl, daughter of the Regent of Jepara, who began a Dutch education at ELS level (Dutch Elementary School—Europeesche Lagere School) and whose letters reveal the agonies and subtleties of her attachment to two cul- tures, but whose fate was to be marriage and death 1n her early twenties, rather than the Independence for which she had hoped. But these were exceptional figures. It was not until the founding of First Class Native Schools 1n 1893 and, more particularly, until the expansion of educational opportunities for Indonesians under the Ethical Policy after 1900, that the setting was provided for the emergence of the "modern Indonesian elite" as Robert Van N1el calls 1t. The new Intelligentsia was at first still largely drawn from the children of high pnlyayl families, but with the need for an Increasing number of trained people to serve 1n the expanding bureaucracies of government and private business, many of common origin as well as from the lower ranks of the aristocracy were able to secure a Dutch education that would not have been open to them even a few years earlier; and these developments gradually began to blur status distinctions based on birth so that, by the 1920s, 1t 1s possible to speak 1n Benda’s terms of an Intelligentsia existing as a class 1n Its own right. The new Intellectual elite obtained Its Dutch education 1n a variety of ways. Fathers with standing and Influence were able to get their sons and daughters Into ordinary Dutch elementary schools (ELS) which gave access 1n due course to the Dutch high schools (HBS). The standards of these schools were protected by the concondantle principle, which, 1n the Interests of Dutch families going to and fro, on leave or for other reasons, between the Netherlands and the Indies, required that Dutch schools 1n the Indies teach according to the curricula of, and preserve standards equivalent to, schools 1n the Netherlands. The system was highly centralized. Inspectors from Batavia traveled from one end of the Indies 13. See, for example, Heather Sutherland, The Making o£ a Busieauaiatlc Elite.: The. Colonial Tnans^omatlon o£ the. Javanese. Pnlyayl (Kuala Lumpur: Helnemann, 1979) and Donald K. Emmerson, Indonesia*s Elite.: Political Culture, and Cultural Politico (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1976), pp. 129-30. See also Clifford Geertz, The. Religion o£ Java (Glencoe, Illinois: The Free Press, 1960), ch. 17. 14. See Sutherland, Making o£ a Butieauaiatlc Elite., ch. 4, and Robert Van Nlel, The Emergence o£ the Modern Indonesian Elite (The Hague: van Hoeve, 1960), pp. 37ff., for discussion of these and other examples. For a sensitive assessment of Kartlnl see Alisa Thomson Zalnu’ddln, "Kartlnl, her Life, Work and Influence,” 1n Kartlnl Centenary: Indonesian Women Then and Now (Clayton: Monash University, 1980). 17to the other and would be likely to find the same book under study on the same day# give or take a few perhaps# 1n Menado as 1n Medan. Similar standards were required when a new class of primary schools was established 1n 1914 to cater for the needs of Indonesians and for those of non-European minorities. These were the Dutch Native Schools (HIS: Hollandsch- Inlandsche Scholen). Graduates from these schools could proceed through bridge schools (MULO: Meer U1tgebre1d Lager Onderwljs) which gave an extension to primary education 1n order to prepare HIS students for secondary school entry. The normal route for MULO graduates was entry to the General Secondary School (AMS: Algemeene Mlddelbare School). MULO and AMS school curricula were each three years 1n length# making a total of six years as compared with the five years of HBS. There were two categories of AMS: the AMS(A) which offered for the closing years of secondary study a classical stream 1n addition to modern languages# history# and geography# and the AMS(B) which offered math and science. Most AMS were of the second type# but an AMS(A) 1n Bandung offered Western classics and another 1n Solo offered Eastern classics. In the 1930s these were amalgamated and transferred to Yogyakarta# which offered therefore both an Eastern and a Western classical stream. Finally# as part of the general expansion of educational opportunities, there were Independently established schools, most notably those set up by Muham- madlyah, the reformist Muslim organization established In 1912# and the schools of the Taman Slswa movement founded 1n 1922 by K1 Hadjar Dewantoro (Soewardl Soerlanlngrat) which were designed to give an education which blended Western curricula with elements of traditional culture. In addition to these were the schools created for specific vocations: Schools for Training Native Administrators (OSVIA—Opleldlngscholen voor Inlandsche Ambtenaren), the School for Training Native Doctors (STOVIA— School tot 0ple1d1ng van Inlandsche Artsen)# the Rechtschool to give a law training for those Intending to enter government service# Kuuzek* chooJLs for teacher education# and the Technical College (THS) at Bandung# founded 1n 1919. STOVIA and the Rechtschool were raised 1n due course to univer- sity standard to become the Law Faculty (Rechts Hogeschool) 1n 1924 and the Medical Faculty (Geneeskundlge Hogeschool) 1n 1927. They were then no longer confined to Indonesian aspirants to government employment but were open to members of all races. And 1n 1940 a Faculty of Letters was established# so that a broad range of tertiary studies was available within the Indies. For a very select number there was still the possi- bility of a university education 1n the Netherlands# at Amsterdam# The Hague# Leiden# or Utrecht# but with the provision of the new University- level facilities 1n Batavia and Bandung# fewer followed that route than had been the case 1n the 1920s. The products of the education provided 1n these various ways certainly felt themselves to be participants 1n "modern Intellectual culture#" to use Sh1lsf term. Hlldred Geertz speaks more specifically of an "Indonesian metropolitan super-culture," comprising people with a Western education which# among other things# had given them a facility with foreign lan- guages# a knowledge of foreign cultures# and an appropriate occupation and Income level to accompany 1t.*5 its members were mainly blcultural# 15. Hlldred Geertz# "Indonesian Cultures and Communities#" In ln.deMAta, ed. R. McVey (New Haven: HRAF Press# 1963)# pp. 35ff. Geertz was speaking of postwar Indonesia but the metropolitan super-culture which she Identi- fies was clearly emerging 1n the 1920s and 1930s. 18since they retained certain features of their original local culture 1n such matters as family relationship and religion; but for other matters they displayed a ,fmodern,, Hfe-style and possessed a coherent set of values. Even those who had been given a specifically Muslim education 1n Muhammadlyah schools saw themselves as modern 1n outlook and distinguished themselves from conservative Muslims and conservative Muslim education. Modernist Muslims, however, differed 1n one Important respect from those who had come through a secular educational system. They were less likely to feel that they had lost their place 1n their own society or that they were facing an Identity crisis of the kind that did confront some of the secular elite. In other ways, too, the elite shared the characteristics of Intelli- gentsias elsewhere. It was very much an underemployed elite. Though In comparative terms only a very few Indonesians did manage to secure a secondary education, there were Insufficient opportunities even for this small number to exercise their skills at what they saw as an appropriate level. Those given a specifically vocational training could be absorbed. Graduates of OSVIA found places 1n the native administrative corps (though the separation maintained effectively between the native pangtizk psiadja and the Dutch service, the E'Cnmnland^ BeAtuivt, was a source of frustra- tion, the products of STOVIA were employed by government, and the few who had had a tertiary training 1n law or engineering or medicine could practice their professions. But, 1n general, high school training 1n an AMS or even HBS, did not guarantee suitable employment. Preference was always given to Dutch and Eurasians, and 1n the general civil service or 1n business there were not enough places for secondary school products. Those who were successful In gaining employment were kept to the lower clerical levels. The frustrations Inherent 1n that situation contributed naturally enough to the politicization of the elite which could easily posit a connection between Its own grievances and those of the masses. It was attuned to many of the profounder changes going on 1n society, It was able to perceive 1n appropriate terms the character of the high Imperialism of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and It possessed the skills which enabled It to frame a nationalist response. However, though to this extent Indonesia’s Intelligentsia fits well enough the general stereotype, there were Important Individual character- istics to be noticed. Nationalism was a diverse phenomenon In Indonesia and distinctions must be made between the earlier and later phases of the movement, between those who thought as much In terms of Muslim revival as of political Independence and between those who looked mainly to freedom from Dutch rule and others who sought radical social change as well. This diversity expressed Itself sometimes In the form of a largely aristocratic, or at least elitist, concern with the education and Improvement of the popula- tion at large, sometimes In attempts to create a mass movement with or without an Islamic base, as 1n Sarekat Islam or the Indonesian Nationalist Party (PNI), and sometimes 1n more radical form as 1n the Indies Social Democratic Federation (later to become the Indies Communist Party). Ideologically, Marxist theory could rub shoulders with Muslim reformism or with Western democratic thought. From the mid-twenties, the consolida- tion of what has been called secular nationalism, In contradistinction to forms of Muslim or Communist nationalism, represented a more limited and narrowly focused opposition to Dutch rule. This approach was represented 19in the Perhimpunan Indonesia (Indonesian Union) 1n the Netherlands# 1n study clubs 1n Indonesia# and 1n the formation 1n 1927 of the Indonesian Nationalist Party, the PNI. The PNI’s Ideological contribution, particularly as expressed by Its chairman, Sukarno, carried echoes of Douwes Dekker’s Indlsche Partij of 1912, which had emphasized the Importance of securing the unity of all shades of nationalist opinion 1n pursuit of the goal of political Indepen- dence. In the case of the PNI the goal of Independence was linked to not very precise perceptions of the social change which would accompany it and which would lead 1n due course to the establishment of an Independent, just, and prosperous Republic. Justice and prosperity seemed not so difficult to attain once foreign rule was ended. In the meantime, the task of the party was to mobilize popular power 1n order to maintain a continuing pressure on the colonial authorities and it was Important that the movement should be united. For the time being the lines of ideological division that separated Muslim from Communist and both from the "merely" nationalist, should be set aside In the Interests of a struggle for the minimum goal on which all could agree. There were, of course, differences of attitude and temper within the party, and Sukarno’s projection of the party’s Ideas and program were not necessarily Identical with the views of the more cautious Netherlands-trained lawyers like Sunarjo or Sartono and they were certainly not identical with those of Hatta and the theoreti- cally minded members of the Perhimpunan Indonesia. But he was one of the party’s founders, Its first chairman and undoubtedly Its most prominent spokesman, and h1s view of the PNI’s role was authoritative. It could be said that the party’s approach, as outlined 1n Sukarno’s speeches and 1n the pages of the party’s journal, Pz'uatoje.an IndorutAla, was essentially "statist" and populist. By statist 1s meant a perception of the State as the agency which, when captured, could do things: formulate programs and carry them out, achieve prescribed goals. The State was thus the focal point of struggle and, 1n the hands of a victorious nationalist leadership, 1t would be the means of bringing about desirable change, though the precise programs to be Implemented in that new situation were still to be formulated. The State, that 1s to say, was not seen in terms of reconciling conflicts between diverse Interests or as representative of a dominant Interest or group, but as the tool of an elite consensus. And by the same token, the outlook of the party was populist in that 1t saw the elite as acting on behalf of, or in the Interests of, the masses which would give their support to the new dispensation. In other words, nationalist struggle and the transformation that Independence would bring were seen very much 1n terms of the role which the elite Itself would play* In the meantime, the goal was independence and the PNI was a "non- cooperating" party, refusing to accept representation 1n the Volksraad or to act 1n a way which would Imply the acceptance—even the temporary acceptance—of colonial rule. (It should be noticed that the cooperation issue was a major one for nationalist parties and their leaders. The division between "co" and "non-co," between those who were prepared to work within the framework of colonial rule and those who were not, cut very deeply across the movement to the point where non-cooperators often could not remain on speaking terms with cooperators.) In 1928 and 1929 the PNI appeared to be riding high, until Its momentum was suddenly checked by the arrest of Sukarno on December 29, 1929. The apparent consensus within the PNI about both ends and means was to be challenged thereafter by those who, after the arrest, trial, and conviction of Sukarno, were not able to accept the leadership of Sartono 20who had succeeded him as chairman of the party. Sartono, acting on the assumption that the sentence imposed on Sukarno was tantamount to a declaration that the PNI was illegal, dissolved the party and proceeded to the formation of a new party—the Indonesia Party (Partai Indonesia, abbreviated to Partindo). A new party, he believed, in theory free of the illegality of the old, might be permitted to survive. These decisions did not meet with the approval of a number of PNI members, and the dissidents formed new breakaway groups in places where there had formerly been a PNI branch. With the encouragement of Mohammad Hatta, exercised by remote control from the Netherlands, and of Sutan Sjahrir, who returned to Batavia essentially as Hatta’s representative, these Independent groups (Golongan Merdeka) came together in December 1931 to form a new party, the Club Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National Education Club). The name was probably chosen in order to preserve the initials, PNI, but it expressed also Hatta’s view that the principal task of the nationalist movement at this stage was not agitation or the mobilization of mass action to challenge the colonial power, but the less spectacular task of educating the members of the movement and preparing for a long- term struggle against the more powerful imperial enemy. The new party was intended to carry out that task. Thereafter the Pendidikan Nasional Indonesia remained a persistent critic of the style and general approach of Partindo. The PNI Bjah>vLK9 p. 93. 37. Sal Tas, "Souvenirs of Sjahrlr,” p. 138. 38. Ibid., p. 139. 27task of the State after the attainment of Independence rather than that of an emergent bourgeoisie.39 Within this theoretical framework he came to examine the trends of European development during the thirties. The world depression and the rise of fascism, together with Imperialism Itself, formed part of a single analytical picture. In exile, as he reflected upon world events, he developed a sense of the gathering of the currents of history and the preparation of "a world conflict between two great world forces,” the significance of which was missed by most Dutch people 1n the Indies and also by the nationalist leadership4^—and Indeed, 1t would seem, was apparent only to those who had the right perspective. In 1936 he observed that Ethiopia was being sacrificed 1n advance to what 1n time would become "one, great world conflagration.”4* Later 1n the same year the outbreak of the Spanish C1v1l War took him by surprise, but he quickly fitted that development Into the general pattern. There are, from time to time, events which have enormous symbolic Importance for those who observe them. They appear to draw together and catch up 1n themselves the diverse conflicts of the time and become representative of what are seen to be the essential Issues and choices confronting the world. The Spanish Civil War was one such moment. For the European left of the thirties 1t held the same kind of symbolic significance as Vietnam was to hold for a later generation. The future of democracy and socialism appeared to be on the line as the forces of reaction gathered to support the overthrow of the Spanish Republic. This was certainly Sjahr1rfs perception. He described the outbreak of civil war 1n Spain as ”by far the most Important happening 1n Europe” and argued that 1f the "reactionaries 1n Spain” win out, ”the triumphal march of fascism throughout the world will gain further momentum.” And this would be a "cataclysm of the whole world” because Japan 1n the east was linked with European fascism.42 The perception of the crisis facing the democ- racies was a constantly recurring theme. The Intervention of Italy and Germany 1n Spain, civil war 1n China, followed by China’s united resistance to Japan, were all aspects of that one overall challenge.43 "For a long time now,” he wrote 1n 1938, ”1 have not believed 1n the possibility of a separate solution of the Spanish and the Pacific crises. They will both find their solution only 1n a general world-wide crisis. It 1s only a question of time as to when the nadir will be reached, and when the world conflict will break out. The time Itself will depend on the fascists. .”44 39. Issues of this kind were canvassed 1n a number of articles published In VauLat Ra’j'at under h1s direction. See, for example, ”Kr1s1s Doenla dan Pergerakan Doenla” [The World Crisis and the World Movement], VauLat Ra'/at, No. 13, January 20, 1932; "National Isme” [Nationalism], VauLat Ra'jat, No. 27, June 10, 1932; and an article on communism, VauLat Ra'jat, No. 42, November 10, 1932. 40. Sjahrlr, Out o£ Extie,, p. 219. 41. His emphasis, letter of May 6, 1936, Ibid., p. 96. 42. Out a£ ExlLe,, pp. 115-16. 43. Ibid., p. 185. 44. Ibid., p. 209. 28Sjahrlr remained faithful to a generally Marxist way of looking at the world when some of h1s Dutch friends moved to a critical view of Marxist thinking. ’’For him to leave Marxism meant to leave the radical struggle,” said Sal Tas, who gave this as one of the reasons for the coolness between them.*5 He also remained a democrat, fearful of the dangers of totalitarianism either of the right or the left. This must be emphasized. This strain 1n Sjahrlr’s outlook made 1t quite Impossible for him ever to surrender himself to the kind of discipline Imposed by a Communist party. The attraction of Marxist theory was a part of Sjahrlr’s wider theo- retical Interests. In the view of Sal Tas, he was not an Intellectual Innovator but 1n h1s approach to the Ideas of others he was concerned with concepts, analysis, and coherence. Political activity, he believed, must be firmly grounded 1n theory. Writing after h1s return to Indonesia, 1n the New PNI’s paper, Vautat Ra'jat, he called for care and precision 1n the framing of theory. Theoretical thinking must be exact, he said, 1f the analysis Itself 1s to be clear. If we can’t be precise 1n our politi- cal calculation 1t 1s because we don’t know what we are calculating. ”In all political calculation, thinking must be concrete, must be based on the real situation, must be definite and limited.”46 And still later he was to Insist that political leadership must be ’’fortified by Ideology and scientific knowledge.” ”A revolutionary party with a fully developed, coherent Ideology and theory ... Is essential for leading the revolution. h47 • • • Beyond h1s Marxism, and beyond h1s Insistence on the Importance of theory, Sjahrlr as a student was avid 1n his exploration of Western culture, Western political Ideas, and Western modes of thought. Some years later he spoke of h1s wanting h1s brother to stay In the Netherlands rather than return to the Indies so that ”by so doing he can have the opportunity to make Western knowledge and culture h1s own.”48 in similar vein he commented on an aesthetically Inclined friend who had been brought up and educated 1n the Netherlands as a Netherlander and who, on h1s return, had difficulty In adjusting himself to life In the colonial society of the Indies because he was ’’completely European 1n h1s thinking.” Sjahrlr warmly approved the return of his friend to Holland. Indonesia had nothing for him. He was degenerating and 1t was good that he had returned to Europe. ”How could Suleiman, with h1s hundred guilders a month, hope to have entree to the Batavia art circles, or hope to come Into contact with the art devotees and artists who are an Integral part 45. Sal Tas, ’’Souvenirs of Sjahrlr,” p. 147. There were other reasons too. Tas’s wife, Marla Duchateau, left him to marry Sjahrlr. It was a brief marriage. They were married by Muslim rites 1n Sumatra after Sjahrlr’s return from Holland, but 1t turned out that divorce proceedings had not been completed and the marriage was not recognized 1n Dutch law. Shortly afterwards came Sjahrlr’s arrest and exile. He then married her again by proxy after h1s transfer to Banda Nelra. She was about to rejoin him when Germany Invaded the Netherlands. Later the pair were divorced and Sjahrlr married S1t1 Wahjunah, sister of Soedjatmoko, one of Sjahrlr’s prot6g6s and close friends. 46. Vaulat Ra’jat, No. 14, January 30, 1932. 47. Sjahrlr, Oust SVolqqJLz, p. 29. 48. Sjahrlr, Oat Exitz, p. 2. 29of the highest European society here? In Europe, on the other hand, without a single cent, he can have the Rotonde, the American, the Bohe- mian.”49 Sjahrlr displayed h1s cast of mind most clearly, not 1n h1s specifi- cally political writings but 1n the reflective passages of the letters written from exile 1n Boven Dlgul and Banda Nelra. In h1s comments there on Western learning he constantly emphasized the Ideas of rationality and vitality and these appear, Indeed, to be a central characteristic of h1s whole outlook. ,fWhat I value most highly 1n the West 1s Its resilience, its vitality, Its rationality—and 1t Is only rationality that can possibly control human life.”50 Western culture, he believed, offered ”the disciplined thinking and the rationalism that are the Indispensable prerequisites for unravel Una and understanding the more complicated and diversified society Itself.”5i in Indonesia there has been ”no cultural or spiritual life, and no Intellectual progress for centuries.”52 The tranquillity that Europeans admire 1n Eastern society 1s nothing but Inertia: ”The East’s negation of life 1s really only an adaptation that makes an unbearable life bearable” and amounts to much the same thing as nostalgic longings for the ”lost land of the Middle Ages.”53 only from the West with Its ”1ndestruct1ble vitality” could the vital youth of the East learn to regard themselves ”as a centre of vitality capable of changing and bettering the world.”54 The premium he placed on rationality attracted him to British and French empiricism rather than to German speculative philosophy, to Hume, Comte, Mill, and Spencer—and to Bertrand Russell, Eddington, and Julian Huxley—rather than to Kant and Hegel55 but his Inquiry was more than an Intellectual pursuit. It was as much a spiritual matter and there are almost lyrical passages 1n which he describes h1s attempt to arrive at ”a harmonious, personal truth”56 and h1s desire not to be tied to one or another school of thought. ”The Important thing Is not the name of the school, but the firmness and equilibrium that such a vital conviction can give to one’s life; a conviction, moreover, that may serve as a solid basis for one’s thoughts and actions.” And 1t was Important too that the demands of the Intellect be reconciled with the requirements of emotional life, the requirements of ’’flesh, blood and senses.”57 These strivings were not always expressed with clarity, but Sjahrlr did convey vividly the sense of the personal struggle 1n which he was engaged. It was undoubtedly a part of h1s Western rationality that he accepted simultaneously a perception of the limitations of reason—the precarious character of any Intellectual position. Firmness and harmony and equilibrium could be regarded only as 49. Ibid., p. 22. 50. Ibid., p. 146. 51. Ibid., p. 3. 52. Ibid., p • 66 • 53. Ibid., pp. 159ff. 54. Ibid., pp. 145-46. 55. Ibid., p. 141. 56. Ibid., p. 142. 57. Ibid., p. 143. 30"points of stability 1n an endless cycle of flux and movement. What I seek 1s not a fixed and perpetual balance, but a process of development evolving 1n such a way that one feels life 1s expanding and that he himself 1s growing 1n spirit."58 It 1s hard to tell whether Sjahrlr’s plunge Into European philosophy, political thought, and culture was a deliberate and self-conscious thing or an unself-consclous, and delighted, response to the offerings of his Dutch university environment. Was he attempting to resolve the common Identity crisis of the Western-educated Aslan Intellectual5^ or was there Indeed no dilemma at all for him? Did he find himself so completely at one with h1s new world and was there therefore no sense of losing or rejecting an Indonesian tradition? How far was h1s adaptability due to the fact that he was Mlnangkabau rather than from another ethnic group? Much has been written about the receptivity of the Alam Mlnangkabau (Mlnangkabau world) and about the possibility that the Mlnangkabau tradi- tion Itself was particularly open to other traditions and Indeed might be said to prepare Its members for the outside world. In the Mlnangkabau world view, the heartland of the kingdom was surrounded by the siantau or fringe territories, peopled by the Mlnangkabau 1n a legendary past; and Mlnangkabau society 1s seen as In a constant state of Interaction with the tianZau and, by analogy, with areas lying further afield. The practice of mznantau, 1.e., the custom of regular migration to the nantau and the subsequent return to the heartland, ensures the constant adaptation of local custom to outside Influences and the absorption of outside Influence Into local culture. The adat 1s permanent and unchanging, but development and a constant unfolding of potentialities 1s an Integral part of the adat. The Mlnangkabau tradition, therefore, 1s held to be not something static, fixed, and unchanging. Its permanent essence Is, paradoxically, that 1t 1s 1n process of constant change and the continuous Incorporation of the outside world Into the Mlnangkabau world view means that dynamism and change are actually a part of the tradition.60 It 1s possible that this rendering of Mlnangkabau thought should Itself be regarded simply as a view argued by modern Mlnangkabau Intellectuals and that 1t reflects—and serves—their Interest 1n modifying tradition. Tauflk Abdullah, Indeed, argues that the notion of the Alam Mlnangkabau 1s more complex than 1s often suggested. The Idea of change being a part of a transcendent harmony has Its Inbuilt contradictions. Even 1n Mlnangkabau society, dynamism 1s likely to be resisted by conservatism, and moderniza- tion by appeals to tradition, narrowly conceived, especially where the gap between outside change and Inside custom becomes too great to be 58. Ibid., p. 142. 