From Jail to Jail. Tan Malaka
must have been called to Tuan Fabius’ house five or six nights in a row. The discussion, or more precisely the debate, ranged over the problems of every branch of Dutch society, which was in turmoil at that time. Even though it was not actually in the war, the Netherlands did not escape the force of the hurricane in Western Europe. We covered political and social questions, but it was the educational one that we were constantly discussing. This concern touched me both directly and indirectly.
Naturally enough, I agreed with the view that education from primary school to high school should not only be under the guidance and control of the state but also that for capable students it should be paid for by the state. It wasn’t hard to understand Tuan Fabius’ objections, which were, in fact, tied to his bourgeois class interest in general and specifically to the interests of his nation against the Indonesian nation. According to him, such policies would only increase intellectual quantity while reducing quality. Even now, he said, there is considerable unemployment among intellectuals even while university education is limited to children of the well-to-do.
I maintained that in a society where production and education were carried out according to a plan, there would not be unemployment, and if there were, it could not possibly be for long, because education would be synchronized with the production needs of society. It would not be as now, tossed about by supply and demand in the capitalist market, where production is carried out anarchically. Intellect would certainly not decline if continuing an education to the university level no longer depended on the contents of one’s father’s pocket but, instead, solely on one’s ability, as determined by the state education board. Today, many intelligent and worthwhile people are hindered and even overcome by their lack of money. On the other hand, many of those with degrees actually have no right to hold them.
This conversation naturally touched on my expressed desire to study in the officers’ school in Breda.60 Tuan Fabius said that I could not go there because I knew no French, German, and English. I replied that I was willing to go to Kampen, where even primary school graduates were accepted.61 But this too was forbidden.
[37] On the road home at night, I once again began to ponder my situation. The first time I had done this, I had rebelled furiously against everything, including myself; but with increasing knowledge and experience, I was able to wait patiently and view my situation philosophically: I was a student from a colonized country, a member of a family that had known only religion and adat kuno and that, although fairly wealthy, lived in a primitive economy and could not trade its possessions; I had received the rudiments of my native education, but this was not followed up in my homeland; I was not fortunate enough to be in America in the prosperous era when poor students could work their way through night school; and, finally, I was not able to return to Indonesia because the war was still going on.62 All this I saw clearly in my mind. But even more distinctly I saw my debt of Rp 1,500 to the Engkufonds in Indonesia and Rp 4,000 to the fund in the Netherlands supervised by Tuan Fabius.63
Apparently Tuan Fabius felt his responsibility to the Netherlands fund for my debt even more sharply than I did. The next morning he came to my place to continue the discussion. I was in the attic, at the bedside of Nyonya D, who was unwell. A member of the household told me that Tuan Fabius wanted to speak to me. Nyonya D, who apparently understood the situation quite well, advised me to act cautiously. As usual the two brothers, H. S. and O. S., scurried away on hearing Tuan Fabius’ voice, which indeed thundered terrifyingly.
The discussion bored me somewhat, because it only repeated what had been said before. But after we touched on the question of “debts” and “gratitude” and Tuan Fabius suggested that I go back to Indonesia, I objected. “How is it that at the beginning of the war after my exams, when I wanted to go home, I was held back because you said there was no room on the boats, and now, when the submarines are wreaking even more havoc, you can get me a berth?”
[38] I said that I objected to continuing to borrow from the fund that he supervised, since this was not the first time that the question of “gratitude” had been raised, even though indirectly, by Tuan Fabius himself and by other Dutch people. The discussion stopped short. Apparently neither he nor the landlord had imagined that I would answer in such a way.
That night Tuan and Nyonya D called me to their room in the attic. Tuan D said to me, “In the discussion today you were a bit harsh, but we understand. We have decided to let you stay on with us as our own child until you can go back. But we cannot give you pocket money because my business is going very badly.”
I could get more than just pocket money by teaching Indonesian to Dutch people who wanted to go to Indonesia. Tuan and Nyonya D at that time got along well, and the peaceful household was a good and healthy atmosphere for me for the short time before I left for Indonesia. But the world changed a lot in the two years after I left them. The harmony between many husbands and wives turned into estrangement during the economic crisis after the First World War. When I came back to the Netherlands on May 1, 1922, after being exiled from Indonesia, I found that Tuan and Nyonya D had parted and were now divorced.64 There was no chance of their being reunited. Nyonya D, whose ideals regarding the marital relationship were very high, was shattered by the goings-on of her husband, which she considered a betrayal of the relationship that should exist solely between husband and wife. She had no security, not even financial. I was happy for the opportunity to repay her good will, but after I left again I heard from my friends in the Netherlands that she was in pitiful circumstances. However, I later heard that the former Nyonya D was working on a ship that sailed to America. This news made me a little happier. “She did not want to sit around waiting for assistance from men . . . simply accepting all these goings-on of her husband [but she rolled up her sleeves and took on all kinds of jobs] in order to reject what she felt to be a violation of ideals and disrespect for women.”65
I think I know myself well enough to say that I am not a person who easily violates the rules of respect and behavior towards older people, particularly one as polite as Tuan Fabius, who was willing to give assistance according to the terms of his own morality. On the other hand, I felt that Tuan Fabius’ pressures had shown a lack of respect for me, especially considering that my connection with the scholarship fund had been implemented with no prior knowledge, let alone consent, on my part.66
[39] Apparently, Tuan Fabius was unable to let the matter drop and to wait until I was in a situation where I could repay the debts as I had promised. He wrote to my teacher, Horensma, in Indonesia, telling the story. I do not know what he said, but one night I was visited by one of Horensma’s brothers-in-law who came to tell me that Horensma had answered Tuan Fabius’ letter with great anger. In his letter he said that he had known his former pupil long enough to believe firmly in his honesty, but together with this letter he was sending 4,000 guilders to repay with interest the money owed the scholarship fund represented by Tuan Fabius.67
Now I felt even more bound by these material and moral debts. I owed money to the Engku of my own kampung and to my former teacher—an amount totalling some 6,000 guilders. Furthermore, I got a letter from my mother and father reminding me of my promise before I left that I would come home quickly and would be away for only two or three years.
Although the war had ended, it was still hard to get a berth on a ship. However, because I had secured a job in Senembah Mij., one of the largest estates in Deli, the problem of securing and paying for passage on a ship was no longer mine to solve.68 I was to be an assistant supervisor for all the schools for coolie children of Senembah Mij. The task was to devise a system appropriate for these children, and I was to work with a Dutch teacher who had studied Indonesian under me in Amsterdam. I received an initial “equipment allowance” of 1,500 guilders and was promised a wage of 350 guilders a month together with free accommodation, water, electricity, and transport. Also, on the ship I was to teach Indonesian to several people, including the director of Senembah Mij. himself, Dr. Janssen, together with two of his relatives.69
This was a satisfying resolution of my difficulties, both physical and emotional. From the point of view of finances, during the journey to Indonesia alone I would earn almost enough money to settle my debt with the Engkufonds. And from the point of view of ideology and my life’s