H. Maier Beware and reflect, remember and recollect; Tjerita Njai Soemirah and the emergence of Chinese- Malay literature in the Indies

In: Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 149 (1993), no: 2, Leiden, 274-297

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BEWARE AND REFLECT, REMEMBER AND RECOLLECT: TJERITANJAIS0EM1RAH AND THE EMERGENCE OF CHINESE-MALAY LITERATURE IN THE INDIES

For Claudine Salmon

On the basis of linguistic considerations it may be inappropriate to suggest that the forms of Malay as found in the corpus of publications by Chinese in the Dutch East Indies catalogued in Salmon's monumental book can be summarized under the single term 'Chinese Malay' (Salmon 1981). The more we reflect upon the phenomenon of linguistic communication - 'that uninterrupted process of historical becoming so characteristic of all living language' (Bakhtin 1981:288) - the more we should beware of attempts to organize the concrete and continuous flow of utterances among individual s by means of clear-cut terms, to relate them to distinct cultural identities, and to pin them onto geographical names. No community, no group, can claim to have absolute borders, strict barriers in terms of a single language; its members will always have a variety of registers, forms of discourse, sociolects, and dialects at their disposal, of which the borders are constantly moving and the limits constantly changing due to on-going tensions and conflicts. Every attempt at ordering these tensions with the aid of statistics and maps, lines and colours suggests a disregard of the process of becoming. Concurrently, it seems equally inappropriate to intimate that the forms of Malay that are used in the said corpus are clearly distinct from those that are used in texts written by people from other groups, other communities in the Indies. Relevant research has shown that what are usually presented as variant versions of Malay were not always tied to any self-conscious ethnic identity or distinct cultural tradition. Often they served as vehicles for exchange between people who had a command of yet another 'language' and felt closer to the values and ideas that, to their mind, were sustained by that other language - such as 'Javanese', for instance, or 'Acehnese', or 'Sundanese', the inverted commas alluding to the heterogeneity which these terms seek to cover. 'Malay' was used as the main medium of com- munication in the area of what is today called the 'alam Melayu' (Malay world), and supported the central elements of a 'Malay culture' there. Other forms of what could be termed Malay were used by inhabitants of the archipelago in their contacts with people from a different background.

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Sometimes they were turned into a tool for subverting the ethnic identity of the speakers and escaping from the cultural tradition which was allegedly upheld in using, say, 'Javanese', 'Acehnese', or 'Buginese'. This is what happened in Aceh, in the trading centres on the coasts of the Java Sea, and in the Eastern Indonesian seas where the use of 'Malay' was often regarded as an act of negation, of 'difference' - and eventually it was to lead to the emergence of a new, loosely knit tradition, a culture of newness that was distinct from all the other cultures in the region, even from the one which the people who claimed to form part of the Malay heartland so self- consciously maintained. Indians and Arabs, Dutch and Portuguese, traders and immigrants, priests and merchants played a role in this process of differentiation. So did members of Acehnese-, Javanese- and Sundanese- speaking communities themselves. And so did some of the people of Chinese descent who, moving southward from China since time imme- morial, settled on the shores of the southern seas. Some of them, of course, preferred to keep to themselves, keeping a certain distance from the local population, preserving the language, customs and values of their mother- land, and maintaining the religion and rituals of their ancestors. Others assimilated and integrated with the local population in terms of language as well as culture, thus losing the traces of their Chinese antecedents. And others again tried to find a way in between the extremes of isolation and assimilation. The latter often enough shared a variety of forms of Malay with the local population, thus in their own way contributing to the dis- tribution of concepts and ideas, to the creation of the 'different', the 'novel', the 'modern'. Suffice it to quote the leading authority in the field, who said 'II n'y a pas eu de sino-malais a proprement parler' (Salmon 1980:186).

In terms of language it may seem like an unpromising endeavour to explicitly contrast Malay texts written by people of Chinese descent with other publications in Malay. In terms of literary life, however, it is certainly possible to construct a strong argument in favour of the existence of a distinct corpus of what could be called 'Chinese-Malay literature'. Like every other group of texts, printed texts can be categorized in terms of the group of readers that is more or less explicitly addressed. Sometimes it is appropriate to define such groups in societal terms, such as 'bour- geoisie', 'aristocracy', 'urban workers', 'soldiers', 'farmers', sometimes in terms of a more or less distinctly self-conscious cultural identity, such as 'Javanese', 'Sundanese', 'Minangkabaus', 'Chinese', 'Eurasians', 'natives', 'immigrants', 'Protestants', 'Muslims'. If we want to make sense of the printed materials that appeared in the Dutch Indies once printing had become a common phenomenon there - i.e., the period between 1900 and 1942 - the second approach seems more rewarding. There is a group of texts in Malay, to formulate it succinctly, which were composed by authors who did not hide their Chinese origin and who showed themselves to have clear ideas about their intended readership: their fellow-Chinese in the Indies, with