59. I have elsewhere offered him as an example of the "dilemma of the Indonesian Intellectual." See J. D. Legge, Indonesia, 3rd ed. (Sydney: Prentice-Hall of Australia, 1980), pp. 10-11. 60. See Tauflk Abdullah, "Modernization In the Mlnangkabau World." See also Michael Swift’s discussion of the achievement motive of the Mlnangka- bau and the way 1n which local custom might be appealed to In support of conflicting views. Swift speaks of the Mlnangkabau ability to put tradi- tional concepts to the service of new Ideas and new goals. "Mlnangkabau and Modernisation," In Anthropology In Oceania: Ettay* Prz^znted to lan HogtUn, ed. L. R. Hiatt and C. J. Jayawardena (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1971). 31borne with comfort. In that situation the siantau may become "an active counter-1 nst1 tutlon which challenges the entire system" rather than forming a part of the system."61 The view that custom and external pressures for change are both part of the one transcendent whole thus appears as an idealized and oversimplified view of Minangkabau culture. In fact there have often been polarization and social conflict of one kind or another, between religion and adat, or within the ranks of Islamic leaders, between modernists and conservatives, or between generations, or between competing Ideologies or practical programs.62 How does Sjahrir fit Into this framework? Had his Minangkabau origins made him more receptive to Western secular thinking; or did he represent in more extreme form the type of challenge which the Minangkabau Alam constantly received from the Aantau; or had he really slipped through the retaining walls of custom and become, as Sukarno was later to suggest, more of a European than an Indonesian? These are fine distinctions and there 1s probably little point in attempting to argue a firm and clear answer to such questions. Sjahrir happily accepted, on occasion, the fact that, in nationalist and intellectual circles, he was regarded as far too pro-Western for comfort.63 Certainly he was in several ways quite unlike that other Minangkabau, his mentor Hatta; but then Hatta, as has been noticed, remained a devout Muslim, and that made for important differences. Sjahrir’s Marxism was more self-consciously held and was for him a guiding philosophy rather than just a useful framework within which to analyze the world. Hatta's religious belief could not allow him to accept a materialist philosophy in that way. Secondly, Hatta’s adher- ence to his religion gave him links at a variety of levels to Indonesian society. Sjahrir lacked such a natural entry. The two men, of course, shared a common belief in democracy. The term kjtAakyatan occurred regu- larly in the pages of Vaulat Ra'/at. It may be freely translated as "democracy" (from Aakyat, the people or the common people) embracing not merely the idea of popular sovereignty but also a sense of the virtue that resided in the common people. Nevertheless, the character of their respective democratic faiths was different. For Hatta, as has been seen, an adherence to democratic principle was linked to what he saw as the natural democracy of the Indonesian village. Sjahrir would have none of that. For him, democratic principle had its roots in European political thought, and he was afraid that the so-called "feudal" character of traditional society in the Indies would in fact inhibit democratic develop- ment and might encourage authoritarianism either of the right or the left.64 Sjahrir, not merely for that reason but in general, appeared anxious actually to reject traditional society, with its conservatism and backward- ness. This constituted a sharp difference between himself and Hatta. Sjahrir’s letters from exile are full of contemptuous references to the backwardness of Indonesian society. In an extended discussion of the point he argued that "the much-praised Eastern art forms" were really only the "bare rudiments of a feudal past that cannot possibly produce a 61. Tauflk Abdullah, "Modernization 1n the Minangkabau World," p. 198. 62. Ibid., pp. 181-82, 198. 63. Sjahrir, Oat E&CLz, pp. 85 and 146. 64. See Kah1nfs report of a conversation with Sjahrir 1n November 1948 quoted in the Preface to Anderson’s translation of Oua StAugglz, p. (1v). 32dynamic fulcrum for people of the twentieth century.ff65 "Our spiritual needs are needs of the twentieth century; our problems and our views are of the twentieth century. Our inclination 1s no longer toward the mysti- cal, but towards reality, clarity and objectivity.” And again: ,fWe Intellectuals here are much closer to Europe and America than we are to the Boroboedoer or Mahabharata or to the primitive Islamic culture of Java and Sumatra. Which 1s our basis: the West or the rudiments of feudal culture which are still to be found 1n our Eastern soc1ety?f|66 Gandhi and Tagore were condemned, one for emphasizing the spiritual, moral, and religious outlook of the East and the other for wanting a blend of Western science and Eastern wisdom.67 Sjahrlr demanded rather that Aslan development should be seen 1n the same rationalistic way as that 1n which he viewed the evolution of European society. This was a theme to which he often returned. Writing from Banda Nelra for an anni- versary Issue of Pozdjangga Banaz 1n 1938, he stressed again the Importance for a new Indonesian culture of rationality and modernity.68 And 1n the same journal he scoffed once more at traditional culture. Takdlr AUsjah- bana and Sanoesl Pane, he said, are not descendants of the authors of the Mahabharata or the Pararaton or the Negarakertagama.69 What Indonesian Intellectuals needed was to accept the challenge of Western rationalism, take 1t over, and use 1t to fulfill their own needs.70 It might still be possible, of course, to say that all of this repre- sented at least one Mlnangkabau response to the Intellectual challenge of the nantau. Rudolf Mrazek argues to that effect and Indeed goes further. He finds signs of an essentially Mlnangkabau outlook and Mlnangkabau Ideas not only 1n Sjahrlr’s general response—h1s uncompromising commitment to Western ways of thought—but even 1n the details of h1s views and atti- tudes; and he draws close parallels between these Mlnangkabau traits and those that he detected 1n h1s study of Tan Mai aka, who might similarly have been seen, superficially, as Western 1n outlook.71 The strong emphasis placed on dynamism 1s one such Mlnangkabau characteristic 1n Mrazekfs view. Another 1s the emphasis on rationality which, 1t 1s argued, 1s closely related to the Mlnangkabau Ideal of akal or reason. Similarly Sjahr1rfs perception of Islam as a bourgeois, dynamic, and progressive force appeared as a further example of a Mlnangkabau rejection of Javanese passivity and resistance to change. Sjahrlr wondered whether 65. Sjahrlr, Oat a£ ExaJLz, pp. 66-67. 66. Ibid., p. 67. 67. Ibid., p. 68. 68. Nomea PznZngatan Pazdjangga Banoz, 1933-1938. 69. Takdlr Allsjahbana and Sanoesl Pane were members of the government publishing house, Balal Pustaka, concerned with the promotion of writing 1n Indonesian and were associated with the establishment of the literary journal Pazdfangga Basiaz [New Writer], founded 1n 1933 as the vehicle of the Indonesian literary movement of the 1930s. 70. Included 1n S. Sjahrlr, PiklKan dan Pzndj ozangan (Jakarta: Poestaka Rakjat, 1947), pp. 91ff. 71. See Mrazek, "Tan Malaka," and Rudolph Mrazek, "Sutan Sjahrlr: An Effort at Integrity, 1909-1938,” unpublished paper presented to the Conference on Multilingualism 1n Indonesia, August 1981. I am grateful to Dr. Mrazek for permission to cite the latter essay. 33Islam might not have played f,the same historical role 1n relation to Hinduism as Protestantism played 1n relation to Catholicism; mainly representing the bourgeois concept of life contrasted with the feudal."7* Mrazek argues that Sjahr1rfs apparent condemnation of tradition and backwardness Is really not to be seen as a condemnation of traditional society as a whole, but more specifically as a condemnation of Javanztz social order; and certainly the examples of backwardness given by Sjahrlr 1n h1s letters are often Javanese examples. Finally, Sjahrlr’s perception of himself as a teacher 1s said to be a Mlnangkabau characteristic. It revealed Itself 1n h1s educational work within the Pendldlkan Naslonal Indonesia, but also appears 1n remarks made 1n h1s letters about the central Importance of the educational task. Mrazek points to Sal Tas* quotation of Sjahrlr: "I really find teaching the greatest work there 1s.11 One might also point to that charming characteristic of Sjahrlr, h1s simple and unaffected pleasure 1n the company of children, and h1s formal and Informal role as a teacher of them, referred to repeatedly 1n h1s letters.73 Mrazek’s argument 1s developed brilliantly and with subtlety; but to argue 1n this way 1s perhaps to pose Impossible conceptual problems and to strain the limited evidence available. If to be Mlnangkabau 1s to be open to the Influences of the outside world, how could one decide 1n a particular case whether a Westernized Mlnangkabau Intellectual was being essentially Mlnangkabau or essentially Westernized? It 1s a game that can be played both ways, with precisely the same evidence being offered 1n support of contradictory conclusions!74 In the case of Sjahrlr 1t may be sufficient to note Sal Tas’ simple and straightforward judgment that the "open and direct" Sjahrlr "thrived 1n the climate of the West." And again, "his temperament came to Its natural maturation there."75 The ease with which this maturation took place did make him an exception 1n the ranks of Indonesian nationalist leaders who studied 1n the Netherlands. It hardly matters whether a Mlnangkabau was more likely to make such an adaptation or whether 1t was simply Sjahrlr’s personal quality that accomplished 1t. Either way, h1s response to the challenge of the West was a much more complete and open acceptance than was the case with others of h1s generation, and 1f the charge of being "Westernized" 1s to be laid 1n a critical way against Indonesian Intellectuals, Sjahrlr 1s clearly the stereotype. * * * 72. Sjahrlr, Out a& Exttz, p. 46. 73. See, for example, 1 b1d., pp. 109 and 113 when he speaks of teaching Tjlpto Mangunkusumo’s foster son and other children 1n Banda Nelra; p. 169 where he tells of h1s giving lessons to Arab children; pp. 128 and 131 where he takes a group of children sailing or picnicking. 74. Compare Dahm’s skillful characterization of the Javanese-ness of Sukarno, but note also objections that may be leveled against such an Interpretation. For a general discussion of the conceptual and evidential problems Involved 1n exploring the "traditional-modern" dichotomy see the present author’s "Sukarno: Traditional or Modern Leader?" 1n and BtcgAapky, ed. Wang Gungwu (Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1975), pp. 170ff. 75. Sal Tas, "Souvenirs of Sjahrlr," p. 137. 34Sjahr1rfs return to Batavia 1n 1931 marked a new stage 1n h1s political development. He and Hatta had observed from the Netherlands the disarray Into which the old PNI was thrown by the arrest of Sukarno, and had openly disapproved of the actions of Sartono, after Sukarno’s conviction, In dissolving the party and setting up Partlndo 1n Its place. Against that background Sjahrlr was sent back to Batavia to provide leadership for those dissidents who were not prepared to join Partlndo, and who, as we have seen, had formed Independent Groups 1n some of the places where there had formerly been branches of the old PNI. Such groups existed 1n Batavia, Bandung, Yogyakarta, Surakarta, Surabaya, Malang, and Palembang by September 1931.7& By then some of them had adopted the name Club Pendidikan Naslonal Indonesia (Indonesian National Education Club) and the launching of the new paper, VaaLat Ra'jat, published every ten days, gave the groups a public voice. A conference at Yogyakarta, held on December 25-27, 1931, completed the unification of the groups and the formation of the Pendldlkan Naslonal Indonesia, soon to be called the PNI Baru (New PNI), under the chairmanship of Sukeml. Sjahrlr replaced Sukeml 1n June 1932 and then handed over to Hatta after h1s return from the Indies 1n August. He also assumed the direction of VaaLat Ra1fat. By the time Hatta returned to Indonesia the new party was a functioning organization, with about a dozen branches, a number which continued to grow over the succeeding months. Shortly after h1s return Hatta visited West Sumatra and helped to establish a branch there, and four other West Sumatran branches followed.77 A West Sumatran conference of the party was held 1n March of 1935 and a West Sumatra representative (Chatib Suleiman) was Included 1n the General Council of the party. By February 1934, when the leaders of the party were arrested and exiled, the Pendldi- kan could be said to have established a distinctive approach to the nationalist struggle. The Inclusion of the word '’Education” in the party’s title was serious- ly Intended and much of the work of the party was 1n fact the provision of political education to members, conducted In part through the pages of VaaLat Ra'jat and other writings, Including Hatta’s pamphlet Kzasiafi Indanz^La MeAdzka [Towards a Free Indonesia] written specifically as a kind of manifesto of the movement, 1n part through lectures to branch members and others,7® and 1n part through courses offered to members. The central direction of such Instruction was revealed 1n the famous 150 questions prepared by Hatta as a means of testing knowledge of the contents of KzaJiak Indone^La MeAdtka and covering a wide range of aspects of poli- tics and political and economic thought. They ranged from simple questions 76. Ingleson, Road to ExlLz, p. 152. For an account of the formation of Independent Groups and their amalgamation to form the New PNI, see 1b1d., pp. 144-45. 77. For the development of the party 1n Java see 1b1d., p. 178. Thirty- two full branches had been formed by February 1933, with others 1n process of formation. For the West Sumatran developments see Leon Salim, ’’Riwayat Perjuangan Per1nt1s Kemerdekaan” [Account of the Pioneer Struggle for Independence] (Kantor Wllayah Departemen Soslal, DKI, Jakarta, 1979-80, Typescript). 78. For example, see address by Hatta, ”Kr1s1s Doenla dan Naslb Ra’jat Indonesia” [World Crisis and the Fate of the Indonesian People], delivered to Party branches 1n C1mah1 and Bandung 1n September 1932 and published 1n VaaLat Ra'jat, Nos. 37 and 38. 35about the Pendidlkan and its principles (What 1s the aim of the New PNI? What are Its principles? What does 1t mean by nationalism?) and questions about basic political concepts (What Is meant by popular sovereignty? By democracy? What 1s a parliament? What Is meant by election? Who has a right to vote?) to questions of more abstract political theory (What 1s liberalism? What 1s Individualism? What did Montesquieu mean by autoc- racy, oligarchy, and revolution? What did he have to say about the division of powers? Why, according to him, does one not have revolts 1n a democracy? Who was Rousseau and what did he teach?). There were questions about Church and State (What 1s the Catholic Church? Who 1s the Pope and why 1s he 1n conflict with kings?). Others dealt with economic history and economic organization (What was the Industrial Revolution? What Is a cartel? What 1s a trust? What 1s the nature of vertical combination? Of horizontal combination?). Answers were supplled, the tone being set by the ringing answer to question 1: ”What 1s the aim of the [New] PNI?” Answer: ”0ur aim 1s 100% freedom.” Taken as a whole the answers embodied a clear 1f simple doctrine: that political power was distributed according to the distribution of economic power in a society, that political liberties without economic equality were extremely limited and that Indonesian Independence would have reality only 1f It were accompanied by economic change. Questions leading to those answers were sometimes posed 1n a way that obviously called for a clear answer based on the book. Q: ”What 1s the basis of Western democracy? In what field does equality not exist?” A: ”In the economic field equality does not exist.” Q: ”In what field 1s there equality?” A: ”0nly 1n the political field 1s there equality.” Q: ”Why 1s political democracy not enough?” A: "Political democracy 1s not enough because 1t 1s crippled by the autocracy that still exists 1n the economic and social fields. The majority of the people still suffer under the power of capitalists and employers.” The flavor of the Pend1d1kanfs courses and the earnestness of Its members had something of the flavor of the Workers1 Educational Association which sought to take education to the masses 1n Britain 1n the late nineteenth century. The WEA had strong links with the Fabian movement and to a considerable extent 1t was a socialist education that 1t provided. The Pendldlkan’s members were not, of course, workers 1n the class sense, though most of them had had a secondary rather than a tertiary education.^ 79. An exception was Sastra, the son of a farmer from Garut Regency, who became an employee 1n the military workshops 1n Bandung. He had had some technical training after leaving elementary school at grade 2 level. He became a union leader 1n the army workshops, and obtained some acquaintance with Communist theory and tactics, while regarding the PKI as nationalist rather than as genuinely moved by Marx’s strategical calculations. After the revolts of 1926-1927 he was arrested and Imprisoned for four years. The experience convinced him of the necessity to understand the principles of struggle 1f Independence was to be obtained. On h1s release, looking for some political framework 1n which to work, he was attracted to Sjahrlr and the Pendidlkan Naslonal Indonesia. He and Sjahrlr warmed to each other. For Sjahrlr their friendship symbolized the possibility of union between the common man and the Intellectual. Sastra’s distinguishing characteristic was h1s Independence of mind. He had had links with the PKI and was to have them again after Independence, and also with the Murba party, but was never a captive of doctrine. Sastra, ”Makna Sjahrlr 36They possessed, however, a concern for a political education of a socialist kind which would take them beyond a narrow, agitational style of national- ism. In this way the New PNI, under the leadership of Hatta and Sjahrir, developed a distinctive view of the world and a distinctive mode of discussing the problems facing the nationalist movement. It must be admitted, of course, that, as far as its analyses of imperi- alism and of social order were concerned, it had no ideological monopoly. As has been argued elsewhere,80 it is not easy to define with precision the ideological and tactical differences between the old PNI and Partindo on the one hand, and the PNI Baru on the other. The traditional view that the Pendldikan was initially concerned to train cadres rather than to seek a mass membership is open to question,81 though the Increasing repressiveness of the colonial government brought it in due course to such a position. Certainly the party was critical of the expressive character of Sukarno’s leadership of the old PNI and Partindo, and of the emphasis placed by him on maintaining national unity at all costs. To Hatta and Sjahrir unity was worthless unless it was based on an under- standing of common principles. But an examination of the basic tenets of the old PNI and Partindo and those of the Pendidikan Naslonal Indonesia suggests that the differences between them were far from clear cut. All gave an economic interpretation of Dutch imperialism, seeing 1t, in Marxist terms, as functionally related to the development of capitalism. All rejected the simple application to the Indonesian situation of a class analysis of society, though the Pendidikan, in the pages of Vaulat Ra'/at, was more thorough and more persistent in its exploration of the social structure of colonial society. All made a distinction between political and social revolution and argued that social change must follow the struggle for independence, though once again the Pendidikan pursued the theme more persistently.82 jn the last analysis it would seem that the differences were differences of style and temper rather than of political and social principle. Bernhard Dahm discussed the rivalries and tensions that existed between Partindo and the PNI Baru 1n terms of a distinction that he made between ’’Indonesian” and ’’European” parties.83 Sjahrir, said Dahm, had returned from the Netherlands as ’’the representative of another world.” From his Dutch education he had derived the habit of acute analysis, unsentimental logic, and a preparedness to make unsparing criticisms of what he regarded as worthless.84 j0hn Ingleson responded that Dahm’s untuk Sastra dan Sastra untuk Sjahrir” [Sjahrir’s meaning for Sastra and Sastra’s meaning for Sjahrir] 1n Mtngznang S/akeL^i, ed. Anwar; and inters view with Sastra, February 6, 1983. 80. J. D. Legge, ”Vaulat Ra'/at and the Ideas of the Pendidikan Naslonal Indonesia,” Indonzila 32 (October 1981): 151-68. 81. For statements of that view see Kahin, Nationalism and Revolution i:n Indonesia, p. 93, and Ingleson, Road to Exile, pp. 177ff. 82. See Legge, ”Vaulat Ra'/at," p. 161 and note 36. 83. Bernhard Dahm, Sukarno and the Struggle J^ok Indonesian Independence, trans. Mary F. Somers Heldhues (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1969), ch. 4, especially pp. 140-43. 84. Ibid., pp. 137-38. Cf. also the judgment of John Coast who commented 37labels were Inappropriate since Partlndo’s leaders, too, as we have noticed already, had received their university education 1n the Netherlands and Indeed that the central executive and the branch executives of Partindo contained more people with a Dutch tertiary training than did those of the Pend1d1kan, which were composed largely of lesser officials, clerks, and teachers, educated usually only to secondary level.85 But there was some point 1n Dahmfs contrast nonetheless. In spite of the differences between Hatta and Sjahrlr, the Pend1d1kan owed much to the European social democratic tradition. Its distinguishing features were Its emphasis on social theory as a guide to action, the sense of the coherence of Its outlook on the world which embraced complementary analyses of capitalism, Imperialism, and the rise of fascism and which were concerned to place the Indonesian predicament within a global picture. Its founders were confident that they had perceived aright the currents of the flow of world history and they were secure 1n their own conviction that they possessed a general analysis of political and social problems, In the light of which a rational strategy could be developed for the Indonesian struggle. In these respects the Pend1d1kan was self-consciously Intellec- tual 1n Its approach 1n a way that the old PNI and Partlndo were not. This self-consciousness was still Important In 1948 when surviving members of the Pendldlkan, together with a younger generation of like- minded people, many of whom had been selected and brought together by Sjahrlr during the Japanese Occupation, left the Partal Soslalls to form the PSI. * * * The Increasing repressiveness of the Indies government under Governor- General de Jonge, who had succeeded the more liberal de Graeff 1n 1931, and Its decreasing willingness to tolerate even moderate dissent, placed the non-cooperating nationalists 1n an Impossible position. The arrest of Sukarno 1n November 1933 and of Hatta and Sjahrlr three months later, marked the beginning of a systematic attempt to suppress all radical nationalist activity. Hatta and Sjahrlr, and many of their followers, were sent to Boven D1gul (after a year the two leaders were transferred to Banda Nelra) and Sukarno was exiled to Flores and then to Bengkulu 1n southern Sumatra. Thereafter political meetings were banned and only cooperating organizations were allowed formally to exist. Partlndo survived but, robbed of Its leadership, 1t lost also the thrust of Its struggle for Independence. The Pendldlkan also managed to maintain a semblance of a central organization but Its activities were limited to a handful of members maintaining Informal contact with each other. At the more radical end of the spectrum the Communist leader, Musso, who had remained 1n Moscow after the failure of the Communist uprisings of 1926- 1927, returned secretly to the Indies 1n 1935 and reestablished a Communist presence based 1n Surabaya. Inevitably the f,Illegal PKI," as 1t was on Sjahr1rfs flexibility, h1s powers of analysis, and h1s humanity and reflected that these qualities "set him apart, and made him at times almost an alien." John Coast, RzcsaUt to Rzvalutzan (London: Christophers, 1952), p. 293. 85. Ingleson, Raad to ExULz, pp. 193 -94. 38called, could have only a shadowy existence, and could exert no public 1nfluence.88 It would be wrong to see the cooperating organizations as representing necessarily a moderate and compliant political posture, though many of them did.8* Parlndra (Partal Indonesia Raya—Greater Indonesia Party) for example, formed 1n 1935 by the amalgamation of Boedl Oetomo and other organizations, was prepared to accept seats 1n the Volksraad and avoided any radical challenge to the authorities. But with the gathering of war clouds 1n Europe the environment of nationalism altered. Surviving radicals, especially those of Marxist disposition, were moving to the view that the principal Issue to be faced 1n the Immediate future was not a struggle for Independence but the danger presented by fascism. In these circumstances they were prepared for the time being to cooperate with the colonial regime and they found 1t possible to become almost respectable. Amir Sjarlfuddln, formerly vice-chairman of Partindo, was a leading figure 1n the formation of Gerlndo (Gerakan Rakyat Indonesia— Indonesian People’s Movement) 1n 1937. Gerlndo, 1n the circumstances of the late thirties, urged cooperation with the Dutch. This was not a matter of expediency, a means of surviving 1n a repressive environment. It was a matter of genuine principle. In Gerlndo’s analysis, the European dictatorships were linked with military fanaticism 1n Japan and together they represented a natural outcome of the evolution of capitalism. As such they posed a world threat to democracy and, 1n this situation of global crisis, resistance to fascism was more Important than resistance to the evils of colonial rule. Indeed the outcome of the Independence struggle 1n Indonesia and elsewhere would, 1n the end, depend on the defeat of fascism. In view of the likely outbreak of war 1n Europe and perhaps 1n the Pacific also, Gerlndo argued, therefore, that, for the time being, Indonesian nationalists should align themselves with the Netherlands. In 1939 the leading nationalist groups came together In a new federal organization, Gap1 (Gabungan Polltlek Indonesia) which Included Gerlndo, PSII (Partal Sarekat Islam Indonesia), Parlndra, the Catholic Union (Persatuan Partal Kathollk) and the regional organizations Pasundan (West Java) and Persatuan Mlnahasa. Gapl was a broadly based organization but Gerlndo, with Its clear and coherent view of the relations between domestic and International developments, was clearly the leading force 1n the group. The general lines of Gerlndo’s thinking were shared by Sjahrlr, still 1n exile 1n Banda Nelra. If the Spanish Civil War was another step In ’’the triumphal march of fascism throughout the world,” In Asia Japan’s Invasion of China formed part of the same pattern. For him the axis ’’was a more dangerous threat to Indonesian freedom than existing Dutch colonial- ism,”8® and 1n the existing situation he believed that 1t was necessary 86. See Kahln, Nationalism and Revolution, p. 87. See also Anton Lucas, ’’The Communist Anti-Fascist Movement In Java,” In Local Opposition and Underground Resistance to tke Japanese In Java, 1942-1945, ed. Anton Lucas, Monash Papers on Southeast Asia, No. 13 (Clayton: Centre of South- east Aslan Studies, 1986). 87. See Susan Abeyasekere, One Hand Clapping: Indonesian Nationalists and the Vutck, 1939-1942, Monash Papers on Southeast Asia, No. 5 (Clayton: Centre of Southeast Aslan Studies, 1976), pp. 1-4. 88. Sjahrlr, Out o£ Exile, p. 219. 39"to take a stand 1n the same camp as Holland."®9 Had he been at liberty he would certainly have found himself 1n sympathy with Amir’s Initiative. Gerlndo thus provided a home for radicals who had escaped exile and for whom there was no possibility of a separate, radical, organizational existence. Nevertheless It existed very much on sufferance, and 1t 1s still true to say that the arrests of 1933 and 1934 had checked and limited the growth of a whole generation of activists. Certainly the repressive policy of the government cut across the development of the Pendldlkan. Though old members did manage to keep 1n touch, there was no possibility of active campaigning or the enrollment of new recruits. And, with the outbreak of World War II the political exiles of Boven D1gul were transferred to Australia and thus continued to be removed from the local political scene until after the Japanese surrender and the outbreak of revolution. Hatta and Sjahrlr, having been transferred from D1gul to Banda Nelra In 1936, were able to return to Batavia at the beginning of 1942 and made the famous compact with Sukarno on his return from Sumatra." Hatta and Sukarno were then quickly caught up In formal positions within the Occupation regime, and 1t was left to Sjahrlr to recruit a younger generation of followers and to prepare them In the Pendldlkan tradition for a later political role. During 1944 and 1945, he formed unobtrusive associations on an Individual basis with a wide range of young people, many of them secondary and tertiary students, and 1n this way he laid a network of contacts which could become a basis for future political action. It 1s thus not surprising, given this background, that the founders of the PSI should fall Into quite distinct generational groups. When 1t was formed 1n 1948, the PSI’s membership contained elements separated 1n age by a gap of perhaps ten years. On the one hand there were the veterans of Dlgul: Maskun, Bondan, T. A. Moerad, and other older members of the Pendldlkan who had escaped exile, such as Hamdanl. (Many of the ex-DIgul people on their return to Indonesia did not engage In active political work even if they became party members. Many simply devoted themselves to a civil service or other occupation, and observed political developments from a distance.) On the other hand were men in their late twenties like Soebadlo, Sltorus, and Andl Zalnal Abidin. There were other Important members of the party who, In terms of age, fell between the two: All Budlardjo, Tandlono Manoe, and Susllowatl, for example, were older than the Soebadlo generation—they were all born 1n 1913 and were thus 35 In 1948—but they had not been caught up 1n the activities of the Pendldlkan before the arrest of Its leaders In 1934. Another was Marla Ullfah (later married first to Santoso and then to Soebadlo) who completed a law degree 1n the Netherlands 1n 1933 (and became Indonesia’s first practicing woman lawyer). She was pursuing what had formerly been the regular route to a professional career for Indonesians in studying 1n the Netherlands and she, too, did not begin her active political career until later. In spite of the age difference, this group fell on the younger side of the generation gap that ran through the membership of the PSI. 89. Ibid., p. 211. 90. They were, In fact, brought back by the Dutch before the Japanese Invasion. The former Pendldlkan member, Sastra, claims that he approached the Dutch and argued that Hatta and Sjahrlr would be Important 1n dealing with a Japanese Occupation. (Interview with Sastra, March 6, 1983.) 40Despite the differences 1n age, the alliance of veterans and the younger members of the party was a natural alliance. The younger members, too, saw their Intellectual lineage as descending from the Pend1d1kan, and Sjahrlr specifically described the new party as the heir to the old.91 How well organized this younger group had become 1n 1944 and 1945, and how coherent 1t was 1n outlook and political sympathy, remains to be seen. How far were Its members drawn together by their adherence to a common set of Ideas? To anticipate one part of an answer at this point, 1t will become clear that the members of the group were highly articulate and highly self-conscious, and Indeed could be said to have formed an Intellectual coterie. An attempt will be made to examine the mode of Its recruitment, Its Internal dynamics, and Its self-perceptions. 91. Interview of Sjahrlr with George McT. Kahln, February 15, 1949. I am Indebted to Professor Kahln for making available to me h1s notes of this and other Interviews with Sjahrlr. 41CHAPTER III THE FORMATION OF THE SJAHRIR CIRCLE IN OCCUPATION JAKARTA Some of the young people who were drawn Into Sjahrlr’s orbit during 1943 and 1944 made contact with him almost accidentally through friends who were already friends of h1s. Others were deliberately Introduced to him by persons who saw them as potential recruits to some future political movement. Such Introductions took place against a broader background of youth activity and pol1t1c1zat1on which, 1n part, was the natural conse- quence of the dislocation caused by the Japanese Occupation at all levels of Indonesian society, but which, 1n part, resulted from the mobilization policies deliberately pursued by the Japanese themselves 1n their attempts to control and to win support from the subject population 1n Indonesia. A wide range of youth organizations was formed to cater for various sectors of society. The Selnendan aimed especially at youth 1n villages and country towns, the Angkatan Muda (Younger Generation) based at Bandung and attracting high school students amongst others, and the Angkatan Baru (New Generation) a more limited organization of youth leaders based 1n Jakarta, were examples. There were, 1n addition, the national mass organizations, Putera and Its successor, the Djawa Hokokal, and the military or sem1-m1l1tary organizations formed to provide the elements of military training for the local population—Peta (the Volunteer Army for the Defense of the Homeland), the Helho, an Indonesian auxiliary force within the Japanese army, and the Barlsan Pelopor formed under the control of the Djawa Hokokal.1 These organizations operated 1n an atmosphere of heightened expectations and Impending cataclysm that marked the closing months of Japanese rule. The nationalist activities of the Occupation and Immediately after did not, of course, constitute a homogeneous movement. There were lines of cleavage within Indonesian society, some overt and some for the time being concealed, but to become Important later. There was, for example, a con- tinuing tension between Muslim leaders on the one hand and, on the other, Sukarno and other leaders of secular nationalism who had managed, with considerable skill, to use the Institutional framework of the Occupation to their advantage. There were generational differences—between the older nationalist leadership and those whose Initial political experience was gained during the Occupation. But there were elements, too, of funda- mental Ideological difference, and these will be an essential part of our focus here. Sjahrlr, 1n h1s opposition to the Japanese, was moved not merely, or perhaps even primarily, by nationalist considerations but by considerations of political doctrine as well. He perceived the Japanese as fascists Integrally linked with European fascism. That perception was soon to be expressed 1n h1s use of the term "collaborators” to describe those Indonesians who had worked with the Occupation regime. The term 1. See B. R. 0fG. Anderson, Some Aspect* a£ Indonesian Politic* unde*, the Japanese Occupation: 1944-1945 (Ithaca: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1961), ch. 4 and Java In a Time a£ Revolution, ch. 1-3. 42"collaborator” had European overtones and was sharper 1n Its condemnation than the old term "cooperators,11 applied to those who had worked within the framework of Dutch colonial rule.2 At the same time there were differences between the socialist theory of Sjahrlr and the more radical outlook of some of those who were to be h1s colleagues within Amir Sjarl- fuddln’s Partal Soslalls and, of course, those who had been working as cadres of the "Illegal PKI" or who were to look for leadership to Tan Mai aka. Such differences were Important for the complex and shifting patterns of youth activity during the Occupation. However, 1n considering these patterns, 1t Is probably more accurate to see activist youth, or poten- tially activist youth, as drawn to one leader or another rather than to any clear Ideological position—to Amir Sjar1fudd1n before h1s arrest 1n 1943, or to Wlkana at the Asrama Indonesia Merdeka, or Sukarnl, Adam Malik, Chaerul Saleh, and others at Menteng 31, or to Sjahrlr, rather than to the Ideas they represented. Of course the two cannot be separated entirely. Personal charisma and congeniality of outlook no doubt went together 1n the formation of these fairly free-floating groupings. Certainly 1t was to be expected that Sjahr1rfs perception of allies and enemies would come to be shared by members of the well-educated and essentially upper-class group of younger activists who were collecting about him 1n 1944 and 1945. * * # One thing quickly becomes clear when one examines 1n detail the activities of those who are described—or who describe themselves—as followers of Sjahrlr or as members of a Sjahrlr. c1 rcle, and that 1s the tremendous complexity of their Interrelationships, particularly, but not solely, at the student level. One might Identify, 1n Occupation Jakarta, a number of centers—rival student organizations, asramas, discussion groups, groups arising from common places of employment under the Japa- nese—and Sjahrlr1 s followers were to be found 1n many of these. But the membership of such groups overlapped to such an extent, and the paths of their leading figures crossed so frequently and 1n such a variety of different connections, that 1t might seem more correct to see them not 1n their attachment to this asrama or that movement, but rather as a single group loosely organized about a series of focal points, and Interacting continuously with each other. In these organizations they also Interacted with others who were linked to leaders other than Sjahrlr. The Sjahrlr circle, that Is to say, was not clearly marked off from other circles, but cooperated with them within a variety of common contexts. A person might hold office 1n one student organization, have links with comrades 1n another, move for much of his time 1n the companionship of members of h1s asrama or engage 1n political discussion with others again. All of these might bring him constantly Into contact with broadly the same Individuals. Important among these focal points were the formal student organiza- tions which provided a framework for much youth activity before and during the Japanese Occupation. The Perhlmpunan Pelajar-Pelajar Indonesia— Union of Indonesian Students (PPPI)—had been formed 1n 1926. It was one of the organizations which participated 1n the Youth Congress of 1928 6eax, to USI and# after a special meeting to consider the question# was accepted. He became one of the editors of USI's paper# ll^Zblad. As we have noticed, USI became a little more politically Involved during the Occupation, at least to the point of joining with PPPI to form Baperpl. Algadrl became vice-chairman of the new body. He was also politically active 1n other ways# being a member of the central executive of the Indonesian Arab Union (Persatuan Arab Indonesia—PAD# an organization with branches In Sumatra# Celebes# Borneo# and the Moluccas# as well as In Java. PAI saw Itself as part of the nationalist movement# albeit of a fairly moderate kind. It supported the Soetardjo Petition of 1936# and looked to autonomy within some kind of continuing relationship with the Netherlands. At the beginning of World War II# the PAI changed Its name from "Persatuan” (union) to "Partal” (party) to Indicate more clearly Its political character and 1t became a member of Gap1 (Gabungan Pol1t1k Indonesia—Federation of Indonesian Political Parties). Following the Japanese Invasion# Algadrl was a member of Amir Sjar1fudd1nfs study group. After Its demise he returned to Surabaya and formed a small youth group there. He was thus not Inti- mately Involved 1n the wartime circle of Sjahrlr and Indeed was seen by some of Its members as representative of Indonesia's Arab minority rather than as 1n the mainstream of the thinking of the Sjahrlr group. # * # The diversity of these cases should not obscure the coherence and Inter-related character of the group from which they are drawn. Many other examples could be given. There was L1st1o# a dental student 1n Surabaya who helped Murdlanto 1n the organization of high school students and other youth groups 1n Surabaya. There were Soedjatmoko's two sisters# Poppy# who later married Sjahrlr# and Miriam# later to marry A11 Budlardjo, who worked with Soebadlo during the Occupation 1n Takdlr A1Isjahbana's Indonesian Language Institute. There was Hazll Tanzll# Sjahrlr's nephew# who worked 1n the AntU>i, p. xv111. 61statement promising to abstain from future political activity and as a result he was not permitted to continue h1s studies. His arrest and conviction were a blessing 1n disguise. It meant that, since he was already 1n jail, he escaped the moves taken against Pend1d1kan members 1n 1933 and 1934. He was thus saved from the exile 1n Boven D1gul that was to be the fate of Hatta, Sjahrlr, Bondan, Burhanuddln, T. A. Murad, Maskun, and others. The dividing line which was drawn across the nationalistic movement 1n the early thirties was thus to separate him from the veterans of D1gul, and to that extent located him on the side of the succeeding generation. But he did not belong completely with that generation either. As we have noticed, there were other older members of the group that we have been attempting to Identify, people like A11 Budlardjo, Susllowatl, and Tandlono Manoe, all of whom were close to Djohan Sjahroezah 1n age. Unlike them, however, Sjahroezah had had his political Initiation on the far side of the divide—before 1933. During the mid and late thirties, after h1s release from Sukam1sk1n, he was one of the few Pendldlkan members still about. By the time of the Japanese Invasion he was. a mature leader with a record of Pendldlkan activity and Imprisonment behind him. On h1s release, and with the possibility of a return to law studies closed to him, Djohan engaged 1n journalistic activity, working first for the knta News and Advertising Service. kKta. was owned by a Dutchman, Samuel de Heer, and 1t prepared feature articles for syndication 1n newspapers throughout the Indies.45 Then 1n 1937 he played a part, together with Adam Malik, Pandu Kartawlguna, and others 1n founding the news service knttvia. Djohan Sjahroezahfs experience 1n knta, and his knowledge of Its procedures and organization, was of great benefit to the new enterprise.46 kntana saw Itself as providing an Information service of special relevance to a people under colonial rule. (Its name was taken from the slogan ILmu kntOLKd Rakyat—knowledge amongst the people.) In the same year Djohan helped to revive the monthly paper Kzdaulatan Rakjat, which the Pendldlkan had produced between 1932 and 1934. Its reincarnation was short lived. It was succeeded after some years by another journalistic enterprise, N&gaAa, a glossy monthly which aimed still to convey serious Information and comment.47 These journalistic enterprises were sem1-pol1t1cal and were economi- cally precarious. In 1936 Djohan had married (h1s wife was a daughter of the Mlnangkabau Islamic nationalist figure Haj1 Agus Salim), and h1s new family responsibilities had persuaded him to seek more lucrative employ- ment. He took a position 1n Tarakan with the Shell 011 Company. But that employment did not last long. He was soon back 1n Batavia, having earned his dismissal by h1s attempts to unionize the company’s employees. 45. For a tribute to de Heer, see Mohamad Roem, lfIn Memorlam: Samuel de Heer,11 1n Roem, Bunga RampcU dcvU Szjanah (Jakarta: Bulan Blntang, 1972), pp. 180-84. 46. See Adam Malik, In tkz a£ tkz Republic (Singapore: Gunung Agung, 1980), pp. 11-12. 47. The first number, July 1941, carried editorial comment on a wide range of events: the Governor-General’s speech 1n opening a new session of the Volksraad, the progress of Chinese resistance to Japan, discussions between Japan and the Indies government. It also contained an article from Hatta 1n exile on the theory of production, and a film section. 62Fortunately, a younger brother, Jazlr, was employed by the Netherlands N1euw Guinea Petroleum Maatschapplj, and he supported Djohan and subsidized h1s journalistic experiments. In 1942, with the return of Hatta and Sjahrlr from exile, Djohan became for a time Hatta’s secretary. At the same time he remained actively Involved 1n Afttojia, advising those of Its members to whom he was close (the 11st Included Adam Malik, Mochtar Lubls, Sukarnl, and also h1s own brother Hazll) and he was perhaps responsible for enabling 1t to survive for a time under Japanese rule. (It was taken over by the Japanese 1n 1943.) In 1943 Djohan moved to Surabaya, ostensibly to work 1n the Shell 011 Company branch there (BPM—Bataafse Petroleum Maatschapplj) now under Japanese control. H1s appointment there was arranged by Hatta through Sujono, an old Pend1d1kan member now chief of personnel 1n the company. The move, however, was part of the plan to which reference has already been made, to establish a rudimentary organization of Pendldlkan members 1n strategic positions 1n Java—1n Clrebon, 1n the Prlangan, 1n Yogyakarta, and elsewhere. In Surabaya Djohan Sjahroezah employed h1s talents on a wide front. Amongst other things he applied the experience gained 1n Kalimantan to lay the foundations of union organization amongst BPM employees. Union activity was forbidden by the Japanese and the technique employed by Djohan was to form groups theoretically for the giving of Instructions relating to the conduct of the firm, but 1n fact used for propaganda purposes and for Implementing, on occasion, go-slow tactics.48 Connections were established with operatives at a number of wells, Krukah, L1dah, Wonokromo, Nglobo, and Wonosarl as well as at Cepu refinery, and he Injected Into the organization a number of younger recruits, some drawn from outside East Java, for whom he found places 1n the Labor Supervision section of the company.49 This organizational work was conducted with caution. Djohan Sjahroezah recognized the danger of massive Japanese retaliation for acts of sabotage and he saw himself as preparing an organization for a future struggle, rather than as mobilizing a present guerrilla action. The alms of the struggle, as conveyed by him to h1s followers, were political, not Industrial: union activity 1n the long term was to be directed not simply to a struggle against an oil company but to the coming struggle against the Dutch for Independence. Djohan Sjahroezahfs activities, however, extended beyond union organi- zation. H1s headquarters at the house of S1d1k 1n a lane off Jalan Embongmalang was a meeting place for contacts from a number of points 1n East Java, Madura, and Ball. Like Sjahrlr, he had h1s own representatives 1n places outside East Java: M. L. Toblng 1n Semarang, D1myat1 1n Yogya- karta. He maintained connections, as we have seen, with a variety of other groups and Individuals: with Darmawan Mangunkusumo and Roeslan 48. Interview with Sumarsono (with whom Djohan Sjahroezah shared accommo- dation 1n Surabaya 1n 1943 and 1944), February 3, 1983. Sumarsono was to become a Peslndo leader during the revolution. He was leader 1n the seizure of Madlun on September 18, 1943 and Military Governor of Madlun during the Madlun Affair. 49. Unpublished article by M. D1myat1, supplied by Mrs. Sjahroezah. D1myat1 gives a number of names of these recruits: himself from Yogyakarta, Sumarsono, Soepardjan, Rambee, Djamal, and Effendl from Jakarta, Roeslan Wldjaja [later known as Roeslan Wldjajasastra] from Clrebon, Soekarno from Semarang, and Soewarto and Mochamad from Surabaya. 63Abdulgan1 and with the Angkatan Muda Committee 1n Surabaya# with the Illegal PKI,50 with Sukarnl who made regular visits to Jakarta from Surabaya (1n this way he remained 1n touch with the group forming around the Asrama Angkatan Baru at Menteng 31). He also was actively Involved with Individuals such as Murdlanto who were working amongst high school students. And1 Zalnal Abidin, on h1s way to Makassar, was told by Sjahrlr to make contact with Djohan Sjahroezah 1n Surabaya and obtain advice from him about the possibility of youth organization 1n Makassar. Throughout, Djohan Sjahroezah remained 1n close communication with Sjahrlr who visited Surabaya frequently for that purpose. To this extent he can be seen as forming a part of Sjahr1rfs broader organization. Nevertheless, h1s own activities were so extensive that 1t might be more accurate to regard him as forming h1s own separate network, overlapping with that of Sjahrlr at many points, but distinct from 1t and more diverse 1n composition. The diversity was, of course, a natural consequence of the variety of Sjahroezahfs activities, ranging from union work 1n which links were formed with members of a genuine Indonesian working class, to assistance given to Individuals, some Pend1d1kan, some ex-PKI or Illegal PKI, and some students and their teachers. Whether he 1s to be seen as an Independent leader, or as part of the Sjahrlr network, he was a part of the Pend1d1kan tradition and he saw h1s work 1n those terms during the Occupation. It should be noted that h1s practical political organization went along with an Interest 1n revolutionary theory. Some of Sjahrlr’s student followers saw him as the leader most steeped 1n Marxist theory. He was the most doctrinaire of those about Sjahrlr, said one.51 More than anyone else, he was "the prophet of the struggle," said another.52 A third regarded him as "possibly Indonesia’s ablest man."53 Others stressed h1s role as strategist and tactician as against Sjahrlr’s role as a political thinker,54 and remember some of h1s aphorisms: "The only friend of a revolutionary 1s time"; "Revolution also means patience"; "Revolution 1s preparation."55 With the proclamation of Independence, Djohan Sjahroezah returned to Jakarta and to active political cooperation with Hatta and Sjahrlr. He held no official position, except for membership of KNIP and Its Working Committee, but he was heavily Involved 1n the political maneuvers of the time. First of all, 1n 1945, on the basis of h1s wartime Industrial organization 1n Surabaya, Wonokromo, and Cepu he was Instrumental, together with Soedjono Djembloeng, 1n forming an oil workers’ union, Sarekat Buruh Mlnyak, the Republic’s first union organization. The headquarters of the organization was 1n Yogyakarta but 1t aimed to embrace all Indonesia, and 1n fact 1t became the nucleus of SOBSI (Sentral 0rgan1sas1 Buruh Seluruh 50. See, for example, Lucas, "The Communist Anti-Fascist Movement 1n Java," pp. 54ff. 51. Interview with Soebadlo, August 23, 1980. As an example, Soebadlo makes the point that 1n arguing for the support of a Hatta government 1n 1948 Djohan Sjahroezah spoke, In classically Marxist terms, of this period being the bourgeois stage of revolution. 52. Interview with Aboe Bakar Loebls, June 4, 1981. 53. Interview with Sltorus, August 9, 1980. 54. D1myat1, "Djohan Sjahroezah." 55. Interview with Soebadlo, Murdlanto, and L1st1o, August 23, 1980. 64Indonesia—Central All-Indonesia Workers1 Organization) formed 1n the following year. Then with Sjahrlr he played a part 1n the formation of Paras—the Socialist People’s Party# Partal Rakyat Soslalls—and 1n Its subsequent fusion with Amir Sjar1fudd1nfs Parsl—Partal Soslalls Indo- nesia—to form the Partal Soslalls. He was also Influential 1n the management of the movement of dissent which developed within the Partal Soslalls after the fall of the third Sjahrlr government# and 1n the ultimate split which led to the formation of the PSI. But this 1s to look forward. During the Occupation years# when Sjahrlr was laying the foundations for a new political movement# Djohan Sjahroezah was also an Important figure, playing a significant and active role and visible at least to some of Sjahrlr’s followers as a colleague of Sjahrlr and as one who was engaged 1n tasks of genuine political resistance to Japanese—as formerly to Dutch—rule. And Sjahrlr1s own work, h1s recruitment of a new generation# h1s contact with Pend1d1kan members such as Sastra# Sudarsono# and others# and h1s regular communica- tion with Djohan Sjahroezah ought not to be brushed aside as unimportant. Sjahrlr’s student followers had a sense of being part of all this—of being prepared for later political activity and of being on the edge of a wider organization that was already engaged 1n active resistance to Japanese rule. To some extent they shared that political activity. Trusted members of Sjahrlr’s circle were encouraged# as we have seen, to form separate discussion groups of their own—And1 Zalnal Abidin’s organi- zation of h1s own group 1n Jakarta# for example# and h1s subsequent efforts to organize youth groups 1n Makassar, the similar work of Hamid Algadrl 1n Surabaya# and# 1n the same city# the efforts of L1st1o and Murdlanto to organize high school students. Such activity# 1n that 1t was deliberately undertaken and was designed with a view to preparing for a long-term political struggle# first against the Japanese and then against the Dutch# was clearly political 1n character. It 1s worth emphasizing the conscious techniques that were employed by these younger discussion group organizers. Murdlanto and L1st1o 1n Surabaya aimed to organize youth within an existing framework constructed by the Japanese for their own purposes# Infiltrating 1t and turning 1t to Indonesian purposes.56 They worked# for example# within a physical training organization set up by the Japanese for Surabaya high school students as part of a plan to train teachers to replace the Dutch educa- tional system. In this setting their Initial concern was to prevent students from being flJapan1zed.” They posed at first as Individuals who were anxious merely to discuss things with other Individuals but# as they established relations of mutual confidence with students, they moved gradually to the formation of actual discussion groups. In this# as we have seen, they were aided by the advice of Djohan Sjahroezah and the active participation of Darmawan Mangunkusumo; but standing behind these men they were aware of Sjahrlr as the ultimate directing figure and as the person who# through h1s knowledge of foreign broadcasts# was best able to make sense of the trend of world events which formed the backdrop to local activity. In brief# the physical education operation 1n Surabaya was one of a variety of Japanese-created structures which provided oppor- tunities for those who knew how to use them. The Indonesians brought together by the Japanese 1n this way were at first merely Individuals Interacting with other Individuals# but they were fertile fields for 56. Interview with L1st1o and Murdlanto, August 23# 1980. 