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whom they wished to share a certain knowledge of the colonial world, a certain familiarity with particular themes and forms of discourse in Malay, a certain ideology, an attitude, memories, and recollections. A bewildering variety of genres can be distinguished in these Chinese- Malay materials. On the point of mere quantity, but also on that of linguistic authority, a key role in these materials should be assigned to literary texts, that is to say, texts of an intentionally fictional character that offer a story in a coherent narrative. Within this Chinese-Malay literature romantic tales, of the boy-meets-girl-and-eventually-they-get-one-another (or don't) type, were to become increasingly important. The main protagonists in these romances are Chinese heroes and heroines who experience adventures that take place in predominantly Chinese circles - be it fully Chinese, Chinese-native, or peranakan circles. Moreover, they are impelled by problems the presentation of which suggests some familiarity with the questions of existence confronting the Chinese population in day-to-day life in late colonial society. 'Chinese-Malay literature' should not be seen as a corpus of texts with clear-cut borders. Concurrent with the forms of language in which they were written, these texts operated in a situation of historical becoming, floating readerships, changing styles, and variations in themes and subjects. The imposition of order is only useful insofar as it creates relevant signification, no matter how floating in itself. In the following passages it will be shown that this applies to Chinese-Malay literature, as a corpus which is distinct from texts in one form of Malay or another which were not written by Chinese authors and were not intended for Chinese readers.

Until the end of the nineteenth century, social life in the Archipelago had been sustained in relative differentiation and heterogeneity. Boundaries between groups and communities and their respective cultural traditions had remained rather vague and flexible. Then the so-called imperialist and colonial powers started to make their presence more directly felt in South- east Asia, and European interference in local affairs became increasingly pervasive. Subsequently, groups and communities were forced to reflect upon their position, their identity, their tradition more carefully than they ever had before. In the process, barriers and segregation were substituted for the heterogeneity that had been preserved for so long. Around 1900, Indies society rapidly assumed the form of a hierarchical construction on the basis of race rather than caste (cf. Van Doom 1983). The so-called Ethical Policy that was introduced after the turn of the century may have been well-intended in some quarters, but in practice it merely accelerated the development towards a society in which fluidity, flexibility, and heterogeneity broke down. Europeans increasingly kept to themselves. Natives tended to cling to their own traditions, or rather, were forced to grope for what was presented to them as their own traditions. The observation of barriers became more relevant than the indifference to and

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 277 ignorance of borders. Hence it is not surprising that self-awareness among the main group of 'vreemde oosterlingen' (= alien Orientals), those of Chinese descent, was also considerably strengthened. As was already indicated above, these 'vreemde oosterlingen' had not always strongly felt like outsiders, as differences in mentality, morality and religion had not always hampered the interaction between Chinese and natives. They had often engaged in active dialogues with the native population, assimilating versions of the local language and mixing their ancestors' customs with local customs. However, once Batavia began to impose its authority upon Java and areas beyond Java in a more systematic manner, it capitalized on such sentiments as jealousy and distrust which had been smouldering among the native population all along. Of course this policy also took advantage of developments that were taking place in Chinese circles themselves. The Indies were opening up economically, and contacts with China were becoming more intensive. The means of communication were becoming more diversified and China was coming closer. China itself was in turmoil, and the ideas that were born in the motherland cast their shadow over the whole of Southeast Asia, giving rise to a new discourse in which the awareness of differences in origins, characteristics and networks was fostered. Altogether, 'Chineseness' became an intensively explored option for those who had been made aware of their Chinese descent, and this urge for a distinct identity could not but be intensified by the steady flow of new Chinese immigrants from the motherland, who, like their predecessors, had to define their place vis-a-vis the Chinese in the Indies and beyond, as well as in relation to the non- Chinese. It was a double process, so to speak: the Chinese were different, and they were made different. Suryadinata offers a relevant characterization of the situation in Java around 1900, saying that 'a new identification with the Chinese nation was evoked and nationalism began its growth as a powerful sentiment among the Indies Chinese' (Suryadinata 1981:5). Developments in the Indies in the early -20th century offer a concrete illustration of how forces of heterogeneization are sooner or later effectively counteracted by those of integration. Under the ever-widening umbrella of Dutch authority, to formulate it in Bakhtinian terms, centripetal forces were gaining the upper hand over centrifugal forces (Bakhiin 1981). This was the case in the political and economic life, in which European expertise superseded local knowledge, but also in the 'process of historical becoming so characteristic of all living language' (Bakhtin 1981:288): the Dutch became actively involved in the standardization of the various languages of the Archipelago, in the process protecting the use of their own language. The authorities in Batavia developed an interest in Malay in particular. It was generally appreciated that many of the people they had to deal with were somehow familiar with it. They realized that the term 'Malay' was the common denominator for a variety of discursive forms, and that it was the language of the Malays (whoever they were) in the Riau archipelago and the