65surreptitious organization. In Surabaya# several elements were Injected Into this situation: Djohan Sjahroezah to provide organizational advice, Darmawan Mangunkusumo to provide an Intellectual leadership for organized discussion groups, Murdlanto and L1st1o to do the actual groundwork, and, 1n the background, Sjahrlr to provide a consciousness of a wider movement. That, at least, 1s how the participants 1n the enterprise saw their role—as youthful members of a much wider organization, working 1n conjunc- tion with more senior leaders. * * # It would seem, then, that a judgment on the character of the organiza- tion built up by Sjahrlr during and Immediately after the Occupation, should fall somewhere between the extremes. As far as the younger members of the Sjahrlr circle were concerned—and Indeed there clearly was a circle or a coterie or a group about which more has to be said—the ties that bound Its members together were at first largely personal rather than Ideological or organizational. They were a group of friends, many of whom knew each other Intimately 1n a variety of different connections and they felt themselves to stand 1n an Intimate relationship with Sjahrlr. They could not be said to have constituted an organization. But they were aware that Sjahr1rfs contacts extended beyond them to organized activities such as those of Djohan Sjahroezah, and they had a sense of participation 1n that wider enterprise. Of course the whole operation was rudimentary. It did not amount to a broadly based, centrally directed, and effective resistance movement to Japanese rule. There was no organized violence, no maquls, no guerrilla activity, not even a significant amount of industrial go-slow. But 1t would not be just to deny the significance of the preparations being made by Sjahrlr and h1s colleagues for a future struggle. These preparations Included the recruitment of new blood and the formulation of a long-term strategy, shaped by the principles of the old Pend1d1kan, but adapted to the needs of a situation that would exist with the Inevitable defeat of Japan. 66CHAPTER IV THE NEW RECRUITS: A PROFILE Sjahr1rfs recruits of the Occupation years and Immediately after were members of an Intellectual elite 1n that they had had a Dutch primary and secondary education and had gone on to tertiary studies within Indonesia. This does not say a great deal about them. There were others who had enjoyed a similar educational experience but who were neither chosen to become members of the circle nor drawn to 1t through friends or through their own political activity. It 1s now necessary to attempt a closer assessment of the group. What kind of people were 1n fact selected by Sjahrlr? What were their attitudes and Ideas? How similar were they to each other 1n origin, outlook, disposition, and Inclination? An examina- tion of a cross section of the group may enable a general picture to emerge. The following account 1s based on a study of about 60 Individuals, some of whom were clearly members of an Inner circle during the Japanese Occupation, some of whom became members of 1t 1n the early months of the revolution, some of whom were rather on the edge of the circle, but were never really absorbed Into 1t and later maintained a politically Indepen- dent posture or were attracted to other leaders. Some, again, were quite outside the circle and were possibly hostile to 1t. This method of approach poses certain problems which have been avoided so far but which require comment. First of all, there 1s a problem of Identifying the student members of Sjahrlr’s circle with any degree of precision—or for that matter of even being certain of Its existence. As we have noticed, Sjahrlr had h1s own relationships with a wide range of people and perhaps was part of more than one group. We have already quoted one of h1s Intimates who remarked that "He knew people we didn’t know and whom we didn’t know he knew." But many Individuals did have a sense of belonging to a closely knit group of young people with whom Ideas were shared and with whom there existed a sense of common action. One test of membership, therefore, 1s by members’ self-identification though not all of the self-Identifiers would agree about other self-identifiers. Had 1t been possible to ask each of those who saw themselves as forming part of Sjahrlr’s circle to make a 11st of Its members, the lists would certainly not have been Identical, though there would have been a high degree of overlap. (Such a question was 1n fact put to a proportion of the subjects of this Inquiry.) Again, at least some of those who denied being members of such a group admitted that others would nevertheless have regarded them as belonging. At this distance of time 1t 1s not possible, either by self-1dent1f1cat1on or written record or subsequent political affiliation or by appeal to some kind of consensus amongst selected Informants, to be finally certain 1n all cases about who was "1n" and who was "out." Nevertheless, Interviews revealed a high degree of agreement. The student and ex-student followers of Sjahrlr were only part of h1s network. Whether one thinks of one group or a set of loosely connected 67groups, there were a number of distinct elements within 1t, some of them cutting across 1t. There were, first, the old Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indo- nesia people 1n Java and West Sumatra who had managed to avoid exile during the depression of the thirties, who maintained their old connection with Sjahrlr, and who came to know h1s newer and younger followers.1 Second, there were the new recruits, such as Soebadlo, Aboe Bakar Loebls, Murdlanto, Soedjatmoko, and others, some of whom, like Soemarman, became members of the circle after the proclamation of Independence. It 1s on this second group that the present study 1s focused.2 Third, there are those who could be regarded as regular visitors to Sjahrlr but who would not be Included, and would not Include themselves, as members of an Inner Sjahrlr circle.3 Finally, Intersecting with Sjahr1rfs group at a number of points was the distinct group which grew up around Djohan Sjahroezah. As we have seen, Sjahroezah was close to Sjahrlr and he knew both the older Pend1d1kan people and some of the new wartime recruits; but he also had close contact with others such as Adam Malik and Pandu Kartawlguna (both of whom he had known 1n Antasia), Sukarnl, Kusnaenl, and Maruto N1t1m1hardjo, all of whom looked, 1n the early years of the revolution, to Tan Malaka rather than to Sjahrlr for leadership; and 1n Surabaya and elsewhere he had developed relationships of quite a different kind with those whom he trained as labor organizers. Given the difficulties of Identifying with certainty the Individuals making up the circle of new recruits, an attempt has been made to flesh out some sense of 1t by talking to as many survivors as could be found some thirty-five years after the proclamation of Independence. Of the 52 people Interviewed, 16 Identified themselves as members of a Sjahrlr circle created between 1943 and 1946 and another 14 were regarded by others as part of the student or ex-student following of Sjahrlr. I did not judge all of these to be accurately placed as members. Of the 43 listed 1n Appendix A as belonging to a Sjahrlr circle, I was able to Interview 27. 1. The Pend1d1kan people Included Soegra, Hamdanl, Soebaglo, Sastra (1n Bandung), Sugondo Djojopusplto, Wlyono (1n Yogyakarta), Dr. Sudarsono (1n Clrebon), and others such as Chatlb Suleiman 1n West Sumatra. Other Pend1d1kan members such as Moerad, Burhanuddln, Murwoto, Maskun, and Bondan, having been exiled to D1gul were then evacuated to Australia at the beginning of the Pacific war and were not 1n Jakarta during the Occupation period. 2. An attempt at a 11st of members of this group 1s contained 1n Appendix A. It must be recognized that the 11st as given would not be accepted by all Its members, but 1t represents a judgment made by the author on the basis of many Interviews. 3. Here one could Include such people as Paramlta Abdurrachman (who was also linked with Menteng 31 and, through her uncle, Achmad Subardjo, with the Asrama Indonesia Merdeka); Marla Ullfah, later to marry Soebadlo, whose Interest was 1n the womenfs movement rather than 1n politics 1n general; Sjafruddln Prawlranegara, who did not see himself as belonging to the circle but who thought that others might regard him as a member. One might also Include here Mochtar Lubls, who came to know Sjahrlr during the revolution and who had a warm regard for him, but who was not a political follower and did not become a member of the PSI at a later date. The poet Chalrll Anwar also shared cultural and literary rather than political Interests but because of h1s close association with Sjahrlr he has been Included 1n Appendix A. 68If one allows the possible size of the group to have been approximately 45-50# this would seem to constitute a healthy survival rate# given the ravages of time and mortality and the effects on old friendships of later political struggle.4 Interviews were conducted 1n an open-ended way. A regular set of questions were asked of all respondents# but these were not always followed strictly and conversations were allowed to follow the Inclination of Interviewer and respondent and to explore promising by- paths. My Intention throughout was to reach qualitative rather than statistical conclusions. The Interviews were not taped# but I normally took notes on the spot# after Initial discussion to establish the nature of the Inquiry and to secure# If possible, rapport with the Informant. (No attempt was made to take notes until 1t was clear that the Informant was will1ng.) This method raises a number of problems, Any Interview method 1s, of course# subject to the dangers that Inevitably attend upon oral history. The memories of survivors are documents of the time when they are set down and not of the period with which they deal. Not only 1s memory notoriously fallible, but 1t 1s certain to be unconsciously shaped by Informants to fit 1n with their later perspectives. We recall what we want to recall# suppress what displeases us# and reconstruct events according to a rationale that comes 1n part from our knowledge of what has happened since. Equally Inevitable 1s the fact that the Interviewer brings to h1s Inquiry h1s own prior perceptions and expectations—though that 1s a problem which faces all historical Inquiry whether based on written or oral sources. The difference# of course# 1s that# 1f written records survive# they can be checked by other Investigators. An Interview can not. But 1t would be foolish for these reasons to Ignore reminiscences of this kind while participants are still alive to give them. For many of the events of the past# the accounts of participants provide the only evidence there 1s. And even where there are other sources, and a measure of Independent corroboration# remembered experiences may add color and sharpness to the record. One can only hope that by cross checking stories# by consulting hostile witnesses as well as friendly ones, and by treating all accounts with a degree of skepticism# 1t remains possible to catch something of the reality of the period with which we are dealing.5 Some things are more likely to be accurately reported than others; Information 4. Several Informants gave 40 to 50 members# Including the handful of Sjahrlr people 1n Surabaya# Jakarta# Semarang# Bandung# and Clrebon# as a rough guess at the number of people associated directly# closely# and continuously with Sjahrlr at the time. 5. D. K. Emmerson distinguishes between "empirical history"—the answer to the question: what happened? and "remembered history"—the answer to the question: what does 1t still mean to those who experienced 1t when 1t happened? Donald K. Emmerson, "Thoughts on ’Remembered History1 as a Subject of Study# with Reference to Indonesia’s Revolution" R&jJUw Indonesian and Malayan Awaits, 8# 1 (January-June 1974). The present essay deals Inevitably with both kinds, since so much of the source material 1s oral 1n character. But a primary concern# let 1t be said# 1s with "empirical history#’’ with the use of oral sources (remembered history) to find out some of the things that happened 1n 1943-1946 rather than to observe the nature of the remembrances. Recollections are set down as such, as recollections# not as final statements of fact# and the reader can see what use the writer has made of them. 69about family and social background, secondary schooling, and tertiary education may reasonably be taken at face value; memories about the Informants1 participation 1n major events are more likely to need checking against the memories of others or against documentary evidence; and memories about Ideas, and points of view that were held fifty years ago, are likely to be even more open to question. Certainly, when one 1s Interviewing highly aware subjects who understand the nature and purpose of the Inquiry, who take part 1n 1t actively and with enthusiasm, and who clearly enjoy reliving an Important part of their past, and when these people, moreover, are likely to be congenial and amusing raconteurs, the enterprise 1s both risky and entertaining. However, broadly similar responses from a variety of Individuals may give some grounds for believing that the general picture that emerges, even when 1t 1s concerned with past attitudes and Ideas, 1s, 1n Its outlines, accurate. The following pages are offered, then, with a full sense of the risks Involved but 1n the belief, nevertheless, that discussion with a wide range of Individuals can yield a picture of the experience, attitudes, and activities of Sjahr1rfs students on the eve of the revolution. # # # Most of Sjahr1rfs student followers were born between 1918 and 1922. By their late teens or early twenties, they were already members of an Intellectual elite. Whether they were also members of a particular social elite 1s more difficult to determine. Since they were drawn from a reser- voir of tertiary, or recent tertiary students, and since such an education was closed to all but a tiny minority of people, their parents must at least have been able to afford such an education and have had the standing and Influence to place their children from the beginning 1n appropriate schools. In some cases, however, the parents needed considerable determi- nation to achieve this. Hazll Tanzll and h1s brothers, for example, were exceptionally privileged 1n getting a place 1n the Batavia HBS. Since they were not of noble birth such a school would normally have been closed to them, but their mother approached the Department of Education and argued their case with such vigor that an exception was made for them.6 Hamid Algadrl had similar difficulty 1n getting entry to a Dutch ELS. He was a late starter since h1s parents were concerned about the dangers of a Western education and had sent him first to a religious school. But h1s grandfather was determined that Hamid’s Islamic education should be accompanied by a modern education and he approached the principal of the Pasuruan ELS. When that failed, he went to the Resident. Hamid was ultimately admitted to the school on the direct order of the Resident.7 From their educational background 1t followed, then, that, for the most part, members of the group had come from a background of comparative Influence and wealth. Some were of aristocratic origin, the children of ptUyayl families 1n Java or of regional aristocracies elsewhere. Others were not. One might be tempted to describe the latter 1n class terms—as 6. Interview with Hazll Tanzll, August 16, 1980. 7. Algadrl, Sukaduka dan Lata*. B&Lakang Szwang Vviintl* KmvuUkaan, pp. 5-7. Hamid Algadrl’s grandfather had been Kapltan Arab and he argued to the Resident that, 1f h1s grandson could not be admitted to the ELS, the decoration that he had received 1n that office was worthless. This was the argument that moved the Resident to Intervene. 70representatives of a middle or upper-middle class. To do so, however, 1s likely to be misleading. It Imports an Inappropriate classification from Western bourgeois society to a colonial situation where large-scale commercial activity was 1n Dutch hands and the great bulk of domestic retail trade was 1n the hands of Chinese. A native commercial and middle class was practically nonexistent. For native Indonesians of substance, wealth came from salary earned 1n government employment or from land, acquired or Inherited, or from the professional practice of medicine or law; and position came from birth, confirmed 1n many cases by government service or by professional education. Only a very small number had substantial mercantile sources of Income. Some secondary and tertiary students secured scholarships to enable them to proceed through the educational system, but even these had to meet the additional costs of living away from home. Others were supported from contributions from relations beyond the Immediate family, who were prepared—or obliged by custom—to chip 1n to support a promising student. But 1n general, to complete a secondary education and to go on to one of the faculties, was to enjoy a privilege open to a very small number Indeed.8 in Indonesian terms, then, 1t would seem appropriate to regard most tertiary students as coming from aristocratic families and from a small upper class composed of officials, lawyers, and doctors, with only a handful coming from a trading background. Of the sample under study all but four were the children of fathers 1n government employment, as members of the prestigious territorial administrative service, or as clerks or doctors or teachers. Ten were directly or Indirectly of pnlyayl origin, being descended from members of the pangwk pnaja, the territorial administrative service of Java.9 Of these, four were of pangnzk pnaja descent on both sides. Another three were descended from territorial officials or local rulers outside Java, one the son of a Vzmang 1n Mlnangkabau, a rank roughly equivalent to a BupatZ or a Wzdana (1 n Mlnangkabau the native civil 8. In 1938-1939 , 204 Indonesians graduated from high schools, out of a total of 777. In 1940, 5,688 of the students 1n the later years of high school d.e., above MULO level) were Europeans, as against 1,786 Indone- sians; and 637 Indonesians were enrolled 1n one or other of the Faculties. (Kahln’s figures, drawn from lndZ*ch [/jVUlag, 1941. NatZonalZAm and RzvalutZan In IndaruzZa, pp. 31-32.) There were similarly restricted opportunities at primary level. In 1940, 1n a total population of over 60 million only about 88,000 Indonesians were enrolled 1n schools giving a Western primary education. As a particular example of the pressure 1n one area, there were 1n Pekalongan, 1n 1919, 200 applications for 30 places 1n the HIS, and local Sarekat Islam leaders complained that only the children of pnZyayZ could secure places. (Lucas, "The Bamboo Spear Pierces the Payung," p. 24, n. 69.) See also Paul W. van der Veur, EducatZan and SacZal Change In CalanZal Indonesia (Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1969) for a discussion of the social and geographical origins of Dutch-educated Indonesians. 9. The pangmk pnaja had Its origins 1n the administrative systems of the old Javanese kingdoms, as taken over and made Into a formal bureaucracy by the Dutch. The highest rank was that of BupatZ [regent]. Below the BupatZ and h1s Immediate assistant [Patch] were district and subdistrict officials, \Jizdana and Camat, the subdistrict, ktcamatan, being composed of a number of villages. The Camat was thus the official who maintained direct contact with village officialdom and Indirectly with the mass of the rural population. 71service began one level below that 1n Java), one the son of a local ruler 1n North Sumatra, and one the son of a raja in Kalimantan. Of the remain- der, two were the sons of doctors 1n government service, ten were the sons of middle-ranking government servants, and three were the children of teachers. Only two were from merchant families.10 The ethnic composition of the group was varied. It Included Javanese, Sundanese, Mlnangkabau, Batak, Ambonese, and at least one Bugls, one Arab, and one Chinese. The fact that most were Javanese was due, no doubt, 1n part to the circumstances 1n which the recruitment was carried out and 1n part to the sheer numerical dominance of Javanese within the population of the Indies. Given the fact that Sjahrlr was dealing with the student population of Batavia and that Javanese students were bound to be more numerous than any other group, it was hardly surprising that they were more numerous than representatives of other groups within h1s circle. There was no other significance than that. Ethnic origin was of no Impor- tance to Sjahrlr. We have noticed already h1s contemptuous dismissal of Indigenous culture which made him oblivious to such considerations. That any of h1s circle might have had a warm sense of belonging to a local culture hardly occurred to him.11 And Indeed to the members of the circle themselves ethnicity seems not to have been Important. For And1 Zalnal Abidin, being Bugls meant being Muslim and that was more Important than the ethnic origin.12 Aboe Bakar Loebls claims never to have been specially conscious of being Batak, though after going to school 1n Java he was aware of being Sumatran as against the Javanese about him.13 Similarly, Roslhan Anwar says that he had the sense of being Sumatran rather than of being a Mlnangkabau.14 Another Mlnangkabau, Daan Yahya, remembers not feeling even that degree of local Identification. He felt himself to be simply Indonesian. H1s friends at high school 1n Batavia were Javanese and he had no continuing relationship with a Mlnangkabau peer group after leaving primary school.15 A11 Budlardjo saw himself as Middle Javanese rather than East Javanese, but not as being Javanese as against, say, Mlnangkabau.16 The parental background of Sjahrlr1s student followers had already prepared many of them to be absorbed, as the stereotype would lead one to expect, Into the Intellectual atmosphere brought by their colonial rulers. For some, Dutch was their first language, or at least their second. For 10. These figures add up to more than the number Interviewed, since some Individuals fell Into more than one category, having perhaps a grandfather 1n the pang^ueh pKaja and a father a doctor or a teacher. 11. One cool observer at the edge of h1s group of adherents during the Occupation remembers that Sjahrlr, on one occasion, was taken aback to discover that Soedjatmoko actually enjoyed listening to the gamelan! (Interview with Paramlta Abdurrachman, February 3, 1983.) 12. Interview with And1 Zalnal Abidin, November 21, 1980. 13. Interview with Aboe Bakar Loebls, August 14, 1980. 14. Interview with Roslhan Anwar, August 6, 1980. 15. Interview with Daan Yahya, August 5, 1980. In later life a growing Interest 1n adLat made Daan Yahya feel more of a Mlnangkabau, he said, than he ever did 1n h1s youth. 16. Interview with A11 Budlardjo, August 6, 1980. 72others 1t gradually became—and remained—their normal language, the one with which they feel most comfortable.17 Javanese, or Mlnangkabau, might be learned from a childhood nurse and from the surrounding soc1etyl8 but for Indonesian officials 1n the Dutch territorial service, Dutch was the language not merely of government and business, but was often that of the home as well. "Your honor, I dream 1n Dutch," said one of the group years later when, as a lawyer, he appeared 1n a case 1n a foreign court and was asked by the judge 1f he understood Dutch.19 "it was compulsory to learn Dutch and natural to speak 1t," said another.20 Even 1f Dutch was not used as the everyday language, parents 1n government employ were determined to see that their children were completely fluent 1n 1t. The father of Djohan Sjahroezah and Hazll Tanzll, for Instance, Insisted that h1s boys spoke Dutch amongst themselves.21 For those Interviewed, to speak Dutch and to speak 1t well was a matter of pride. While the status of Dutch and of the regional language were comparable, and while these languages were learned 1n childhood, Indonesian tended, by contrast, to be an acquired language, learned much later. Hlldred Geertz, writing 1n 1963# believed that the foremost characteristic of what she called Indonesia’s "metropolitan superculture" was the colloquial everyday use of the Indonesian language.22 This was not the case twenty years earlier. The Sumatran members of Sjahrlr’s group picked up Indone- sian—or rather they picked up Malay—as well as their local language 1n their childhood and some had more formal Instruction 1n 1t at primary school. But most of those Interviewed learned 1t only at high school and eight learned 1t only during the Occupation when they were 1n their early twenties. ("Before then," said Soedjatmoko, "I could follow political speeches 1n Indonesian but only more or less.")23 Only for a handful had Indonesian before World War II become the language of regular dally use either by Itself, or Interchangeably with Dutch and Javanese or other regional language. Which was chosen on any occasion would be determined by the circumstances. One Informant used Dutch with contemporaries, but Indonesian with younger and less highly educated people, while others might choose according to the subject under discussion. But for all without exception, Dutch was the language used, fluently and as a matter of course, from early childhood or at least from primary school age. The early acquisition of the Dutch language by children of the elite was a prerequisite for entry to Dutch schools. For children of the generation we are considering, Dutch Native Schools (HIS), founded 1n 1914, provided a Dutch-language education at elementary school level to be followed, as we have seen, by the bridging MULO schools and the General 17. This was the case with 20 of the 25 members of the group who were Interviewed. 18. One Javanese Informant admitted that, 1n fact, he had to study Javanese privately when 1n high school, since he had not learned 1t 1n the ordinary way as a child. (Interview with Murdlanto, February 14, 1983.) 19. Interview with A11 Budlardjo, August 6, 1980. 20. Interview with Sltorus, August 9, 1980. 21. Interview with Hazll Tanzll, August 16, 1980. 22. H. Geertz, "Indonesian Cultures and Communities," p. 36. 23. Interview with Soedjatmoko, July 28, 1980. 73Secondary Schools (AMS). This could be regarded as the normal educational route for Indonesians, though a small number, normally of higher psUyayt origin, were nevertheless able to follow the more prestigious ELS-HBS route. Of the group Interviewed, nine were 1n that category while fifteen were AMS graduates. The social differences reflected 1n these educational routes had no significance within Sjahrlr’s circle, 1t would seem, though students 1n general were likely to notice them. (One Informant, emphasiz- ing the superiority of the HBS stream, remarked that even now she can Identify AMS people by the sound of their Dutch.) Courses taken at school varied. A choice open to some students at the beginning of high school was for them to follow a classics or science stream. As noted above (p. 18) both streams offered the compulsory subjects: modern languages, history, and geography, which were combined with classics at the AMS(A) 1n Yogyakarta and with science and math 1n the AMS(B). At the AMS(A), an Eastern classical stream was available as well as a Western, and students could thus take Sanskrit, Old Javanese, and Malay Instead of Latin and Greek. The choice of school and of subjects was sometimes, but not always, determined by career aspirations. These were varied. Some respondents remember that they had made no very clear decision about a future career at the beginning of high school, but a number had done so. Commonly a professional career was envisaged, leading either to private practice of law or medicine, or engineering, or to the application of a professional training 1n government service. One chose medicine 1n order not to have to be a government servant, but he later switched to law. Two others wanted an academic career, one 1n economics and one 1n history, but recognized thatithere were enormous obstacles 1n the way of achieving an adequate academic performance at tertiary level which might, with luck, lead on to academic work. Law was a common choice. Whatever stream was chosen the education given was thorough. Whether taking classics 1n the Yogyakarta AMS(A) or Science 1n one of the AMS(B), students also took Dutch and English and one or two other languages, as well as history and geography. Indeed, 1n the light of modern educa- tional trends 1n the Western world at large, the requirements of the Dutch educational system, as 1t was applied to Its Indonesian victims as well as to Dutch children, appear quite overwhelming. In the early years of school, of whatever type, either MULO-AMS(A) and (B), or HBS, something of the order of a dozen subjects were taken as a matter of course: Dutch, English, French, German, Latin, Greek, mathematics, biology and possibly another science, history, and geography. Only 1n the later high school years were the numbers reduced 1n the Interests of the special subjects 1n the chosen stream. Amongst other things Indonesian students were required to read European literature—Dutch, English, French, and German- In the relevant language. The fact that this education, as we have noticed, was for a narrow elite only, Increased the self-consciousness of the small group under study. There were a limited number of schools and 1t 1s not surprising that some members of the group were not only university friends but had already known each other at school. Two schools 1n particular, the Surabaya HBS (Sukarno’s old school) and Yogyakarta AMS, produced between them at least ten members of the group. And1 Zalnal Abidin, Murdlanto, and Soedjatmoko were graduates of Surabaya, the latter two having been In the same class there before going on together to Medical School 1n Batavia. Another member of that class was Roeslan Abdulganl. From the AMS In Yogyakarta came Soebadlo, Sudarpo, Roslhan Anwar, L1st1o, Aboe Bakar 74Loebls, Muharto, and Soemarman. For these there was thus a basts for a strong sense of collective Identity. While secondary studies were pursued with more or less singleminded- ness, the other normal activities of students were not neglected. Some students were more academic than others, finding amusement 1n school debating societies or other student clubs. Others experimented with the beginnings of political activity, either 1n PPPI or 1n USI or 1n such organizations as Indonesia Muda. AMS and HBS students were forbidden to join the latter organization. Though some government school members did flout the prohibition and hold Illegal membership, the secondary school members of Indonesia Muda were limited largely to students at private schools (Including Taman S1swa). Sporting activities provided a field 1n which some social contact with Dutch students was possible. In school teams, Indonesian and Dutch students moved on a footing, apparently, of racial equality. What mattered was skill. A Dutch students1 soccer federation existed and Indonesian secondary students could play 1n Its teams. However, 1n the thirties, an Indonesian national federation was formed—Persatuan Sepak Bola Seluruh Indonesia—PSSI (All-Indonesia Soccer Union), and here 1t was rather a case of Indonesians discriminating against the Dutch. The situation was similar 1n tennis. Indonesian high school students were allowed to join Dutch tennis clubs, but also formed their own tennis clubs. There were thus some sporting contacts between Dutch and Indonesian students outside HBS and AMS, but other social contacts between them—visiting each otherfs homes, for example—were very limited, though by no means unknown. Differences 1n material circumstances 1n any case meant that only the most well-to-do Indonesians could engage 1n such exchanges without shame. Daan Yahya, at the Konlng Wilhelm III School 1n Batavia, found that members of the Indonesian student minority, though they felt themselves able to compete intellectually with their Dutch fellows, nevertheless stuck together. They had Dutch friends but not a close relationship with them. In general he remembers an ambivalence 1n h1s own total attitude to the Dutch which was common amongst h1s generation of the Indonesian elite: ,fWe belonged to their structure but were not fully part of 1t."24 It was thus really only on the sports field that the two sides could meet with equality. Success 1n school work and participation by some 1n sporting, social, or mildly political activities, were accompanied by an appropriate extra- curricular Intellectual development. It was to be expected that, as good students, members of the group would develop reading habits beyond the demands of the curriculum and most of them appear to have done so. Their staple diet was similar to that enjoyed by their Dutch counterparts at the time: Dutch novels or other European novels translated Into Dutch, or later read 1n the original, adventure stories and other children’s stories (Jack London, Call thz Wild), giving way 1n time to more sophisticated works, romantic novels (Marie Corelli), historical novels (Stefan Zwelg), novels of social realism (Zola, Upton Sinclair). Multatull’s Max HavzlaaA was read at primary and secondary level, though 1t might have seemed a somewhat subversive work to be made available to youthful Indonesian readers. Other works remembered now by their readers Included some of the standard classics of youthful literature, Kipling’s Kim and Tkz Junglz Back and Dumas, whose works were available 1n Indonesian translations as well as 24. Interview with Daan Yahya, August 5, 1980. 751n French and Dutch.25 in particular, an article remains to be written about the Influence on the Indonesian elite of the adventure stories of the German author, Karl May, which were published 1n a handsome Dutch edition and which seem to have been a universal component of the reading of the group with which we are concerned. Many of May’s stories dealt with the American frontier. He had never been to America but he created h1s own Imaginative version of the frontier which, 1n the eyes of h1s youthful Dutch and Indonesian readers, matched the works of, say, Fenlmore Cooper. H1s heroes, Old Shatterhand, Wlnnetou, the Apache chief, and others, were well known to generations of Indonesian admirers. May’s handling of h1s subject carried overtones that appealed particularly to young Indonesian readers. H1s account of Indians resisting the advance of whites, and the Implied values of courage, sincerity, and fairness, were easily picked up and given a local application. At later secondary level, students of more serious bent were attracted to biographies (Napoleon, Charles V, Louis XIV, Lincoln were amongst those remembered) and to central works of modern and classical European literature (Shakespeare, Goethe, Thomas Mann, Proust) and, 1n a couple of cases, to works of German philosophy (Fichte, Schopenhauer, Hegel). What 1s Important 1n these memories of earlier reading 1s that they reveal much more awareness of European literature and thought than any sense of the possibility of a reawakening of Indonesian literature. Respondents knew, of course, Poedjangga Baroe (New Writers) which, during the thirties, was the standard-bearer of an Indonesian literary renaissance. It did not appear to have excited any of them. In the later years of high school and at university, European politi- cal writings were added to the 11st. These focused on International affairs as well as on problems of domestic, economic and soda! order. Jan Romeln’s T\te Power* In Our Time IMachten van deze Tijd] (1932) giving an overview of contemporary International politics, was particularly Influential. So was Ortega y Gasset’s Impressionistic and evocative The Revolt o^ the Ma**e* (1929, English translation 1932), which struck a chord 1n the minds of Indonesian readers as It did 1n those of European students of the time. Later works of Romeln, The Sadat and Economic, foundation* o£ Fa*cl*m [Ve *oclale en economlsche grond*lagen van het &a*cl*me] (1938) and Fa*cl*m In International Politic* IHet £a*cl*me. In de Internationale politick] (1939) contributed a perception of fascism as International 1n character and as a product of the contemporary crisis of capitalism, and they fitted Into the context of a growing body of litera- ture with a similar message. R. Palme Dutt’s World Politic6, 1918-1936 (1936) and h1s Fa*cl*m and Social Revolution: A Study In the La*t Stage* a£ Capitalism and Decay (1935), for example, also gave a coherent diagnosis of capitalism, Imperialism, and International conflict. Also 1n currency were H. M. Brallsford’s Poverty and Peace (1934), How the Soviet* Work (1937) , and Why Capitalism Mean* War (1938). (The latter titles emerged from Victor Gollancz’s publishing house and the Left Book Club which had their Influence 1n the late thirties 1n Indonesia as elsewhere.) This was the period of the popular front 1n Europe and for young Indonesian Intellectuals the perception of a series of Interconnected problems which 25. An Indonesian translation of The Three Mueketeer* was published 1n 1913 under the title Tlga Panglima Perang. The term ’’pangllma,” 1t would seem, had a less grand meaning then than 1t does now within the Indonesian Army! 76could be understood by rational Inquiry and resolved by rational programs uniting people of good will was an appealing vision. A readiness to see Indonesia's circumstances 1n a wider Aslan context was aided by Romeln's The Awakening o£ Asia [Met ontwaken van Azle] (1931)# M. N. Roy's Revolution and Counter Revolution In China (1931)# Palme Dutt's India Today (1940)# and# at a less sophisticated level# by John Gunther's Inside Asia (1936). Of Importance too were the writings of Nehru: h1s Letters ^rom a Father to His Daughter. (1929)# Glimpse* o£ World History (being further letters to h1s daughter from prison, published 1n 1935)# h1s India and the World (1936)# and h1s Autobiography, the first edition of which appeared 1n 1936. Much of this reading 11st viewed the world from a Marxist perspective and this# Indeed# was 1n rough accord with the socialist disposition of Western-educated Indonesian youth. A small handful of those who were to be drawn Into the Sjahrlr circle already had a direct acquaintance with the works of Marx and Engels# which were read 1n German or In Dutch trans- lation; but 1t would seem that# for the most part# a knowledge of Marxist thought came rather from commentaries, for example# from Sidney Hook's Towards an Understanding o£ Karl Marx (1933), than from the original works. Students had some acquaintance with European socialist writing, Dutch (P. J. Troelstra)# Austrian (Otto Bauer), and French (Jean Jaurds).26 Of particular Importance was H. P. G. Quack's Ve SoclaHsten which pro- vided, for members of the group# a comprehensive socialist encyclopedia.27 Not all of these works were read by all members of the group# nor were the Ideas they advanced brought Into a coherent synthesis 1n which Dutch empire# European Imperialism 1n general, the rise of fascism and nazlsm# and the contradictions of capitalism were made the subject of one all-embracing diagnosis. For most of the group# as will be seen, this kind of perspective came more sharply Into focus under the direct Influence of Sjahrlr. But Ideas of that kind were 1n the air 1n Batavia 1n the late thirties# and students and recent students had some exposure to them. At the very least they had some perception of the march of great events 1n the world at large# and a sense of a gathering crisis which could have profound consequences for themselves. Their perceptions will be examined more closely later. * # * Indonesian secondary and tertiary students of the late thirties were thus able to enjoy a rich and varied literary diet# and much of 1t was composed of exactly the same Items as were read and discussed by their opposite numbers 1n the Netherlands or elsewhere In Western Europe. The nationalism of the elite did not# 1t would seem# necessarily extend to a cultural nationalism. And# of course# this was the common criticism— that Western-educated Intellectuals were separated from their own society 26. Whether h1s Studies In Socialism, The Origins a£ German Socialism, or h1s massive Socialist History o£ the French Revolution 1s not clear. 27. Ve Soclallsten (van Kampen# Amsterdam) appeared 1n successive editions# the first of which was published between 1875 and 1897. The 6-volume 5th edition (1921-1923) was augmented by two concluding volumes, entitled Het soclallsme aan den vooravond van den wereidoorlog (1933-1939)# by W. van Ravesteyn. 77and were becoming European 1n cultural outlook rather than Indonesian. On the face of It a charge so sweeping was bound to be exaggerated. Ties of home# family# and society could not be entirely severed except 1n a small number of very exceptional cases. But for the sample under study there was obviously something 1n the judgment. By background and educa- tion# the students recruited by Sjahrlr did have a sense of sharing 1n the Intellectual currents of Europe to a much greater extent than did other representatives of educated nationalist youth 1n Batavia. As we have seen# their secondary studies were required by the concotidantlA principle to be 1n line with those to be found 1n Holland Itself# and this applied not merely to the maintenance of standards but to the exact details of the curricula. Indonesian students therefore absorbed the perspectives of the prescribed courses of study. Apart from the values unobtrusively conveyed through the study of European literature, the historical assumptions Implicit 1n the courses taught 1n the classical and modern streams—from Roman history# through the Middle Ages and Renaissance to the French Revolution and Industrial Revolution—encap- sulated a particular view of the evolution of world history. It was a thoroughly Euro-centr1c view. The perspective carried with 1t# as a corollary, a sense that the traditional values of Indonesian society were "feudal” or backward# and that# 1n time# they would be subject to processes of evolution and modernization conceived 1n Western terms. This brings us back to the question already considered specifically 1n relation to Sjahrlr himself. H1s younger followers were those who, like him# had come to enjoy European literature and music# and who had found relevance 1n European political thought. Some had discovered 1n Marxist theory an analysis of their contemporary predicament which seemed to explain a whole range of soda! phenomena. In absorbing Ideas and values such as these and making them a part of themselves, were they not 1n danger of losing their footing 1n their own world and of facing 1n an acute form the crisis of personal Identity so familiar 1n Third World Intelligentsias? Sjahrlr himself had seemed to suffer from just that dilemma when he argued that the "feudal” past of the Indies had nothing to offer a modern Intellectual 1n h1s attempt to find a path Into the future. There was certainly some ambivalence amongst members of the Sjahrlr circle about the relevance and the future of traditional society. They all saw themselves as "modern" and as participants 1n particular 1n "modern Intellectual culture" to borrow again Sh1lsf term. And they believed that modernization was a necessary goal for Indonesia. We have also noticed their comparative Indifference to ethnic origin. Did this Involve a positive rejection of Indigenous culture# especially the culture of the particular ethnic group from which each sprang? Or did 1t Involve a selective handling of Indigenous culture# making possible the enjoyment of traditional music and art as well as Western culture? Or did 1t Involve a positive concern to retain and to value a traditional order, along with accommodation to Western scientific knowledge# a concern of the kind reflected 1n the work of the Taman S1swa movement? And 1f there was such a concern# should It be seen as contrived and artificial or as a completely natural blending of the different Influences to which Western- educated youth was subjected? It 1s easy enough to pose such questions for the group under study. It 1s another matter to be confident of any single answer covering all of Its members. In brief# did Sjahr1rfs junior followers reach the same kind of solution of a common dilemma as was achieved by Sjahrlr himself? 78Soebadlo# as a secondary school student# went out of h1s way to study religion after school hours and saw a virtue 1n joining the Jong Islamleten Bond. This# 1t seemed# linked him to the society about him.28 But on moving to Batavia the focus of h1s Interest shifted and he became absorbed 1n political and social thinking. Others too found 1n Islam an Indigenous tradition which might be reconciled with progress# and looked hopefully to Muhammad1yah and the Modernist movement for a resolutlon.29 Others again were cheerfully Irreverent about local custom, though prepared up to a point to conform to 1t. Djohan Sjahroezah and h1s brother Hazll were critical of adat from their early youth. They saw 1t as a barrier to progress. That view could be expressed within the family circle# but they were expected, nevertheless# to behave themselves outside# and fit 1n with what was done. Their parents believed that 1t was not proper to contradict the datuk, the clan head; but when he visited# the boys would argue with him. They were careful to be polite but their propensity for argument# and for doubting the validity of custom# gave offense to datuk and parents alike.30 Soedjatmoko# for all h1s enjoyment of the gamelan# had no Inhibitions at all about regarding himself as belonging to a modern world. Gandhi, he thought# was a fool. Modernization meant Industrialization, and this was necessary for any backward society; and tradition was an obstacle to progress.31 A slightly less extreme attitude was displayed by And1 Zalnal Abidin# whose study of ethnology as part of h1s law course enabled him to recognize the complexity of customary social patterns. But custom# for him# too# constituted a barrier to progress# and he believed that change must come. In a way he represented a common approach to the problem# 1n that he saw 1t as a practical rather than a philosophical Issue. Tradition might be preserved so long as 1t did not clash with the needs of a changing society.32 a similar view was expressed by Murdlanto who regarded the views of h1s friend Soedjatmoko as over simple. Soedjatmoko was an advocate of modernization, but he wasn’t sufficiently sensitive to the complexity of Indonesia’s cultural pluralism.33 Er1 Sudewo# too# says that h1s desire for modernization was modified by a fear that traditional values would be lost.34 To that extent# and 1n spite of Individual differences# Sjahrlr’s followers came close to h1s method of resolving the dilemma of a divided person 1n a transitional society# but 1t appears that the dilemma was not as great for them as 1t was for him. Or rather# what seemed to be a problem for Sjahrlr, after his complete Immersion 1n Netherlands society# appeared not to pose an Identity problem for h1s followers. They located 28. Interview with Soebadlo# February 12# 1983. 29. Interview with Hamid Algadrl, August 1# 1980. 30. Interview with Hazll Tanzll# August 16# 1980. 31. Interview with Soedjatmoko# July 28# 1980. He now adds somewhat ruefully that he has changed h1s mind since then to the point where he has been accused of being a neo-Gandh1an. 32. Interview with And1 Zalnal Abidin# November 26# 1980. He regarded the sense of cultural dilemma as especially a Javanese phenomenon. The Javanese# he believes# practiced their culture 1n a way that the Buglnese did not. 33. Interview with Murdlanto# February 14# 1983. 34. Interview with Er1 Sudewo, February 16# 1983. 79themselves with varying degrees of difficulty# but 1n the end with confi- dence# on the side of change and of modernization; and they did not see this 1n terms of an Incompatibility between Western and Indigenous culture. Few felt the sort of strain and tension reflected 1n Sjahr1rfs writings. As an aspect of this question, 1t 1s worth digressing for a moment to notice the attitudes of the sample group of students to Holland Itself. Since they had proceeded to tertiary study 1n the Indies rather than 1n the Netherlands# as had been the case with their predecessors of the twenties and early thirties, only a couple of them had been to Europe before the Japanese Invasion had destroyed that possibility for the time being. Others went during the revolution, as part of the process of nego- tiation with the Dutch at Hoge Yeluwe# or on the way to or from the UN headquarters at Lake Success, and others found their way there, officially or privately, after the transfer of sovereignty. There was considerable ambivalence 1n their approach. There was curiosity about the country that had held the Indies 1n subjection. There was an acceptance of Hollandfs function as the channel through which modern European thought had been made available to an Indonesian elite. And arising from that, there was also, for some making their first visit to Holland, an undeniable sense of coming home. Their thorough grounding 1n Dutch history was Important. Indeed, as Kahln has pointed out, the struggle of the Dutch Republic for Independence from Spain had been an Influential lesson 1n the virtues of national1sm.35 There was excitement at seeing the places about which so much was known. The Dutch had given Indonesian students a most Intimate knowledge of Dutch geography. The centralized curriculum, and the concern to see that Dutch children 1n the Indies were kept abreast of Dutch children 1n the Netherlands, meant that Indonesian students too knew, 1t seemed, every village and every canal 1n the homeland.36 They found, on a visit to the Netherlands, that there was so much to recognize. But there was skepticism too. When confronted with the actuality of the Netherlands, the Indonesian visitor sometimes had a feeling of anti- climax. An almost universal reaction was amazement at the smallness of the Netherlands and how close well-known places were to each other. "On first arriving by train from Brussels,” said one, "I started to cough 1n Brussels and was 1n The Hague before finishing my cough.11 For some there was a sense of having been cheated. How could such a small country have exercised sway for so long over such a large archipelago so far away? There were elements, also, of a more profound disappointment. Soebad1ofs first visit to Europe began 1n the warmth and friendliness of Italy but as he moved northwards h1s disappointment grew. With the exception of Paris he experienced little sense of Europe as the cradle of civilization, and h1s feeling of disappointment was particularly strong when he reached 35. Kahln, NatCanal^m and HzvoLa&Lon, p. 49. 36. Interview with And1 Zalnal Abidin, November 26, 1980. Roeslan Abdul- gan1 recalls with high amusement the fact that, on h1s first visit to the Netherlands 1n the early fifties, he Insisted on being taken by h1s official driver to the Mappelerdlep canal. On arrival he removed a shoe and sock and kicked the water, explaining to h1s driver that this particu- lar canal had once cost him 10 marks 1n an exam. The question had asked for the name of every canal that one would cross 1n a journey from Amster- dam to Groningen. He had missed this one out and therefore had a score to settle with 11! That such detailed knowledge should have been required says a great deal about the Dutch approach to education 1n the Indies. 80the Netherlands.37 Soedjatmoko1s first extended contact with Europe came at the end of h1s seven years1 service as an Indonesian representative 1n New York, and 1t took the form of a deliberately planned tour to bring him, as he hoped, Into contact with the mainstream of European socialism. For him, too, the experience was a profound disappointment. But this disillusionment was to come later. For the moment the students of the late thirties and early forties were respectful of the Netherlands. Their Western education, with Its Introduction to European literature and history, and Its Initial Inculcation of a disposition to see Europe, Including the Netherlands, as the source of modern civiliza- tion, had left them less torn than their predecessors and mentors by the fact that they had a foothold 1n two cultures. How then did that affect their hostility to Dutch rule and their sense of participation 1n an emerging Indonesian nation? * # # The posing of that question leads Immediately to a paradox. For all their sense of participating 1n the current fashions of European thought, Indonesian students differed sharply from their European counterparts 1n their attitude to country. The literary fare and Intellectual concerns of the period, at least as far as the European left was concerned, were International and not nationalistic 1n character. The struggle of right versus left across Europe was a concern of European Intellectuals and found literary expression 1n what John Lehmann called the ,fNew Writing" movement, as well as practical expression 1n the International brigade.38 But patriotism was not evident 1n the literature of the thirties. At the beginning of the decade the Oxford Union debate of 1931, which ended with the passing of the motion "That this House will not fight for King and country," and at the end of the decade E. M. Forster’s remark that "1f I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country"39 were more typical of Intellectual attitudes than was jingoistic sentiment. For Indonesians, however, participation 1n the outlook of the European left fitted easily with a nationalist commitment. But 1f a Western education, and a sharing of contemporary European values, were not Incompatible with the existence of nationalist feelings on the part of Sjahrlr’s students, 1t perhaps gave a particular direction to their nationalism. For some, nationalist thinking began 1n childhood. It might have been expected that parents 1n government service would preserve a strong loyalty to the Dutch. That was sometimes the case no doubt,40 but for 37. Interview With Soebadlo, July 29 and 31, 1980. 38. John Lehmann, Nm Waiting In EuAopz (London: Allen Lane, 1940) saw a common movement of young writers Including Stephen Spender, W. H. Auden, Christopher Isherwood, John Cornford, and others 1n England, Ignazlo Sllone 1n Italy, and Andre Chamson and Andre Malraux 1n France. 