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Malay Peninsula, where it supported a Malay culture, as much as being the vehicle for communication between people of various ethnicities in urban and coastal areas all over the Archipelago and beyond, where it was playing a predominant role in formulating ideas and ideals that managed to overcome differences and boundaries, including those in the alam Melayu. The question of how exactly the different varieties of Malay were related to one another, and where the centres of authority could be located made the colonial administration, obsessed with order and stability as it was, feel increasingly uneasy. It was deemed necessary and desirable to create a standard form of Malay that could be used as the vehicle for administration, education and the bureaucracy. At the end of the nineteenth century, the linguist-administrator Van Ophuysen was given the task of setting the standard. That is how 'Van Ophuysen Malay' was to become the language of education and everything connected with it, at least serving as a compass. In bestowing so much attention on Malay, Batavia was sowing wind, only to reap a whirlwind of colonialism and nationalism - two centripetal forces that complemented each other in the Dutch East Indies, as in so many other colonies. In particular the newspapers that appeared in Malay were to make a substantial contribution to the emergence of what in retrospect can be called 'nationalism'. More effectively than any other form of communication, they managed to connect people over vast distances in discussions about ideas and concepts - more effectively, for the time being, than the literature that appeared. When printing techniques had become entrenched as a definite feature of modern culture in the Indies, it was as though literature turned away from its potential to subvert and demolish, merely to intensify the segregation that was being engineered by the colonial administration. 'Europeans', 'natives' and 'alien Orientals' - each of these groups developed a literary life of its own, in which novels, poetry, and narratives had a distinct intended readership that corresponded closely to its actual readership. Insofar as interaction took place at all, it did so on a purely incidental basis, so it seems, and predominantly through the medium of newspapers and journals.

It was to be a decade or two before the sentiments and ideas that were expressed in newspapers sufficiently converged and three distinctive currents in Chinese political and cultural thinking - each with its own leaders, its own periodicals, its own ideals - crystallized. The one boiled down to the idea 'Remember that you are a Chinese, reflect upon your Chineseness and try to recollect your Chinese identity; beware of elements that try to strangle you. Make sure that others respect you and appreciate the fact that you are a Chinese. And seriously consider the possibility of returning to the motherland.' The other formulated it differently: 'Reflect upon your Chineseness, decide to neglect it, and then assimilate with local cultures'. And the third option was: 'Try to preserve some of your Chineseness but

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 279 change your orientation towards Holland, towards Europe, in order to survive'. Suryadinata's description of the situation around 1920 is too clear to be true, and his tripartite categorization is as dangerously restrictive and reprehensible as any map: Chineseness was to remain a vividly discussed issue exercising many minds, pens, and printing presses down to the very last day of colonial rule, and beyond; there were never any clear-cut borders. When writing history, one-to-one cause-and-effect relations should be avoided at all costs; yet it cannot be denied that there is a link between the emergence of printing facilities in the Indies and the fact that these discussions took place among people of Chinese descent across the geographical borders of villages, cities, regions, and even the Indies as a whole. Through the printed word, the Chinese in the Indies were becoming more directly interconnected than they had ever been before, and they felt more compelled than ever before to formulate a clear stance on the question of what it meant to be an 'alien Oriental', 'the other', 'the outsider', in the Dutch East Indies. Should they perhaps make a concerted attempt to assimilate with either the Dutch or the natives? Should all people of Chinese descent be persuaded that China was the right place to be? Or was indifference to the question the most adequate and rewarding attitude? Some of the periodicals which were published under Chinese supervision questioned the European hegemony, and by invoking the forces of nationalism and (anti-)colonialism they managed to play an integrative role in reader circles beyond those of Chinese descent. Others abided by the segregation and segmentation that was taking place in intellectual life in the Indies and aimed at a distinctly Chinese readership. Published in Dutch, in Chinese, but also in Javanese and Malay, these periodicals were the medium which dominated the formulation and rise of the various kinds of Chineseness among the Chinese in the Indies. In a journal like Sin Po, for instance, many articles and stories were published that could not but be read as manifestations of a growing Chinese self-awareness. At once manifestations and adhortations, they made their readers reflect upon Chineseness, and upon their role and function in Indies society as a whole. Sin Po wrote in the editorial introduction to its very first issue, of 1 October 1910:

'We hope that in this weekly noble people of all nations ... will be willing to expound those of their ideas that are useful for the contemporary movement, so that changes may take place in errors which up to this time are still numerous in the awareness of the majority of the population of these Indies'. (Kita harep orang-orang boediman segala bangsa ... nanti soeka oereiken di ini soerat kabar minggoean segala pikirannja jang ada bergoena boeat gerakan di ini djeman, soepaja bisa terdjadi perobadn-perobadn dari perkara-perkara jang sesat.jang sampe di ini masa masi ada banjak di dalem ingetannja sebagian besar dari pendoedoek di ini Hindia.)

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These Malay-language periodicals played a role of importance not only in the reorganization of political life. Reflections on and recollections of Chineseness were equally debated in the cultural life emerging around the printing presses in the urban areas. Many a piece of poetry - whether an original work or an adapation of some Chinese or European text - explored the identity of the Chinese, particularly in the late nineteenth century, when poetry was still a predominant form of Malay writing. At that time, education had barely been introduced, and printing was still in its infancy in the urban centres of Java and Sumatra; the new intellectual life was taking shape through experiments and adventures in writing, editing, and printing by small publishing houses like Vasques, Veit, Kho Tjeng Bie and Ijap Goan Ho. These printed all sorts of materials in order to survive, and more often than not published not only original Malay works and textbooks, visiting-cards, and pictures of Her Majesty the Queen, but also translations of texts originally written in Chinese or in one of the European languages. The market for Sino-Malay books was neither sanctioned nor protected by the Dutch East Indies Government; publishers operated mainly in response to the laws of demand and supply and catered for a public which was in awe of learning and literacy. Ability to read was often represented as the major key to respect, wealth, and wisdom. The Boekoe sair Tiong-hwa-hwe-kwan koetika boekanja passar derma, published as early as 1885, summarizes it as follows: 'Only now is everybody becoming aware / that those who cannot read and write are in trouble. / Do not want to have authority / if you cannot even write your own name.' (Sekarang baroe pada merasa I trataoe sorat empoenja soesa I djangan poela djadi kwasa I toelis nama sampe trabisa.) A text like this Boekoe sair simply breathes excitement about novelty, reaching out to a wider public. Themes and issues were becoming increasingly varied, yet remained familiar enough to keep writing and publishing commercially rewarding. In the process, a distinct Chinese current in Malay literary life took shape, in which tradition was recollected and awareness, sentiments, and identity were reformulated. The poem about the foundation of the Association of Tiong Hoa Hwee Koan, printed twenty years later, in 1895, suggests that the Malay-speaking people of Chinese descent were obsessed with writing where it has:

'With this I remind you / that the study of books must be pursued / and the example of Confucius observed / so that people may feel respect / If the learning of writings is understood / the example of Confucius should be convincing. / If bad customs are changed / we will win the praise of others.' (Bersama ini saja ingetin I pladjaran soerat misti gi-etin I toeladan Kongtjoe iloe rawatin I soepaja orang bole hormatin. I Pladjaran soerat djikaloe pahamken I toeladan Kongtjoe misti ijakinken I Hadat jang djahat kaloe robaken I poedji-an orang kita dapatken.) (Lombard- Salmon 1972:92.)