39. E. M. Forster, "What I Believe" 1n Forster, Two Cftz&su ^ok Dmocnacy (London: Edward Arnold, 1951), p. 78. (Originally published as "Two Cheers for Democracy," Nation [New York], July 16, 1938.) 40. Muharto’s father, for example, not only believed that 1t was un- 81some of the students, politically aware parents provided an Initial Introduction to nationalist values.41 In most cases such family prompting was cautious and moderate. Government employees could not openly challenge the regime which employed them; but they had their own views and these could be expressed 1n a quiet way within the family circle. The father of Aboe Bakar Loebls was chairman of the local branch of Sarekat Islam and Soemarman’s father was also a Sarekat Islam member. Murd1antofs father had been 1n Perhlmpunan Indonesia 1n the Netherlands, though as a civil servant he did not encourage h1s son 1n nationalist activities. S1matupangfs father, too, was nationalist 1n sympathy, even though a civil servant, and there was nationalist literature 1n the home. But 1t was not surprising that such parents should be alarmed at signs of politi- cal activism on the part of their children. Djohan Sjahroezahfs father was comparatively liberal 1n that he understood the character of national- ist feeling. He was dismissed from h1s government post 1n 1931 as a result of the Depression, and got a job with the oil company, NKPM 1n Palembang. He also kept abreast of Indies and International affairs through the Dutch-language press and he contributed financially 1n a small way to local political activity. But when Djohan was arrested 1n 1932 h1s father found this difficult to accept. He felt that 1t had brought the family Into disrepute with others. The arrest made Djohan’s mother, 1t seems, a little more radical, but h1s father, though he tried not to show 1t, was ashamed.42 in general, however, the growing Interest of these students 1n politics did not seem to have created conflicts with their parents. Initial nationalist activity amongst the group seems to have been a matter of Intellectual conviction rather than a passionate response to the felt Injustices, the overt discrimination, or even the petty pinpricks of colonial rule. There were no doubt examples of discrimination, and the position of Indonesian students at HBS must have been especially exposed. Those who attended AMS found themselves accepted 1n an Indonesian student majority, but those at HBS were a small minority, greatly out- numbered by Dutch students. Yet the memory, even of the latter, 1s that, though they did not mix socially very much with Dutch friends, they were accepted on a basis of equality within the school by students and teachers. Some have warm memories of Individual teachers who Influenced them and with whom they maintained contact long afterwards.43 desirable for a civil servant to have political opinions, but he had little respect for others who engaged 1n political activity, regarding them as acting to subvert established authority. (Interview with Muharto, February 16, 1982.) 41. The sample of students was, of course, tiny. One study of student activism 1n Indonesia 1n the sixties advances, as a general proposition, the view that the family was not the leading agency of political sociali- zation for Indonesian students. (S. A. Douglas, Political Socialization and Student kctlvllm In Indonesia CUrbana: University of Illinois Press, 1970], ch. 2.) 42. Interview with Hazll Tanzll, August 16, 1980. 43. Soedjatmoko, for example, felt that h1s eyes were opened to Europe as something containing more than dull Dutchmen by h1s Dutch-language teacher at Surabaya HBS. She gave Informal classes on art history at her home after school and Introduced him to painting, architecture, and drama. He 82This absence of strong emotional overtones to their nationalistic sentiment might seem surprising, 1n view of the differences 1n the educa- tional experience of this group and that of Its predecessors, who had made the pilgrimage to the Netherlands and who had observed the sharp contrast between the comparative social equality of the metropolis and the discrimination and oppression to be seen 1n the colony. One might have expected the younger generation to have been more rather than less anti-Dutch, since Its members had seen only the negative side of the picture; but this seems not to have been so. Perhaps the fact that they were exposed to the Indies situation only made them more accepting of 1t.44 Yet there were Incidents which have stuck 1n the mind. Soedjatmoko has a vivid recollection of the effect on him of an occasion when a Dutch boy arrived one day at school, telling boastfully a story of how h1s father had found a buffalo cart blocking the road and had driven the cart and driver aside with h1s whip. The story was told with verve and made Soedjatmoko upset and angry.45 But he himself suffered no such discrimi- nation. Soebad1ofs Interest 1n nationalism was a product of h1s general Interest 1n social questions and the student ferment that surrounded him on moving from h1s quiet life 1n Yogyakarta to tertiary studies 1n the great Dutch city of Batavia, rather than of any actual suffering undergone as an Indonesian under Dutch rule.46 Murdlanto made friends amongst h1s Dutch classmates and they visited each other’s homes. He was aware of the fact that he belonged to a privileged class. Sltorus, too, felt he mixed on equal terms with Dutch students. f,At that time I was very looks her up whenever he visits the Netherlands. (Interview with Soedjat- moko, July 28, 1980.) Murdlanto had the same teacher and he, too, has maintained contact. (Interview with Murdlanto, February 14, 1982.) Sltorus had special respect for one particular teacher (Terbraak) at the Yogyakarta AMS (Interview with Sltorus, August 9, 1980), and Hamid Algadrl found, at the same school, that Dr. Duyvendaak, who lent him books from h1s own library, opened h1s horizons and softened h1s prejudices against the Dutch 1n general. (Interview with Hamid Algadrl, August 1, 1980.) And1 Zalnal Abidin was similarly Influenced by van Meulen, h1s history teacher at Surabaya HBS. A Catholic with an Interest 1n local politics, van Meulen had a seat as a Catholic Party member 1n the Surabaya City Council, and he struck h1s students as politically progressive. (Interview with And1 Zalnal Abidin, November 26, 1980.) One could quote other examples of warm memories of this kind between Individual students and Individual teachers. Slmatupang remembers debating with h1s teachers about the Interpretation of history and, since he was considered to be a good student, they accepted h1s disagreements with them. And he has retained connections with colleagues and teachers from the military academy 1n Bandung. Even during the revolution he felt no hostility or hatred to those on the other side, seeing them rather as ’’hostile brothers.” (Interview with Slmatupang, August 13, 1980.) 44. Cf. Harsja W. Bachtlar, ’’Indonesia,” 1n Student* and VoLLtlc.* In Vzvzlr aplng Natlan*, ed. Emmerson, p. 181, who gives a different Impression of the feelings of prewar students. H1s remarks, however, do not seem to apply to the group under study. 45. Interview with Soedjatmoko, July 28, 1980. 46. Interview with Soebadlo, February 12, 1983. 83Dutch-oriented.”47 And others have similar memories. Nevertheless# Intellectually If not emotionally# they perceived the weight of colonial rule, they were aware of Its Injustices# and they were committed to the ultimate goal of an Independent Indonesia. That these were Intellectual convictions rather than the products of slights and discriminations, did not mean that they were held less passionately. As students 1n secondary schools 1n the late thirties, members of the group had some knowledge of a nationalist movement and knew something of Its earlier parties—Boedl Oetomo# Sarekat Islam, the PKI, and the PNI— and of Its earlier leaders such as Tjokroamlnoto, Dekker, Tan Mai aka, Sukarno, Hatta, and Sjahrlr, and of the fact that the latter three had been exiled from Java. There was also knowledge of such cooperating leaders as Husnl Thamrln and Dr. Sam Ratulangle, of the proceedings of the Volksraad (Including the Issue of whether the Indonesian language could be used 1n debates Instead of Dutch), and of such Initiatives as the Soetardjo petition of 1936 with Its request for the granting of autonomy to the Indies within the framework of the Dutch Constitution. It was also known that radical opposition to Dutch rule was now suppressed and, 1n particular, that political meetings were prohibited by ordinance {VviqaxJuui Vzsibod). But most of those Interviewed confessed to having had no very sharp and precise view of political Issues and alignments while still at HBS or AMS, though all recognized that Issues of nationalism and democracy were at stake. There were also some perceptions, again not very sharply defined, of the course of world events outside Indonesia. The rise of Mussolini and Hitler, of fascism and nazlsm, the Italian adventure 1n Abyssinia, and the Spanish Civil War, formed a European backdrop to events 1n the Indies, and Japan’s Invasion of Manchuria 1n 1931 and of China 1n 1937 constituted a Pacific counterpart. Once again, secondary school students were aware of these events but without any sophisticated analysis of them, though they had direct Implications for the character of Indonesian nationalism and the relations of the Indies with the Netherlands. At the end of the thirties and the beginning of the forties, cooperating nationalists began to come to terms with these events. 1937 saw the formation of the Indonesian People’s Movement (Gerakan Rakyat Indonesia—Gerlndo) which, under the leadership of Amir Sjar1fudd1n, emphasized the Implications for the nationalist movement of the rise of fascism 1n Europe and Asia and urged cooperation with the Dutch. In 1939 Gerlndo, PSII, Parlndra, the Catholic Union, Pasundan, and Persatuan Mlnahasa came together to form Gap1. Shortly before the German Invasion of the Netherlands, Gerlndo, through Gap1, proposed that, to enable Indonesian nationalism to play Its supporting role, the Volksraad be transformed Into an elected parliament and that a government responsible to 1t should be given extensive autonomy within the Indies. This, of course, was 1n line with the proposals of the Soetardjo petition and was already the subject of Investigation by the Vlsman Commission set up for the purpose by the Indies Government. In the event the Netherlands fell to Germany shortly afterwards, but Holland had already given a negative response to the Soetardjo petition. The politically Interested students finishing school and entering tertiary Institutions at this time, especially those who were engaged 1n the activities of PPPI and Indonesia Muda, were generally aware of these 47. Interview with Sltorus, August 9, 1980. 84events, and these students played their part 1n supporting Gapl’s political demands. PPPI, 1n fact, urged upon Gap1 the desirability of serving notice on the Dutch that a refusal to give parliamentary status to the Volksraad would lead to a return to noncooperation.48 it was, of course, already too late for such a threat to carry very much weight. However, only a handful of the students who gathered about Sjahrlr remember developing a broad theoretical position, Unking the rise of fascism with the Indies situation along the lines of that developed by Gerlndo. Nor, 1n spite of the preliminary acquaintance of some of them with Marxist theory, had many of them developed a general view which saw colonial rule and fascism together as a consequence of capitalist development and which brought nationalism, social order, and International conflict Into a coherent outlook. Some of them had done so. Soebadlo was an example. And certainly the founda- tions for such a perspective had been laid. But for most of the circle that kind of analysis was to come at university, either as a result of their own Individual reading and Inquiry or through discussions with politically Interested students about them. And Sjahrlr, of course, was to be especially Important 1n developing an Interpretation of these matters even If, as we have seen, he attempted to be undogmatlc and unobtrusive about 1t when discussing domestic and International affairs with the selected students that he drew Into h1s orbit. Indeed there appears to have been no doctrine or orthodoxy which the chosen few were expected to accept. Nevertheless, there were some Important Intellectual characteristics which seem to have been common amongst them. The application of Sjahrlr’s general approach to questions of history, politics, and social order, and the formulation of a strategy to meet the circumstances of Indonesia after the Japanese surrender, will be examined more closely 1n the next chapter. What 1s Important at this point 1s the general disposition of the group. Here, of course, memory may be particularly fallible. It 1s not easy for Informants now to recall what they knew and what they thought forty years ago. It may be assumed that later Intellectual developments have affected recollections of how Ideas originally developed. The memories that are offered here, however, do have a consistency. They are offered simply as recollections. * # # The stereotype of the Sjahrlr adherent 1s of a highly Intellectual Individual, self-consciously modern 1n outlook, possessed of a sophisti- cated understanding of the world and Its complexities, possessed too of a pride 1n technical competence, self-assured, and arrogant 1n attitude to those not belonging to the Initiated. The reality 1s more complex. At the time with which we are dealing, there seems to have been much more variety and much more uncertainty about analyses and remedies and programs than the stereotype would have 1t. Some conformed fairly closely to the received picture. Soebadlo, active 1n a number of different contexts—1n USI, 1n C1k1n1 71, In the Komlsl Bahasa—was very much the confident theoretician, the man with a mission. So, 1n more reflective vein, was Soedjatmoko, with h1s search for a personal Intellectual synthesis. A11 Budlardjo provided the example of the highly skilled professional adminis- trator. Aboe Bakar Loebls had plenty of self-assurance. In different ways 48. S. Abeyasekere, f,Parta1 Indonesia Raya, 1936-42: A Study 1n Cooperative Nationalism," Jausinal a£ Sautkecut an StudLUA 3, 2 (September 1972). 85they do reflect various facets of the stereotype. The few who founded their own discussion groups certainly had a message and an outlook to convey to others, and they also, no doubt, had a measure of contempt for the uninitiated, for those who were not Interested 1n organizing the world Into an appropriate conceptual framework. Reference has already been made to the character of their political reading, which reflected an Interest 1n contemporary trends of thought and a familiarity with a fair range of liberal-left wing political writing 1n the West. But these more active members differed Individually from each other and from the less active members of the circle. Some of Sjahrlr’s friends were much less Interested 1n matters of social and political theory than others and were less confident and less didactic. Sudarpo, for example, did not share h1s brother’s taste for theoretical certainties. Sanjoto saw himself as something of a political skeptic who went along with h1s companions and was comfortable with them, but who retained h1s own reservations about their confident theorizing.49 Daan Yahya found his association with other members of the group to be based on simple friendship rather than on Ideological agreement.50 And Sltorus confesses that he was much more populist 1n outlook than h1s fellow members. He was a frequenter of the asrama at Menteng 31, where he had friends, and was attracted to the brand of nationalism that he found there.51 And so one could go on. Even on the central matter of "modernity," enough has already been said to blur the sharp outline of the stereotype. The Ideological coherence of a group of disciples seems, then, not to have been very evenly distributed, and 1t 1s not easy to Identify common Intellectual characteristics among them. But 1n spite of this diversity, a number of qualities appear to have been present. Though they may not have shared a common doctrine, they placed a high premium upon reason and prided themselves on the rational character of their approach to the problems of their time. Their ration- ality was associated with their perception of themselves as modernizers. They were thoughtful, argumentative, and convinced of the Importance of the kind of Ideas they had Imbibed. And their nationalism was tempered by other values. They were democratic 1n the sense of being anti-authori- tarian, and they all had, as part of their concept of political action, a general 1f vaguely conceived commitment to Individualism, or at least to the Importance of human rights and to a broad human1tar1an1sm. These last points need emphasis for they represented an Important strain 1n the thinking of the group. There was a general recognition that nationalism for all Its virtues—and Its necessity—had Its dangers, and a conviction that humane values and democratic principles were as Important as the goal of Independence for Indonesia. Only too easily could nationalist Ideology take on a number of authoritarian guises. It could, for example, elevate the nation at the expense of the Individual. It could go along with the view that the Individual could only find fulfillment 1n the nation or the state.52 Indeed many Indonesians were 49. Interview with Sanjoto, August 25, 1980. 50. Interview with Daan Yahya, August 5, 1980. 51. Interview with Sltorus, August 9, 1980. H1s later association with Partal Murba, after h1s service as organizing secretary of the PSI, was a natural development of h1s earlier Ideological position. 52. See, for example, Sjahrlr’s later Insistence to George McT. Kahln on 86prepared to believe that German, Italian, or Japanese nationalism 1n the thirties had something to offer colonial people looking for an Independent Identity. During the Occupation Japan very soon destroyed the hopes of those who expected her defeat of the Dutch to be followed by a benign regime preparing the way for Independence, but there were still amongst the youth of Jakarta those who found something to admire 1n Japanese notions of will, austerity, and courage.53 Short of these extremes there were the statist Implications Inherent 1n much nationalist thought, to which reference has already been made. In the nationalist thinking of many of the prewar parties, as we have seen, was a strong belief 1n the power of the state—the Independent state—to achieve things on behalf of the people. Such a belief had obvious authoritarian overtones. Sjahrlr’s young men and women were alive to such dangers and were concerned not merely with the Independence struggle but with the goal of a democratic Independence. Before the Japanese Occupation this was an Ideological Inclination rather than a program—an Ideology derived 1n part from their reading, 1n part from discussions with each other, 1n some cases from liberal-minded Dutch teachers, and 1n part from their Western education 1n general. In contrast to some of the members of the Asrama Angkatan Baru they were not anti-Western 1n outlook, and their sense of Indonesian identity was accompanied by respect for what Western civiliza- tion had to offer, culturally as well as politically. This attitude was not always acquired simply as a matter of course. For some 1t was an attitude reached with some reluctance. For Soebadlo as a new university student the problem of combining nationalist consciousness with respect for Western culture was not easy to resolve. On arrival 1n Batavia he tended to regard the Dutch-speaking, upper-class products of an HBS education, who relaxed 1n the USI headquarters at Kramat 45, as not really nationalist at all—even as "black Dutchmen." They shared an affluent lifestyle with the Dutch and this, 1t seemed to him, was 1n such sharp contrast to that available to the masses of the people, that 1t was necessarily 1n conflict with real nationalist awareness and with humani- tarian principles. It was through h1s contact with other students such as Soedjatmoko, And1 Zalnal Abidin, and Murdlanto that he came, as he says, to broaden his nationalism. To Soebadlo 1t seemed a two-way process. "I made Soedjatmoko a nationalist and he softened my attitudes and made me more aware of the value of what the West had to offer.”54 Sjahrlr 1n due course completed the process and reconciled for him the conflict between fighting the Dutch and respecting their civilization. But the the Importance of placing the emphasis "upon the Individual and h1s welfare rather than upon the state” lest mass parties lead to fascism or some other form of totalitarian organization. (Kah1nfs Interview with Sjahrlr, November 21, 1948.) 53. See above, pp. 45-46. Also Anderson, Somz Atpzct*, p. 49. Anderson refers to the "strongly Japanlzed anti-Western sentiment” encouraged by the Japanese amongst students who had been least under Western Influence. These Included many of those linked with the Asrama Angkatan Baru. 54. Interview with Soebadlo, July 29, 1980 and February 12, 1983. Soedjat- moko, for h1s part, remembers h1s father’s remark as h1s son developed h1s nationalist attitudes: "You must learn to fight without hatred of the Dutch." Interview with Soedjatmoko, July 28, 1980. 87sharpness of h1s Initial judgment of those who were to become close colleagues may help to underline the difference between Sjahr1rfs recruits and those who collected about other focal points 1n Occupation Jakarta— at Menteng 31 for example—and who followed other leaders. The nationalism of the latter tended to be more anti-Dutch, as was Soebadlo’s at first, less softened by their exposure to Western literature, history, and political thought, and less disciplined by the discussion of Ideas which looked beyond the mere fact of Dutch rule to the International economic context 1n which 1t was set. For them, the colonial power was the enemy. For Sjahrlr, colonialism was merely part of a wider problem; and he believed that the democracies had the resources to solve the problem without the evils of authoritarian rule. These values and predispositions added up to an outlook which fitted well with the social democratic Ideals of the Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indonesia and with the views which Sjahrlr was still anxious to propagate. Those of the younger generation recruited by him before and Immediately after August 1945 were ready to become social democrats after h1s pattern. They believed that 1t was possible to attain both socialism and democracy, and moreover that socialism could not be a true socialism without respect for Individuals and therefore without democratic Institutions. Just as they were suspicious of the authoritarianism that could He within nation- alist Ideology, so they rejected the view that the attainment of socialism required complete submission to the discipline of a vanguard party. Democratic centralism was a contradiction 1n terms. These views may seem 1n retrospect to have been half-formed and possibly naive, but the survivors of the group are united 1n believing that the emphasis on democracy and human dignity was a central feature of their outlook then. "The International crisis of the thirties was a crisis for democracy, and we were Involved 1n that,” said Sltorus, just after admitting to some attraction to the rise of Hitler 1n the early thirties, an attraction arising, he thought, from h1s knowledge of German missionaries 1n Tapanull. By the outbreak of World War II, he saw fascism as the danger. In recalling h1s change of mind he quoted from memory the words of Hatta: f,K1ta harus memperjuangkan demokrasl dan menentang fasclsme Jepang, sekallpun klta tahu bahwa Jepang mungkln akan menang." ("We must fight for democracy and oppose Japanese fascism even though we know that Japan might possibly w1n.")55 And1 Zalnal Abidin learned from Amir Hamzah, with whom he lived, to see fascism as a phenomenon, and to grasp the fact that the Dutch too were caught up 1n the conflict of democracy and fascism. In due course he came to see that this was what Sjahrlr was teaching.56 Murdlanto Imbibed democratic principles from reading 1n h1s father’s library and later, 1n Surabaya, at the feet of Darmawan Mangun- kusumo. "Darmawan pumped democracy Into me."57 ”in our thinking," said L1st1o, "one could not have socialism without democracy."58 Finally, 1t follows from all of this that the group possessed a high seriousness of purpose. They came to see themselves as having a specific and Important contribution to make to the strategy of the struggle, a 55. Interview with Sltorus. 56. Interview with And1 Zalnal Abidin, November 26, 1980. 57. Interview with Murdlanto, February 14, 1983. 58. Interview with L1st1o, February 15, 1983. 88contribution justified by what they believed was a wider view of the meaning of the struggle. And Integral to that sense of mission was their confidence. Some exceptions to that confidence have been noticed# but 1n spite of the exceptions# the tone of the thinking of the group was that they were getting the picture right. In this they belonged very much to their time and not merely to their situation. The world undoubtedly seemed a simpler place to left-wing youth of the late thirties and early forties# not merely 1n Indonesia or 1n other parts of the European empires# but 1n the West as well. There appeared to be at hand an analysis which could account for economic and soda! evils and which could supply appro- priate remedies. For good or 111 this atmosphere has not been available to the youth of some later generations# who have known better than their predecessors the complexities which have faced them and who have tended to be bewildered# modest 1n their expectations# or perhaps despairing rather than assured and confident. These characteristics of rationality# modernity# a concern for rights rather than authority# and confidence, are# 1n effect, defining character- istics. They are not to be correlated with other variables such as family, ethnic origin, religion, or career aspirations. Factors of that kind do not seem to distinguish the Sjahrlr group from those who had gathered about other focal points and other leaders.59 in general, the objective circumstances of the Japanese destruction of the apparatus of Dutch colonial rule# the harshness of the Occupation regime# and the opportuni- ties which would be presented by the expected defeat of the Japanese# are sufficient 1n themselves to account for all expressions of student activism 1n Occupation Jakarta. What distinguished Sjahrlr’s followers from other circles, apart# of course# from their association with him, were their Ideas and their particular moral and political dispositions. Enough has been said to suggest that the character of the group 1s at odds with many of the received views about Intelligentsias 1n colonial situations. For example# Sh1lsf picture of the alienated# populist# xenophobic Intellec- tual# tending towards nat1v1st1c revivalism and resentful of the metropo- litan culture# certainly bears little resemblance to the members of this particular segment of the Indonesian Intelligentsia. Nor# 1n spite of being socialists# do they provide evidence for his view# and that of others# that colonial Intelligentsias have been disposed to a collectivist rather than an Individual 1st conception of the role of a nation state.60 So far, of course, the characteristics of the group have been outlined only 1n very general terms# and that 1s all that can be said about them at a time at which the circle was still 1n process of defining Itself. It Is necessary now to look more closely at the political environment 1n which the recruits, together with Sjahrlr’s older followers# came to form a separate party. In 1945 they constituted merely an Informal circle existing alongside other groups with competing and sometimes conflicting points of view and with allegiance to other leaders 1n a general situation of considerable Ideological complexity and fluidity. In succeeding years there was to be much crossing and recrossing of Ideological and organiza- tional lines. The divisions that had separated the Pend1d1kan Naslonal 59. Cf. Emmerson’s consideration of the biographical variables—sex, age# religion# family status# and personality type—which might contribute to an explanation of student activism 1n the postwar world. Emmerson# Student* and Politic*, pp. 392-98. 60. See above# p. 14. 89Indonesia and Partlndo 1n the past, and that would, 1n future, separate the PNI, the PKI, Murba, and the PSI, were never, 1n any case, fixed and unchanging. For a time before the war, diverse outlooks had been held together within Gerlndo and then, during the revolution, within the Partal Soslalls, but these were Inherently unstable alliances. Some of Amir Sjar1fudd1n's followers were later to find themselves with Sjahrlr 1n the PSI and some were to join the PKI. Some of Sjahrlr's followers drifted towards the PNI or Murba. Some of Tan Mai aka's ended up 1n the PKI or the PNI. The political alignments which were forming during the closing months of the Occupation and the early months of the revolution were particularly complex and confused, and for the student and ex-student population of Jakarta at the time, 1t was to be expected that political associations, affinities, and linkages would be as much personal as Ideological. Nevertheless, 1n spite of the fluidity and confusion, 1t 1s possible to discern some Intellectual and Ideological coherences and lineages which were 1n process of sorting themselves out between 1945 and 1948. 90CHAPTER V PRINCIPLES AND POSSIBILITIES: SJAHRIR’S POLICIES IN PRACTICE The central themes which went to make up the outlook of Sjahrlr and h1s colleagues on the world about them, on Its social and economic prob- lems, domestic and International, and on the proper goals of political struggle, had been defined 1n the early thirties during the heyday of the Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indonesia and they remained as constant elements thereafter, to be applied as appropriate to changing circumstances, to be modified 1n some degree, but not to be fundamentally altered. Essential to this outlook, as we have seen, was a perception of the sweep of world history, taking 1n the evolution of capitalism and Imperialism, the tide of International events, and problems of domestic social order. As has been pointed out, 1t was a Euro-centr1c perspective 1n which Indonesian developments were seen as part of Western historical development 1n general, but for Sjahrlr and h1s associates these hung together. Indo- nesia^ subjection was seen as a product of the crisis of European capital- ism. So was fascism. Against that background the events of the thirties, the consolidation of fascism 1n Italy and the rise of Nazi Germany, posed for radical observers 1n the Indies a series of critical problems. The democracies were capitalist 1n economic order and, 1n consequence, unjust 1n their distribution of wealth, unable to cope with economic crisis, and shot through with contradictions—especially that between formal equality and material Inequality. Mere political democracy was not enough. And the capitalist character of the democracies was linked with their need for empire and their oppression of their colonial subjects. The solution, according to the current theories of empire, lay 1n effecting social change 1n the metropolis, making empire unnecessary and allowing for the liberation of colonies. But, 1n the meantime, and for all their Imperfec- tions, the capitalist countries of western Europe were at least formally democratic; and democracy was of fundamental Importance. The crisis of the age was the clash between democracy and fascism. The Implications for Indonesia of these very general propositions were not worked out 1n any great detail by Sjahrlr. Independence, of course, was the goal to be fought for after the defeat of the axis powers, and social justice, political democracy, and respect for human rights were the unquestioned domestic objectives for an Independent Indonesia. But there seems to have been little consideration of such questions as whether a soda! democratic solution presupposed an Industrial revolution, or whether the soda! bases existed 1n Indonesia to sustain a political democracy. Social democracy, 1t might have been argued, was designed to correct the defects of capitalist democracy 1n Industrial societies and 1t might not offer clear guidelines for newly liberated colonial societies. Neverthe- less, this was the general conceptual framework within which the Immediate and long-term political strategies of Sjahrlr were to be formulated. During the first three years of the revolution, Sjahrlr was, of necessity, responding to the pressure of Immediate circumstances. This 1s not to say that h1s actions were determined, that he had no room for 91choice and for the adoption of alternative courses of action. It will be the argument of the following pages that h1s response was distinctive, that 1t was 1n tune with the general political position he had developed 1n the thirties, and, finally, that 1t was appropriate for the realities of the time. The character of Sjahr1rfs strategy 1s revealed 1n part 1n h1s response to the circumstances of August 1945 and 1n part 1n the subsequent political maneuvers by which he became prime minister, as well as 1n the way 1n which h1s three governments dealt with the domestic and external pressures of the time. Very briefly, a number of guiding principles may be detected 1n h1s actions as well as 1n h1s words during this period, some of them being simply an application of h1s existing political Ideas to the actual circum- stances facing him, some of them representing an extension or evolution of those views 1n the light of the evolving situation. It was Important to him, first of all, that Indonesia’s bid for Independence be couched 1n antifascist terms. That followed from the perspective he had already developed about the trend of world events during the thirties. Indonesia’s liberation, and Its development as a democratic and socialist republic, had Its place 1n that perspective. Secondly, and closely related to that concern, was his recognition of the authoritarian potentialities of the revolutionary process. H1s attitude showed Itself 1n a number of ways. Having regard to the uncertainties and probable turbulence attendant upon the defeat of Japan, Sjahrlr was anxious that Independence should be proclaimed 1n as orderly a fashion as possible, and through what could be fairly regarded as properly constituted Indonesian authority. He feared ’’pemudalsm”—the possibility of uncontrolled and uninformed action on the part of the youth groups of the capital. The same attitude lay behind his hope, over the next eighteen months, that Independence could be negotiated and that a protracted, violent, and chaotic struggle could be avoided. In practical terms he saw no alternative to an attempt at a negotiated settlement, but h1s commitment to diplomacy rather than uncom- promising opposition to the Dutch followed, 1n principle, from h1s belief that struggle, so far from being a unifying process (some would have said a purifying and ennobling process), would jeopardize the prospects for a democratic outcome. Similarly, h1s distrust of governmental arrangements which placed too much formal power 1n the hands of a chief executive, was part of the same complex of views. The parliamentary alternative that he proposed was, of course, 1n h1s own direct political Interest. It suited h1s political skills and allowed him a role that might otherwise have been denied him; but there was more to 1t than that. Thirdly, there was h1s judgment of the limited opportunities for economic and soda! change 1n the early years of Independence. Here, as we will see, h1s social- democratic hopes of the early thirties show some modification: he came to see Indonesia’s domestic solution as dependent upon the limitations Imposed by the International scene and to regard some kind of mixed economy as more appropriate to Indonesia’s current circumstances. The definition of these attitudes can best be examined 1n Sjahrlr’s response to the actual events of 1945 and after. It 1s not Intended 1n this monograph to describe In detail the events of the revolution, or even to give a full account of the steps leading to the secession of Sjahrlr’s followers from the Partal Soslalls and the formation of the separate Partal Soslalls Indonesia. Nevertheless, since our concern 1s with the coming together of the younger members of that party, with their character considered as a group and with the relevance of their Ideas and those of Sjahrlr to the circumstances of the time, some summary treatment 921s necessary of the events surrounding the proclamation and of the subse- quent politics of the revolution. # # * During the course of 1945 Jakarta was the scene of growing expecta- tions. The Japanese attitude to nationalist aspirations had fluctuated over the period of the Occupation, depending on the changing circumstances of the war. The need to mobilize Indonesian resources for the war effort required some conciliation of local feeling, and this was reflected 1n the formation of such bodies as the mass organization, Putera (Pusat Tenaga Rakyat, Center of the People1 2s Power) formed under Sukarno’s chairmanship 1n March 1943, and the Central Advisory Council created later 1n the same year. But the main thrust of Occupation administrative policies was harsh and repressive, and was reflected 1n the siomuuka (forced labor) program and 1n the commandeering of rice supplies rather than 1n gestures of consultation with nationalist leaders or 1n promises of Indonesian autonomy within Japan’s Greater East Asia. In March 1944 the machinery of control of the Javanese population was strengthened by the creation of a ’’People’s Loyalty Organization,” the Jawa Hokokal. Unlike Putera, which aimed to mobilize willing Indonesian cooperation with Japan, the Hokokal was a much more tightly constructed organization linked to the territorial administrative service. Through the various grades of the administrative hierarchy 1t penetrated down to the village level and was designed to ensure that the wishes of the Occupation regime were carried out. However, 1n late 1944, Japan did commit herself to a new policy. In a speech to the Japanese Diet, Prime Minister Kolso announced that Indonesia would be granted Independence 1n the near future. Little was done for the time being to Implement the promise, but 1n March 1945 the formation was announced of an ’’Investigating Body for the Preparation of Indonesian Independence” (Badan Penyel1d1k Usaha Perslapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia—BPKI). The BPKI contained representatives of the main strands of nationalist opinion and of Indonesia’s principal ethnic divisions, but 1t was heavily weighted on the side of the prewar secular nationalist stream, especially as represented 1n PNI-Part1ndo, rather than on the side of Muslim leadership.1 It was to this body that Sukarno made h1s famous Panca SVLa speech 1n June 1945, and 1t was there that consideration was given to the shape of a future Constitution, to the place of Islam 1n the Constitution, and to the territorial limits to be claimed for an Independent Indonesia. At the beginning of August, as time was running out for Japan, 1t was announced that a new body would be formed to accomplish the actual transi- tion to Independence: the Indonesian Independence Preparatory Committee (Panltya Perslapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia—PPKI). At the same time Sukarno and Hatta, together with the chairman of the BPKI, Dr. Radjlman Wedlodl- nlngrat, were summoned to Dalat 1n Indo-Ch1na to meet Field-Marshal Terauchl, Commander-In-Chief of Japan's Southern Expeditionary Forces, and receive a briefing about the Impending transfer of authority. The message conveyed by Terauchl was that the timing of the actual transfer was now 1n the hands of the PPKI.2 On August 14 the party returned to 1. See Anderson, Somz A4pect6, for a close analysis of Its membership. 2. Hatta, MzmoVi, p. 437. 93Jakarta# unaware of the dropping of the first atomic bomb and of the Imminence of the Japanese surrender# to find themselves caught up 1n agitated debate about the strategy by which a proclamation of Independence was actually to be made. Initially Sjahrlr was one of the principal participants 1n that debate# but he was outstripped by the course of events over the next two turbulent days. From the beginning of the Pacific war, Sjahrlr had predicted the defeat of Japan. H1s conviction had remained unshaken throughout the war and was sustained by what he had heard 1n foreign broadcasts. But though he had been actively engaged 1n creating a following 1n Occupation Jakarta 1n preparation for just that eventuality# when the critical moment of the Japanese surrender arrived he hesitated. He Informed Hatta on h1s return from Saigon that the Japanese had already agreed to surrender, and he urged on him the Importance of an Immediate declaration of Independence# to be made by Sukarno himself f,as leader of the people# 1n the name of the people#’’3 so that Indonesia’s freedom would not appear as a Japanese gift. Hatta was not entirely persuaded# but he took Sjahrlr to Sukarno’s house to discuss the matter further. Sukarno and Hatta both feared that precipitate action might provoke forceful Japanese moves to suppress a self-declared republic. According to Hatta# Sukarno doubted whether the Japanese had 1n fact surrendered^ and was anxious to have at least an unofficial understanding with the authorities before he moved. Both of them believed that a declaration should be made through the Preparatory Committee which was to hold Its Inaugural meeting on August 18. (Hatta# 1n fact# hoped that the committee would Issue a formal declaratory document resembling the American Declaration of Independence, and carrying the signature of all members of the committee.5) Sjahrlr for h1s part argued that 1f# 1n fact# the Japanese had already sued for peace they would no longer be 1n a position to deliver their promise of Independence# whether through the action of the PPKI or 1n any other way. He also Indicated that plans already existed for a popular uprising 1n support of a declara- tion of Independence# on a scale that the Japanese would be unable to control. At the end of the discussion Sukarno stuck to h1s decision to wait upon the PPKI meeting. Sjahrlr was angered by this refusal to make an Immediate declaration but he took no further action himself# except to prepare those with whom he was 1n contact to play their part 1n a mass uprising when the proclama- tion was eventually made. At this point# so far as youth activity was concerned the leadership slipped from h1s hands Into those of a variety of other youth leaders—1n particular those who were centered on the Asrama Angkatan Baru at Menteng 31 (amongst whom Sukarnl# Adam Malik, Chaerul Saleh# and Maruto N1t1m1hardjo were prominent)# Wlkana and other representatives of the Asrama Indonesia Merdeka# and representatives of 3. Ibid., p. 441. 4. Ibid., p. 442. 5. Conversation with Hatta# June 1969. See also Hatta# MmolK, p. 455 1n which he mentions h1s desire that all present at Maeda’s house when the proclamation text was drafted—PPKI members together with youth leaders— should sign# thus creating an historical document. Sukarnl# however, proposed that only the two leaders should sign. Perhaps the brief and Informal document# signed only by Sukarno and Hatta was# 1n the end# more dramatic. 94the medical students1 asrama at Prapatan 10. Amongst these, some of Sjahrlr's own followers were Involved also. The following events are well known.6 7 8 As a result of discussions amongst these groups, 1t was decided that their views should be presented directly to Sukarno and a delegation, led by Wlkana, called on him at h1s home at Pegangsaan Timur 56 on the night of August 15. Sukarno was not to be budged, but the passionate nature of the exchanges between him and the students disturbed and Indeed shamed the latter. The delegation eventually withdrew, smarting under the rebuke 1t had received, to consider what further action could be taken. The outcome was the kidnapping of Sukarno and Hatta a few hours later and their removal to the small town of Rengasdengklok where further unsuccessful attempts were made to persuade them to make an Immediate declaration. Defeated, their captors allowed them to be brought back to Jakarta on the night of August 16, when, after delicate and strictly Informal contacts had been made with the Japanese authorities,7 Sukarno and Hatta met with members of the PPKI and some youth leaders at Admiral Maeda’s house and prepared the words of a brief proclamation of Independence to be made on the following morning. The discussions during the night of August 15, which led to the kidnapping of the two leaders, had taken place 1n the Baperpl Asrama at C1k1n1 71, and some of Sjahr1rfs followers, 1n particular Soebadlo Sastro- satomo, took part 1n them. (Soebadlo, together with Soeblanto, had 1n fact made h1s own approach to Hatta on the preceding evening but without effect.6) Sjahrlr was Informed of the plans. He refused to be a party to them, however, and from then until after the proclamation events took their course without h1s participation. He was not present at Admiral Maedafs house on the night of August 16 when the proclamation was drafted, nor at Sukarno^ house on the morning of the 17th when 1t was read out. Sjahr1rfs guiding political principles, of course, placed him 1n a peculiarly difficult position during these critical days. When he met with Sukarno and Hatta on the afternoon of August 14, and argued to them that a proclamation should be made by Sukarno outside the framework of the PPKI, h1s position seemed clear and uncomplicated. He was expressing 1n part, as we have seen, h1s determination that an Independent republic should be free of any possible suggestion that 1t was a Japanese creation. But h1s concern did not stop there. Unlike some nationalist leaders for whom nationalism meant merely a struggle for Independence from foreign rule, and others for whom the Important thing was the overthrow of Infidel rule and the creation of a Muslim republic, Sjahrlr placed h1s nationalism within a broader political and social philosophy. For him, Independence was linked with Ideas of Individual freedom and of social change which 6. See Kahln, Nationalism and Revolution, pp. 134ff., Anderson, Some Aspects, pp. 65ff., h1s Java ln a Time o£ Revolution, pp. 70ff., and Legge, Sukanno, pp. 194-202. 7. For the details of these, see Anderson, Java In a Time, a£ Revolution, pp. 78-80. The Occupation commander. General Yamamoto, refused to speak with Sukarno and Hatta but General N1sh1mura met them. He refused to countenance a declaration, as Indeed he was bound to do under the terms of the surrender, but he recognized the possibility of popular Insurrection and he conceded that a proclamation might be made without h1s knowledge. This was sufficient for Admiral Maeda to encourage the PPKI to go ahead. 8. Hatta, Mmol*, pp. 443-44. 95could make that a genuine freedom. These Ideals affected h1s view of the way 1n which Independence was to be achieved. It was possible for "pure” nationalists, and Indeed also for Muslim nationalists, to see the Japanese Occupation as a period of opportunity 1n which concessions might be obtained from the conquerors. In Sjahrlr’s perspective, however, Japan was Identified as part of the fascist world and as presenting a reactionary challenge to the values of democracy and to desirable social change. In August 1945, therefore, political doctrine required that a declaration of Independence should be couched 1n antifascist and not merely 1n nationalist terms.9 There was no conflict between these complementary aspects of h1s thinking on August 14, when he argued with Sukarno and Hatta. However when, on the following day, the youth groups began to devise ways of making their own views known, he did find himself 1n a dilemma. Like him, the youth leaders were anxious that Independence should be seized as an act of national will, and not be granted by the Japanese. But they did not necessarily share h1s profounder Ideological considerations. Anderson has captured well some of the preoccupations of Jakarta youth at this time, 1n particular their perception of open possibilities, their belief that the revolution was about to open new channels of power through which their own energies could flow and by which they would be able to participate directly 1n great events, their sense of revolution not as something to be planned, directed, and managed by an older nationalist establishment, but as something to be experienced directly.10 Such attitudes carried within them the possibility—even the necessity—of disorder, as the condition for pzmuda participation, and this was something that alarmed Sjahrlr. He had always been aware of the authoritarian possibilities Inherent 1n much nationalist thinking, which saw the State as providing the fulfillment of the Individual. This could be accentuated 1n a situation of mass action. The actions of the prnuda, lacking an adequately developed Ideological perspective, could at best lead to a situation of anarchy and might, at worst, encourage the emergence of fascist attitudes, a possibility that was accentuated by the anti-Western flavor that marked especially the Ideas which flourished 1n the Asrama Angkatan Baru, and by the emphasis placed there on the values of bravery, austerity, and will. Sjahrlr's concern with these matters was soon to be expressed very clearly when he produced h1s pamphlet, P&idj azangan Klta (Oust S&iuggLe,), which attacked those nationalist leaders who had collaborated with the Japanese.* 11 While recognizing, 1n that tract, the Idealism and patriotic ardor of the younger generation, he held that Its members could not make a fruitful contribution ff1f this nationalist spirit 1s not suffused with a real feeling of democracy and social responslbll 1ty.f,l2 He called for ,fa thorough understanding of the social basis of our present struggle.wl3 He expressed h1s anxiety 1n still more emphatic terms when he added that, unless their understanding were given content and their attitudes changed, 9. Interview of Sjahrlr by George McT. Kahln, February 15, 1949. 10. Anderson, Java i,n a Tam*, o£ £ei/aLu&t£, ed. Pierre Brocheux (Lille: Presses Un1vers1ta1 res de Lille, 1981), pp. 234-35. 101with Hatta whose Influence was Important at critical moments 1n October and November, as we have seen. It was Hatta, acting 1n the president's place, and not Sukarno himself, who approved the conceding of colegislative powers to the KNIP and the acceptance of the principle that governments should command the confidence of the KNIP. Amir's links were with Sukarno whose whole political experience of alternative constitutional arrangements was very different from that of Hatta and Sjahrlr. Sukarno was familiar with the prewar structure of government 1n the Indies, 1n which power lay with the Governor-General and 1n which the role of deliberative bodies—the Council of the Indies and the Volksraad—was essentially advisory. And, as we have noticed, the Occupation had also shown Sukarno the uses to which a one-party system could be put by a man whose skills were well suited to that arrangement. H1s agreement to the change of November 1945 thus went somewhat against the grain. But, 1n the circumstances of the time, a Hatta-Sjahrlr rapport was perhaps more Influential than a Sukarno-Am1r relat1onsh1p.26 And Sjahrlr knew what he was doing 1n October 1945 1n a way that Amir did not. As a member of the first government of the Republic, Amir had no Interest 1n elbowing Sukarno aside and 1n attempting to alter the balance of political forces. Sjahrlr, then, recognized the possibilities of the situation and seized—and Indeed helped to create—the opportunities which led to h1s emergence as prime minister. The attack on collaborators 1n Oust SVtuqqLz, for example, circulating at the end of October,27 had been a well-timed move 1n the campaign to bring down the government. It was a particularly savage attack. Those who had collaborated, said Sjahrlr (and, as we have noticed, he used the Dutch term for collaborator), must be regarded "as fascists themselves, or as the running dogs and henchmen of the Japanese fascists” and therefore as "guilty of betraying the people's struggle 1n the people's revolut1on."28 The term "running dogs" was part of the terminology of the left at the time, but the use of the word "dogs" was calculated to give enormous offense to Indonesian readers, Muslims particu- larly. 29 BUt it was not simply a matter of ambition, political skill, and opportunistic manipulation of a favorable situation that brought him to the fore. There were Issues of principle at stake too. H1s vehemence 1n Oust SViuqqlz reflected h1s continuing perception of the social content of nationalist struggle, and when he espoused a parliamentary system he was 26. I am Indebted to Jacques Led ere for drawing my attention to the pairing of Sukarno-Am1r as opposed to the more potent pairing of Hatta and Sjahrlr. See also his "La Clandest1n1t6," p. 229, where Amir 1s described as "I'h6r1t1er direct de Sukarno, comme Sjahrlr l'est de Hatta." 27. Kahln, NatZanai^m and R&valutZcm, p. 164. It was not officially published until November 10. (Anderson, "Introduction" to h1s translation of Oust SVaiqqlz, p. 8.) 28. Sjahrlr, Ouut SViuqqJLz, p. 29. 29. Sjahrlr was reported to have recognized this and he deleted the term at the proof stage of the pamphlet. The employees of the prlntery, however, made their own judgment of what was required and restored the original wording. This 1s the recollection of A11 Budlardjo who was handling publication details for Sjahrlr. (Interview with A11 Budlardjo, February 13, 1983.) In later editions the abusive terms were abbreviated simply to "kak1 tangan"—accomplIces or henchmen. 