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'The example of Confucius' and 'writings', 'respect' and 'customs' are the key words here. But most important of all is the call to reflect and recollect, 'I remind you' (saja ingetin). The endeavour of certain individuals to create and sustain a discursive practice in which certain values, norms and ideals are preserved through repetition, and then to spread this practice by operating from some centre of authority, could be summarized by the term 'tradition'. This preservation will lead to a certain cohesion in the community of which these individuals are assumed to be members. Obviously, the driving force in this integrative process is the power of memory, of recollection, of remembrance and recollection of past things, events and persons: it is only by representing and presenting the past through different forms of repetition that events and ideas are retained. Language plays a leading role in the creation and subsequent preservation of such memories and recollections, alongside activities like ritual, music, sculpture, and painting - indeed, it would be hard to imagine how the members of a community could have any sort of sense of togetherness without any reflection upon the language they are supposed to use. The Indies were no exception to the rule that the introduction of printing and the institutionalization of formal education provide a strong impetus for a language to play its integrative role. Sooner or later, printed materials gain the necessary authority to make memorization and recollection more uniform and compelling, thus generating a more effective unification and standardization than orally transmitted texts could ever do. Printed materials made a substantial contribution to the search for memory, for communality and identity, which the Indies Chinese undertook from 1870 onwards, in close correlation with their growing isolation as a group, their increasing distinctiveness as a race, their being more and more 'the others'. No wonder that the desire for respect and acceptance that is manifest in so many early printed materials was complemented with an obsession with the word 'ingat', 'to remember, to think, to recollect, to be aware, to beware, to preserve, to be watchful, to reflect', as well as its derivative nouns 'ingatan' and 'peringatan', 'remembrance, memory, thought, concept, recollection, awareness, care, warning, reflection, reminiscence'. These are, in fact, the words which occur with great frequency in all sorts of Chinese-Malay publications, carrying with them the whole range of significations that create a particular semantic field around the term 'tradition'. It is important to note here that in concrete use in real life, the differences that most of us believe to exist between recollection and memory, between active and passive invention, are avoided in Malay words like 'ingat', 'ingatan', and 'peringatan': they encompass past, present and future all at once. Try to remember the past, beware of it in the present and recollect it in the future. 'Ingat'. It was a word which was strong enough to give its users a sense of belonging to a tradition, out of space and out of time.

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In the shadow of Dutch authority, Malay discursive practices in the late colonial Indies showed a struggle for dominance between integrative and segregative forces. Some of the practices that were recognized as Malay by its users converged and became integrated into 'high Malay'. Others tried to subvert such integration and convergence by adopting speech practices regarded as examples of 'low Malay', or 'gibberish Malay', or 'non-Malay'. The same can be said of the tradition which these discursive practices were trying to create and sustain: elements of the 'Malay tradition' converged or collided with one another as well as with elements of what were felt to be other traditions, taking on new forms and forming new configurations in the process. Some of the discussions supported the tradition of the Malay heartland and focused on Mclaka and Hang Tuah, on the role of Islam, Siak, and Penyengat. These discussions at times interfered and collided with the discursive practices created by the Chinese, focusing on questions of how to define the position, role, function, and future of the Chinese in a predominantly non-Chinese context, of what role Kongtjoe and Buddha were to play, and what social mobility, class conflict, colonial ideology, and division of labour really meant in the Dutch East Indies. Varied and wild though they were, the discussions among the Chinese were felt to converge into some distinct configuration of values and ideas, which could be reduced to some basic sentences: 'Assimilate with the people you are living among and forget about the motherland', 'Go back to the homeland', 'Stay in the Indies but keep your own identity', or 'Stay in the Indies and assimilate with the Europeans and consider the possibility of going to Europe'. Initially, it seems, the formulation of these options was more important than their actual implementation. What mattered was the act of thinking rather than the result of this thinking, so to speak. No wonder not only Malay but also Chinese, Javanese and Dutch were used to make fellow- Chinese aware of their Chineseness and the glorious past of the Chinese race or nation. For the same reason, authors did not regard it as a problem to base their writings on traditions in the Chinese homeland (such as religion, rituals and customs, for instance) on Dutch publications instead of original Chinese sources. The options implied by 'We are different', or 'Are we not different?', or 'Should we try to be different?' were very intensively explored. 'At the opening of this century the Chinese of Netherlands India lacked cohesion and were politically inarticulate; fifteen years later they controlled the most active political force within the colony and made their wishes felt both there and in China' (Williams 1960:19).