102expressing h1s preference for procedures 1n which he genuinely believed. Opportunism and principle thus combined to assist h1s claim to office. Once he had succeeded he continued h1s close working arrangements with Amir# who might have been h1s main challenger. But as well as Sjahrlr's reasons of principle and expediency# there were 1n fact other Immediate practical reasons for the changes of November# reasons which ran counter to Sukarno's preference for a presidential system and which reinforced Sjahrlr's preferences for cabinet responsibility to KNIP. In the latter part of 1945 Sukarno was 1n a vulnerable position. As one who had worked with the Japanese he was likely to be viewed with suspicion by the British forces which had arrived to receive the Japanese surrender. At the same time, after making a journey through Java# Sjahrlr had become convinced that Sukarno was known to the great majority of the Indonesian people and was accepted by them as being the authentic voice of the revolution. Sjahrlr thus faced a dilemma.' He had come to the view that the very existence of a united Republic depended on Sukarno# but he also recognized that Sukarno might not be an acceptable leader 1n the eyes of the Allies. Also Important was the distribution of domestic political power. There were competing groups which had ,been silenced for three and a half years and which demanded to share 1n the direction of events. If Sukarno was to be the political# as distinct from the constitu- tional# leader of the Republic# h1s position could be open to challenge. The move to separate the symbolic and ceremonial aspects of the presidency from the executive aspects could thus be seen as an attempt to save Sukarno as president while making possible the formation of a government able to deal with the British# to prepare for negotiations with the Dutch# and to manage the domestic politics of the Republic. Sukarno# too# faced a dilemma. He was aware of the Importance of persuading the British that the Republic was a responsible and genuinely Indonesian enterprise. He was also aware that he had rivals for the presidency. In particular# the reappearance of Tan Mai aka# veteran PKI leader from the early twenties# and the speed with which he began to attract a following# constituted a threat to Sukarno and compelled him to look to the bases of h1s own political position. Tan Malaka was anxious to supplant Sukarno and had already sought support for a move to oust him from the presidency.30 Sjahrlr at least wished to retain Sukarno as president# albeit with constraints placed upon the exercise of h1s powers; and Sukarno could see that# under the new dispensation as agreed 1n November 1945# he could claim to be a president above political conflict. Indeed that was to be a source of great strength to him 1n the domestic political crises of July 1946 and September 1948. He thus adjusted to the pressures on him by a subtle bending and an accommodation to them and# though elbowed away from the center of power# he remained as president and possessed of a certain Independence# giving legitimacy to governments and able to Intervene directly# on occasion# 1n the political process.31 30. Kahln# Nattanalt^m and Rzvalut4.cn, pp. 149-51 and 167-69. 31. In retrospect# the November agreement was not only of Immediate practical consequence. It also came to acquire considerable symbolic Importance. A question which has emerged 1n subsequent debate 1s whether the president's agreement to form h1s governments only from groupings which commanded the support of KNIP amounted to an actual constitutional change or not. It certainly changed the way 1n which the affairs of the young 103If the change in convention was prompted by a mixture of principle and opportunism, 1t did demonstrate Sjahr1rfs practical sense. It was an example, comments Soebadlo, of Sjahrlr's skill 1n creating Institutions which would work for the time being to accommodate a variety of political forces—1n due course 1t enabled Sjahrlr himself to be overthrown by Amir—and 1t thus avoided the d1v1s1veness which would have been Inherent 1n any other system.32 The changes which came to a climax 1n the agreement of November 1945 provided the framework for the next three years of domestic politics. These were the years of Sjahr1rfs greatest direct political Influence. They were also the years 1n which h1s followers, 1n the course of dealing with day-to-day political matters, gradually defined a position for themselves and prepared for their emergence as a distinct party 1n 1948. To understand the nature of that position some attempt must be made to Republic were conducted. Sjahrlr’s assumption of the prime ministership was the result of KNIP support and later changes of government reflected changes 1n alignments within KNIP. Even the return to the Idea of a presidential cabinet, when Sukarno called on Vice-President Hatta to form a government 1n 1948, was possible only because a Hatta government was at that time acceptable to KNIP. The arrangement received actual constitu- tional form 1n the Provisional Constitution of 1950, under which govern- ments were drawn from, and depended upon the continued support of, the Peoplefs Representative Assembly. The president had more than formal powers under that Constitution. He had power, 1n particular, to appoint a cabinet formateur whose job 1t was to negotiate the bringing together of a government acceptable to the DPR and, on occasion, Sukarno himself brought h1s Influence to bear 1n those negotiations. Nevertheless h1s powers were clearly c1rcumscrlbed and, during the six years following the transfer of sovereignty, governments were created or turned out of office according to their ability to mobilize and retain a majority 1n the Assembly. However, the 1950s saw a growing dissatisfaction with the workings of parliamentary democracy, and, after a period of uncertainty, crisis and regional revolt, the nation returned 1n 1959 with apparent relief to the Constitution of 1945, this time 1n genuinely presidential form. Since then the pari lamentary convention of November 1945, later to be enshrined 1n the Provisional Constitution of 1950, has been 1n disrepute. In particular the events of November 1945 were the subject of criticism 1n the Indoctrination programs of the Guided Democracy era and, more recently, 1n the courses for civil servants developed by the Suharto regime. It 1s said that the November agreement represented the first "deviation11 from the 1945 Constitution. As will be apparent from the account given here, a contrary view could be argued: that the change of November 1945 was not a constitutional deviation but a convention, entirely consistent with the Constitution, and accepted by the president acting within h1s powers under that Constitution. When 1t suited his purposes Sukarno could resort to a presidential cabinet, as he did 1n 1948. On the face of 1t, 1t would seem that these questions are for a consti- tutional lawyer to argue; but, since the 1945 Constitution has enormous resonance as one of the symbols of the revolution, the charge that Sjahrlr brought about a deviation from 1t constitutes much more than an academic or legal point. It touches Issues of later political orthodoxy. 32. Interview with Soebadlo, July 1, 1981. 104thread a way through the complex divisions and rivalries of the period and to characterize* at least 1n broad terms* the main alignments to be found 1n the domestic political scene, * * * In the circumstances of November 1945 the attainment of government by Sjahrlr did not mean that he was now 1n a position to Implement a program and to begin to bring Into being the socialist Republic envisaged 1n h1s political philosophy. The Immediate tasks were too urgent: the establish- ment of the Republics authority 1n a situation 1n which, formally speak- ing* British forces were 1n the process of taking over from the Japanese* the creation of a physical basis 1n armed force to sustain that authority* the conduct of negotiations with the British, and the creation of a situation 1n which negotiations might be commenced with the Dutch. Ways of responding to these pressing circumstances could vary. Sjahrlr's approach to them was practical* skillful* and based on a reading of the realities of domestic and external power; and at the same time 1t was 1n line with h1s general political views. H1s concern with order, revealed 1n the difficult days of August, remained a prime concern—that the Republic be 1n effective control of Its citizens and that violence towards the Japanese be avoided so that* 1n the eyes of the British, 1t would appear as a responsible regime. The same Instinct Informed h1s perception of the Dutch, who expected the British forces to act merely 1n a caretaker capacity until the Netherlands could recover control of their proper possessions. There were plenty of voices to say that Dutch plans could only be countered by determined and united struggle* that Dutch forces must be confronted by a united people demanding nothing less than 100 percent mzAdAka, unprepared to compromise 1n any respect and 1n consequence allowing no area for negotiation. Such a confrontation* 1t was argued, would Itself strengthen the force of nationalism. Sjahrlr, recognizing the vulnerability of the Republic* saw negotiations with the Dutch as providing Its only hope. For that matter, he had faith that there was some goodwill on the Dutch side. It was a faith drawn 1n part from h1s liberal values and h1s belief 1n the efficacy of rational discussion and 1n part from h1s experience 1n liberal and left circles 1n the Netherlands. He knew that there was some antlcolonlal feeling 1n sections of the Dutch public. In the end that faith was not to be justified but* 1n the domestic debate about whether to follow the path of struggle or negotiation—pzAjuangan or (Uplomtc/it--"0utlook"). This enterprise was Intended as a means of maintaining a dialogue with the Dutch even as events were moving towards open conflict with them. This was Soedjatmoko*s first experience 1n journalism and 1t was to lead naturally to a more ambitious project. At the Mallno Conference 1n 1946, Soedjatmoko and Roslhan Anwar, at that stage a journalist on the staff of the dally, MeAxUka, came to the conclusion that the public needed a serious journal of opinion. The result was the weekly, SlaAat, launched on borrowed capital by the pair of them, together with Aboe Bakar Loebls. Roslhan Anwar was editor and Soedjatmoko chaired the editorial board (and contributed the first article, "The Indonesian Situation"). SZ 17n, 50, 69n, 83n, 89n, 137 Engels, F., 49, 77 Ethical Policy, 17 Ethiopia, 28 Ethnic divisions, 7, 72, 78, 93, 98, 106 Fabianism, 36 Faculty of Letters, 18 Fascism, 26-9, 38-40, 42, 46, 54, 77, 84-5, 87n, 88, 91-2, 96, 102, 111, 116 Felth, H., lOn, 12 Fichte, J. G.» 76 Flores, 38 Finland, 130 First Class Native Schools, 17 Fosko (Army Forum for Study and Communication), 132 Forster, E. M., 81 France, 107, 130 Frankfurt, 117 Freeport Indonesia, 131 Front Demokrasl Rakyat—People's Democratic Front (FDR), 113-4 Functional groups, 11 Gandhi, Mahatma, 33 Gan1, A. K., 116 Gap1 (Gabungan Polltlek Indonesia-- Indonesia Political Federation), 39, 57, 84-5 Garut, 60 Geertz, Clifford, 7, 17n, 136; HUdred, 18, 73n General Secretariat, Netherlands India, 131 General Study Club (Algemeene Studie- club), 22, 123 Gerlndo (Gerakan Rakyat Indonesia— Indonesian People's Movement), 39-40, 84-5, 90, 99-100n, 111, 115-8, 121, 124 Germany, 130 Goethe, J. W. von, 76 Gollancz, Victor, 76 Golongan Merdeka (Independent groups), 21, 61 Good Offices Committee, 113 Graeff, Governor General A. C. D. de, 38 Greece, 120 Guided Democracy, 2, 7, 11, 44, 104n, 131, 136, 138 Gunther, John, 77 Gusfleld, J. R., 15n, 135, 137 Hadlbroto, Kusnadl, 58 Hague, The, 18 Halim, Dr. A., 25n, 51n, 99n, 119 Hamdanl, 25n, 26n, 40, 68n, 140 Harahap, Burhanuddln, 9 Haryono, 115 Hasjlm, Wachld, 99n Hatta, Mohammad, 2-4, 7, 9, 20-5, 27, 32, 35-40, 44, 46, 52, 55, 58, 60-4, 84, 88, 93-9, 101-2, 104n, 107, 109, 112-5, 117, 120, 123-4, 127, 129, 133-4 HBS (Hogere Burger School), 17-19, 53, 55, 70-7, 82-4, 87 Heer, Samuel de, 62 Heesterman, J. C., 135 Hegel, G. F., 30, 49, 76 Heldhues, Mary F. Somers, 37n Helho, 42, 106 Hendromartono, 99-100n HeX InzlchX, 129 HeX UUzlcht, 129 H11ferdlng, R., 27 Hindiey, Donald, 117n Hinduism, 34, 136-7 HIS (Hollandsch-Inlandsche Scholen- Dutch Native Schools), 18, 71n, 73 Ho Ch1h M1nh, 107 Hoeber Rudolph, L. I. and S., 137n Hoge Veluwe, 80 Holt, Claire, 25n Hook, Sidney, 77 Hume, David, 30 Huxley, Julian, 30 Idham, 140 Idris, Kemal, 140 Illegal PKI, 38-9,- 43, 46, 64, 110-11, 113n, 116-7 Ilyas, Moersjlah Zaafrll, 140 Imperialism, 22-3, 77, 88, 116, 120; Theories of, 22-3, 27, 37-8, 77, 91-3, 108, 110 India, 125, 130, 135 Indlsche Partij (Indies Party), 20 Indlsche Vereen1g1ng, 21 Indo-Ch1na, 93, 107 Indonesia Muda (Young Indonesia), 48, 49, 75, 84-5 Indonesia Raya, 61 Indonesian Communist Party, see PKI Indonesian language, 21, 73-4, 84 Indonesian National 1st Party, seePNI Indonesian Socialist Party, see PSI 153Indonesian Study Club, 138 Ingleson, J. E., 24n, 35n, 37-8 Intelligentsia, 6-8, 11-12, 17-21, 31-4, 81-5, 89-90, 131-40; Role of 1n transitional societies, 13-16, 23-4, 132-40; Notion of al 1enat1on of, 15-16, 77-81, 131-40 International Transport Workers’ Federation, 26 Isaacs, Harold R., 107 Isherwood, Christopher, 81n Islam, 14, 16, 18-20, 22-3, 31-3, 42, 47-8, 51, 72, 78-9, 93, 95-6, 98n, 102, 109-110, 137 Iskaq, Mr., 123 Istrl-Sedar, 26 Italy, 130 IVSV (Indoneslsch Vrouwen Studenten Veren1g1ng—Indonesian Women Students’ Union), 44 Jakarta, 4, 6, 21, 45, 47-58, 63, 65, 87, 89-90, 93-7, 101, 110, 124, 130-1 Japanese Occupation, 3-7, 12, 40-57, 63-6, 87-90, 93-4, 98, 101-2, 109-10, 123-4, 131, 140; Propaganda Department, 45; Justice Department, 49-50, 52, 57 Jaurds, Jean, 77 Javanese culture, 32-4, 72, 136, 137 Jawa Hokokal, 42, 93, 100 Jenkins, David, 132n Jong, Governor General B. C. de, 38 Jong Islamleten Bond (Muslim Youth League), 47, 78-9 Jong Java (Young Java), 48, 60 Jong Sumatranen Bond (Young Sumatra League), 21 July the Third Affair, 112, 124 Kahln, Audrey R, 2n, HOn; George McT., In, 3 -9 , 23 , 25n, 32n, 39n, 41n, 45n, 46n, 71n, 80, 86-7n, 95n, 98n, 99n, 100, 102n, 103n, 106n, 107n, 113n, 114n, 118n, 119n, 124n Kalimantan, 50, 63, 72, 129 Kant, Emmanuel, 30 Kartawlguna, Pandu, 62, 68 Kart1n1, Raden Adjlng, 17, 25 Kautsky, John H., 13-14, 16, 135 Kzdaulatan Rak/at, 62 Kenpeltal, 52, 54 Kipling, Rudyard, 75 KNIP (Komlte Naslonal Indonesia Pusat—Central Indonesian National Committee), 9n, 44, 58, 64, 97-104, 109, 111-13, 119-20, 132; KNIP Working Committee, 99-101, 140 Kolso, Prlmwe Minister, 93 Kolopaklng, Sunarjo, 99 Kom1s1 Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian Language Commission), 45, 47n, 48, 57, 85 Komlte Naslonal Indonesia Pusat (Central Indonesian National Committee), see KNIP Konlng Wilhelm III School, 75 Koperasl Rakyat Indonesia (Indonesian People’s Cooperative), 59-60 Krukah, 63 Kusnaenl, 68 Kunto, Suroto, 52, 140 Kuomlntang, 24 Kwantes, R. C., 116n Kweekschools, 18 Law Faculty, 18, 45, 47-50, 116 Law studies, 74 League against Imperialism and Colonial Oppression, 24, 117 Led ere, Jacques, lOOn, lOln, 102n, 113n, 115n, 117n Left Book Club, 76 Lehman, John, 81 Leiden, 17, 18, 26 Lenin, V. I., 126, 138 Leur, J. C. van, 16, 137 L1dah, 63 L1ddle, R. W., lln, 138 L1nggajat1 Agreement, 112-3 L1st1o, 57, 64-6, 74, 88, 132, 140 Loebls, Aboe Bakar, 47n, 50-1, 53, 58-9, 64n, 68, 72, 74-5, 82, 129, 140 London, Jack, 75 Lubls, Mochtar, 68n, 140 Lucas, Anton, 2n, 39n, 60n, 64n, 71n, 106n, HOn, 113n Lukman, 110 Luxemburg, Rosa, 27 Madlun Affair, 63n, 114, 115, 127-9 Maeda, Rear Admiral, 4, 45-6, 94n, 95 Mahabharata, 33 Majells Permusyawaratan Rakyat (People’s Deliberative Assembly), see MPR Makassar, 4, 45, 50, 64-5 Malang, 35, 56, 115 154Malaya, 4 Malik, Adam, 43, 53, 62-3, 68, 94, 99n Mall no Conference, 129 Mairaux, Andre, 81n Manchuria, 84 Mangunkusumo, Darmawan, 55, 63, 65-6, 88, 140; Suyltno, 55, 57-8, 140, TJIpto, 11, 34n, 55, 123 Mangunrahardjo, Soebaglo, 26, 59-61 Mangunsarkoro, Sarmldl, 99n Mann, Thomas, 76 Manoe, Tandlono, 40, 44, 49, 57, 62, lOOn, 140 Marxism, 14, 19, 22, 27-9, 32, 36n, 37, 39, 45, 48-9, 54, 64, 77-8, 85, 110, 124, 126-8, 138 Maskun, 40, 62, 68n Massachusetts Institute of Technol- ogy, 131 Masyuml, 9, 11, 109-10, 120, 133, 134 Max Havelaa*, 75 May, Karl, 76 Mayor Polak, J. B. A. F., 129, 140 McVey, Ruth, 25n Medan, 25, 61 Medical Students* strike, 50-4 Medical Faculty, 18, 45-8, 50-5, 74, 95 Menado, 18 Menteng 31, 43, 45-9, 53, 56, 58, 64, 86-7, 94 Melatl, Slntha, HOn MtAantau, 31-4 MtA.de.ka, 129 Mill, J. S., 30 Mlnahasa, 39, 50 Mlnangkabau, 7, 25-6, 31-4, 62, 68n, 73, 124, 132 "Minimum Program," 5, 111 Mochamad, 63 Moerad, T. A., 40, 62, 68n, 127, 140 Moluccas, 57 Montesquieu, 36 MPR, 97-8 Mrazek, R., 15n, 33-4, 124 Muara En1m, 61 Muhammadlyah, 18-19, 79, 109 Muharto, 52, 75, 81-2n, 140 MUL0 (Meer U1tgebre1d Lager Onder- w1Js—School for Further Lower Education), 18, 25, 53, 56, 61, 71n, 73-4 Multatul1, 75 Murba Party, 51n, 90, 110, 133 Murdlanto, 54-6, 64-6, 68, 74, 79, 82-3, 87-8, 131-2, 140 Murwoto, 68n Musso, 38, 110, 113n, 116-7 Myers, Robert J., 128n Nahdatul Ulama, 109, 134 National Planning Bureau, 131 Natianalt Commentanen, 50 Nationalism, 7-9, 13, 16-21, 27-8, 38-9, 42-3, 45-6, 58-9, 77-8, 80, 81-8, 93, 95-6, 114, 116, 121, 123 Natslr, Mohammad, 9, 44, 49 Navy, Japanese, 50 Nazism, 77, 84, 88, 91, See also Fascism Ntgaaa, 62 Negarakertagama, 33 Negotiations with the Dutch, 5, 92, 105, 108-9, 111-5, 118-20, 124, 130-1, 133 Nehru, Jawarhalal, 77, 120 Netherlands, 5, 16-18, 20-22, 26-7, 29-30, 34-5, 39-40, 54, 80-1, 105, 116, 117, 130 Nederlands Nleuw Guinea Petroleum Maatschapplj, 63 New PNI, see Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indonesia New Order, 2, 7, lln, 104n, 132, 138 New Writing Movement, 81 Nglobo, 63 Nigeria, 135 "Nine Brothers," 59-60 N1sh1mura» General, 95n N1t1m1hardjo, Maruto, 53, 68, 94 NKPM 011 Company, 82 Non-alignment, 120 Non-cooperation, 20, 38-9 Norway, 130 Nugroho, 140 Occupation, see Japanese Occupation Oetoyo, Koesoemo, 17 Ortega y Gassett, 54, 76 OSVIA (0ple1d1ngscholen voor In- landsche Ambtenaren—Schools for Training Native Doctors), 18-19 Oua. Struggle, 43 , 96-7, 102, 106-9, 119 Oxford Union Debate, 1931, 81 Padang, 21 Padang Panjang, 25 PAI (Persatuan [later Partal] Arab Indonesia—Arab Unlon/Party of Indonesia), 57, 116 155Palembang, 35# 82 Palm© Dutt, R., 49# 76 Panca S1la# 93 Pane# Sanoesl# 33 Pangreh Praja (Territorial Adminis- trative Service), 17, 19, 70-3, 106 Panltya Perslapan Kemerdekaan Indo- nesia, see PPKI Pararaton, 33 Paras (Partal Rakyat Soslalls— Socialist People1s Party), 65, 111, 114, 118, 120-1 Parlndra (Partal Indonesia Raya— Greater Indonesia Party), 39, 84, 116-7 Parliament, see KNIP and DPR Parsl (Partal Soslalls Indonesia— Indonesian Socialist Party of Amir Sjar1fudd1n), 65, 111, 114-5, 118, 121 Partal Buruh Indonesia (Indonesian Workers1 Party), 110, 112-4, 120 Partal Indonesia, see Partindo Partal Indonesia Raya, see Parlndra Partal Komunls Indonesia, see PKI Partal Naslonal Indonesia, see PNI Partal Soslalls (Socialist Party), 9, 38, 43, 49, 65, 90, 92, 110-5, 118-21, 124, 126, 128, 130 Partal Soslalls Indonesia, see PSI Partlndo (Indonesia Party), 21, 24-5, 35, 37-9, 90, 93, 109-111, 116, 118, 121, 123-5 Pasundan, 39, 84 Pasuruan, 57, 70 Patriae Sclentlaeque Study Club, 26 Pzdoman, 10, 53, 130 Pegangsaan Timur, 45, 95 Pekalongan, 59, 71n, 106 Pemerlntah Revol us loner RepubHk Indonesia, see PRRI Pzmuda (youth), 6-8, 25, 58, 92, 96, 118; Pemuda Indonesia, 26 Pend1d1kan Naslonal Indonesia, 21, 24-5, 34-41, 59-64, 66, 68, 88, 90, 91, 111, 115-8, 121, 123-7, 140 People’s Deliberative Assembly, see MPR People’s Democratic Front, see Front Demokrasl Rakyat People’s Representative Council, see DPR Pzsidj azangan KZta, see Oust Struggle. Perhlmpunan Indonesia (Indonesian Union), 20-1, 23-4, 27, 55, 82, 117, 123-4, 138 PtAjuangan (struggle), 92, 105-6, 133 Pzjuatazan Indonesia, 20 Persatuan Mlnahasa, 39, 84 Persatuan Partal Kathollk, 39 Persatuan Perjuangan, 3, 5, 8, 111-2, 114, 124 Peslndo, 47n, 110, 117n, 120 Peta (Sukarela Tentara Pembela Tanah A1r—Volunteer Army for the Defense of the Homeland), 42, 52, 106, 131 Philippines, 4 PKI (Partal Komunls Indonesia— Indonesian Communist Party), 2, 3, 19, 24, 25, 36n, 45, 64, 84, 90, 109-120, 124, 126, 129, 133, 134 PNI (Partal Naslonal Indonesia— Indonesian Nationalist Party), 9, 19-22, 35, 37, 60, 84, 90, 93, 109-11, 115-6, 120-1, 123, 133-4 PNI Baru (New PNI), see Pend1d1kan Nas1onal Indones1a Pcadjangga Basioz, 33, 76 Poland, 130 Police Actions, First, 5, 113, 119, 120, 130; Second, 44, 127, 129-31 Political Parties, 9-10, 100-101, 138 Popular Front, 76, 116-8 PPKI (Panltya Perslapan Kemerdekaan Indonesia—Indonesian Independence Preparatory Committee), 93-5, 97 PPPI (Perhlmpunan Pelajar-pelajar Indonesia—Indonesian Students’ Union), 44, 47-8, 57, 61, 75, 84-5 Presidential powers, 97, 99, 101-5 Prapat, 127 Prapatan 10 (Medical students’ asrama), 45-8, 50, 53, 95 Prawlranegara, Sjafruddln, 25n, 44, 68n, 99n, 140 Prlangan, 59, 63 Pr1nggod1gdo, A. K., 26n PAlyayl, 16-17, 70-4 Proclamation of Independence, 5-6, 44-5, 50, 54, 56-8, 60n, 64, 68, 93-6, 118, 138 Proust, Marcel, 76 PRRI (Pemerlntah Revolus1oner Repub- 11k Indonesia—Revolutionary Government of the Republic of Indonesia), 10-11 PSI (Partal Soslalls Indonesia— Indonesian Socialist Party), 8-12, 38, 40-1, 47, 49, 53, 65, 68n, 86n, 90, 92, 104, 109, 111, 156113-5, 120-3, 125-7, 129-31} Organization, 127-8, 132 PSII (Partal Sarekat Islam Indone- sia—Indonesian Muslim Union Party), 39, 84, 109, 116. See also Sarekat Islam PSSI (Persatuan Sepak Bola Seluruh Indonesia—All-Indonesia Soccer Union), 75 Putera (Pusat Tenaga Rakyat—Center of the People's Power), 42, 93 Quack, H. P. G., 55, 77 Rambee, 63 Ratulangle, Dr. Sam, 11, 50, 84 Ravesteyn, W. van, 77n Rechtschool, 18 Regional administration, 97 Regional separatism, 10-11 Reid, A. J. S.» 2n, 106n Rengasdengklok, 95 Renville Agreement, 113, 120, 131 Republic of Indonesia, 1945-1949, 5, 9-10n; 1950, 9-11 lekerck, J., 140 evolution, theories of, 38, 96, 107-8; Indonesian perceptions of, 1-9, 14, 46, 106-7, 111-2, 114-5, 121, 123-4 Roem, Mohamad, 25, 59n, 62n Romeln, Jan, 49, 54, 76 Romusha program, 93 Roosdlono, 50 Rose, Mavis, 24n Rotterdam, 21, 24 Rousseau, J.-J., 36 Roy, M. N., 49, 77 Rudolph, see Hoeber Rudolph Rusnl, 60 Russell, Bertrand, 30 Saigon, 94 Saklrman, 117 Saleh, Dr. Abdurrachman, 51 Saleh, Chaerul, 43, 49, 53, 56, 58, 94 Salim, HaJ1 Agus, 11, 62 Salim, Leon, 35n Sanjoto, 47n, 52, 86, 129, 140 Sanskrit, 74 Santoso, Imam Slamet, 40, 140 San&U. 134, 136 Sarekat Buruh Mlnyak (011 Workers' Union), 64, 112 Sarekat Islam, 17, 19, 71n, 82, 84 Sardjono, 109 Sartono, 11, 20-2, 35, 116-7, 123 Sastra, 25, 36-7n, 40n, 59, 65, 68n Sastroamldjojo, A11, 11, 22 Sastrosatomo, Soebadlo, 25, 27n, 40, 44, 45n, 47-50, 53-4, 57-8, 59n, 64n, 68, 74, 78-81, 83, 85-7, 95, 99n» 104, 111, 119, 121, 126-9, 132, 140; Sudarpo, 44, 47n, 48-9, 51-4, 58, 74, 86, 118, 129, 140 Satrlyono, Dr., 51n Sayap K1 r1 (Left Wing), 112-4, 119-20 Secretariat General of Netherlands India, 56 Schopenhauer, 76 Selnendan, 42 Semarang, 52, 59, 63, 68n, 110 Semaun, 24 Serang, 17, 54 Set1adj1t, 24, 113, 117n Shakespeare, William, 76 Shell 011 Company, 62 Sh11s, Edward A., 13-16, 19, 50, 78, 89, 135 Siaiat, 129, 130 S1d1k, 63 Siegel, James, 25n SlUwangl Division, 131 Sllone, Ignazlo, 81n Slmatupang, T. B., 25, 44, 56, 58, 82, 83n, 131, 140 Sinclair, Upton, 75 Singapore, 129 Slregar, Amir Hamzah, 48, 49, 54, 58, 88, 118, 140 S1t1 Rohana, 25 Sltorus, 40, 44, 47n, 49-50, 58, 64, 73, 83n, 86, 88, 111, 127, 129, 140 Sjahrlr, Sutan, 2, 3-12, 21, 23-41, 46-7, 52, 56, 84-90, 91-124, 132; education, 25-8, 31; political and philosophical Ideas, 27-34, 58, 91-7, 101-3, 105-9, 114-22, 124-9, 132-4, 137-9; as a Mlnang- kabau, 31-4; role during Japanese Occupation, 3-9, 66; recruitment of a following, 4, 40-90, 124-5; existence of a Sjahrlr "circle," 67-70, 89-90, 137-8, 140; role before and after Proclamation of Independence, 91-7, 99-105, 132; Prime Minister, 4-6, 92, 101-114, organization of PSI, 126-8, death, 134 157Sjahrlr, S1t1 Wahjunah, 29n, 57 Sjahroezah, Djohan, 46, 55# 58# 60-6, 68, 73, 79, 82, 111, 112, 126-9; Jaz1r, 63 Sjar1fudd1n, Amir, 39-40, 43, 49, 54-5, 57, 65, 90, 98-9, 101-4, 111, 113-22, 124, 126, 129, 131, 133 Sjukur, Abdullah, 24 Small, J. R. W., In SOBSI (Sentral 0rgan1sas1 Buruh Seluruh Indonesia—Central All- Indonesla Workers’ Organization), 64-5, 112-5 Social Democratic Workers’ Party of the Netherlands, 26 ’’Social Revolution” 1n East Sumatra, 106, 108 Socialism, 23 , 28-9 , 36-8 , 45-6, 64, 88, 91-2, 107-9, 111, 114, 125-8, 130, 134, 138 Soebadlo, Marla Ullfah, 27n, 40, 68n, 140; Sastrosatomo, see Sastrosatomo Soebaglo, 68n Soeblanto, 52, 95, 140 Soedlraoesada, Wah1d1n, 11 Soedjatmoko, 29n, 44, 47n, 48-9, 51-5, 57-9, 68, 73-4, 79, 81, 82n, 83, 87, 107, 118, 129-32, 136n, 140 Soegra, 59-60, 68n, 111, 127, 140 Soemarman, 44, 48, 57, 68, 75, 82, 140 Soenarto, 60 Soepardjan, 63n Soepomo, Professor, 98 Soerachman, 118 Soeryana, 110 Soesmono, 60n Sazntlng Mtlayaz, 25 Soetardjo Petition, 57, 84 Soewarto, 63n Soer1an1ngrat, Soewardl, see Dewan- toro, K1 Hadjar Spain, 28, 84 Spanish Civil War, 28, 39, 84 Spencer, Herbert, 30 Spender, Stephen, 81n Sporting activities of students, 95 Staatspartlj, 100, 132 Stalin, Josef, 126 ST0VIA (School tot 0ple1d1ng van Inlandsche Artsen—School for Training Native Doctors), 18-9, 53 Struggle organizations, 106, 110 Struggle Union, see Persatuan Per- djuangan Students, Indonesian, 1n the Nether- lands, 21-2, 26-7, 37-8, 40 Study Club, 22, 26 Subandrlo, 44 Sudarsono, Dr., 59, 65, 68n, 99n, 111, 129, 131, 140 Sudewo, Er1, 79, 140 Sudlsman, 110 Suharto, President, 2, 7, 104n, 132, 138 Sujono, 63 Sukam1sk1n Prison, 61 Sukanda, 59 Sukarnl, 43, 46 , 53 , 64 Sukarno President, 2-4, 10- -12, 20 23-5, 34n» 35 , 37 -8, 40, 42, 44 46, 52 -4, 59, 61, 84, 93- -103, 110-13 , 116, 118- o CM 123, , 127, 131-3, 136, 137n, 138 Sulawesi, 11, 50, 129 Sukeml, 35, 68, 111, 127 Suleiman, Chatlb, 35, 68n Sumarsono, 63n Sumatra, 4, 10-11, 25, 35, 38, 40, 44, 57, 61, 68, 73, 129, 134; North Sumatra, 71 Sumpak Pzmuda (Youth Oath), 44 Sunarjo, 20, 22, 123 Sundanese, 72 Sunjoyo, 140 Supeno, 44, 48, 99n, 119 Supreme Advisory Council, see DPA Surabaya, 35, 38, 49-50, 54-7, 59, 63-6, 68-9, 74, 82-83n, 88, 110 Surakarta, 35, 52 Surlpno, 110 Susllowatl, 40, 62, 129, 140 Sutan Maharaja, Datuk, 25 Sutherland, Heather, 17n Sutomo, Dr., 11 Suwandl, 99 Sweden, 130 Swift, M., 31n Tadjaludln, 99 Tagore, Rabindranath, 33 Taman S1swa, 18, 75, 78 Tambu, Charles, 130 Tan Ling Dj1e, 99n, 111, 113, 126 Tan Mai aka, 5, 9, 33, 43, 68, 84, 90, 103, 105-6, 111-2, 115, 117n, 119, 124, 133, 134 Tan Po Guan, 129, 140 Tanzll, Hazll, 57, 58, 61n, 63, 70, 15873, 79, 82n, 140 Tapanul1, 88 Tarakan, 62 Tas, Sal, 25n, 26-7, 29, 34 Taslkmalaya, 52 Taylor, A. M., 119 Tegal, 59-60, 106 Teraucht, Field Marshal, 93 Thalb, Ismail, 44, 127, 140; Sjarlf, 53 Thailand, 129 Thamrln, Husnl, 11, 84 Third World, 120, 135 THS (Technical College, Bandung), 18 Tlga VaeAak (Three Regions) Affair, 106, 108 Tjokroamlnoto, Haj1 Umar Said, 11, 84 Toblng, M. L. 64 Troelstra, P. J., 77 Truman, Harry S., 120 Turkey, 120 Two Camps Doctrine, 120, 126 Ulztbalangt 106 United Front from Above, 24 United Nations, 80, 113, 119, 130; UN Good Offices Committee, 113; Security Council, 119; UN Univer- sity, 53 United States of America, 5, 107-8, 119-20, 125, 130, 131 United States of Indonesia, 10, 49, 99n, 113 USI (Unltas Studlosorum Indoneslen- s1s—Indonesian Students1 Union), 44, 48-50, 54, 57, 75, 85, 87 UAlblad, 44, 57 USSR, 107-8, 117, 119-20, 125, 130 Utaryo, 52, 140 Utrecht, 18 Van der Veur, P., 71n Van N1el, R., 17n Vergader Verbod (Ordinance prohib- iting assembly), 84 Vietnam, 4, 28, 130, 135 Vlsman Commission, 84 Volksraad, 20, 39, 62n, 84-5, 102, 116 Vorklnk Prlntery, 26 Waled, 59 Wang Gungwu, 137n Webb, Sidney and Beatrice, 56 Wed1od1n1ngrat, Dr. Radjlman, 93 Werthelm, W. F., 14 Whitaker, C. S., 135, 137n Wlbowo, 140 Wldjaja, Roeslan, 63n Wlkana, 43, 94-5, 116 Wild Schools Ordinance, 26n Winner, A. R. and D., 135 WHopo, 9 W1ranatakusuma, R. A. A., 98 Wlyono, 59, 68n, 115, 127 Wolf, Charles, Jr., 3, 25n Wonokromo, 60, 63, 64 Wonosarl, 63 Workers1 Educational Association, 36 Yahya, Daan, 52, 57, 72, 75, 86, 131-2, 140; Ibrahim, 140 Yamamoto, General, 95 Yogyakarta, 18, 35, 47-50, 53, 56, 59, 63-4, 68n, 74, 83, 110, 112, 119, 127, 130 Yosod1n1ngrat, Suglono, 59 Youth Oath, see Sumpak Pzmuda Youth Congress, 116 Za1nufdd1n, A. G. Thomson, 14n Zola, Emil, 75 Zwelg, Stefan, 75 159