Not only the Chinese explored their identity or their tradition through various forms of Malay in print: in newspapers, or in poems or novels. Intellectuals and leaders of other groups in the Indies did the same. They, too, came to realize that printing presses, newspapers, and books could play an important role in their project of change, innovation, assimilation, integration, reform, and modernization. They, too, tended to prefer 'Malay' -

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemrah and Chinese-Malay Literature 283 the symbol of modernity, dynamism and newness - to other 'languages'. They, too, felt compelled to determine what values, norms and ideals should be preserved and recollected in a society in which foreign authorities were making their presence increasingly felt. Could the segregation which the colonial authorities had created be overcome? Should not an effort be made to bring the various ideas and values created by the respective forms of Malay together in a single 'language', a standard Malay? One outcome of the raising of these questions was the emergence of a new form of discourse in Malay: literatoer, rekaan, sastra, sastera. The Malay literary life that developed around the turn of the century as a distinctly new intellectual activity was generated by various centres of authority, the products of which therefore collided and connected with one another. In particular Chinese authors played an active role in its emergence, and were to remain active till the end of the colonial period in 1942. Numerous are the novels and short stories that were written by people with Chinese names from 1900 onwards. There were hundreds of them, printed mainly in cities and quite well distributed, in particular in Java, but hardly ever going through more than one edition. The publication of literary texts was inspired by a combination of idealism and commercialism. To claim that these publications were merely a vehicle for Chinese self-expression would be an over-simplification, as it would likewise be to assume that they were mere tools in the service of capitalism. These books could be regarded at the least as manifestations of the ancient Chinese mandarin ideal of guarding the harmonious well-being of society, and at most as examples of a nascent cultural industry. The question of how these novels individually influenced their readers is hard to answer. As a whole, the corpus of Chinese-Malay literature serves as an indication of the vitality and vigour that the Chinese intelligentsia brought to Malay literary life in terms of authorship, publishership and readership, in terms of concepts and ideas, and in terms of discourse and constructive devices. It was vital, diverse, experimental, nervous, and contagious - and therefore potentially dangerous to the Dutch East Indies authorities, who, for obvious reasons, did not like this discursive and intellectual unrest. This vitality - in the field of language as well as literature - required containment and control, and to that end the publishing house of Balai Poestaka was founded in Batavia around 1910, operating under the umbrella of the colonial authorities (cf. Maier 1991). Intellectually, Balai Poestaka was a succesful endeavour. In addition to the publication of well-known and popular traditional texts in standardized forms of what was called 'Javanese', 'Sundanese', 'Madurese' and 'Malay', it initiated the publication of new work. It experimented with journals, almanacs and law texts, and no self-respecting intellectual, no curious literate person in the Indies could leave these texts unnoticed. Novels were the genre which made Balai Poestaka a well-respected institution, as it continues to be to the present day. The publishing house managed to secure the hegemony in the literary life in the 1920s, assuring for its products a

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central place in the 'canon', that predominant point of reference in education and criticism. Novels like Merari Siregar's Azab dan sengsara (1920), Marah Roesli's Siti Noerbaja (1922), and Noer St. Iskander's Karena mentoea (1932) were to be reprinted several times and, when Indonesia had become an independent state and the Republic's government had to develop a distinctly new Indonesian tradition, were assigned a place of prominence and even glory in the textbooks which presented young students with the authoritative version of the history of 'kesusasteraan Indonesia' (Indonesian literature). Literary developments in post-revolutionary Indonesia provide a fine illustration of how canonization works: Chinese-Malay literature had been pushed into a subordinate (and subsequently residual) position already in the late colonial period; it was almost totally neglected in the new Republic of Indonesia (Kratz 1992). Many of the books mentioned in Salmon's book never went through a second printing. None of them made it to the Indonesian school textbooks. Many of them are now available in only one or two libraries in the world. This residuality does not necessarily imply irrelevance and indifference, however. It rather suggests the existence of a distinct circuit, with a vitality and a desire to experiment on its own, and with its own forces and rules, which cannot fail sooner or later to penetrate the canon. The residual circuit formed by Chinese-Malay printed materials shaped its own themes and initiated its own discussions, propelled along by a group that may have been gradually pushed into the ideological and cultural margins of society, but which even so retained a voice that was heard and that demanded a reaction. It is a telling fact that the Chinese-Malay community in the Indies continued to generate so many publications, so many novels, in a climate that became increasingly repressive in the literary and, more widely, in the political sphere. Most of the Balai Poestaka novels were written by people of Minangkabau descent. The work of authors like Marah Roesli, Nur St. Iskander, and Takdir Alisjahbana focuses on problems that run closely parallel to the questions which Minangkabau youngsters were exploring in their own day-to-day lives, concentrating on the question of how to bring the values and ideas of the modern educated individual in harmony with the demands of Minangkabau tradition, which granted so much authority to women and was so often in conflict with Muslim rules. Balai Poestaka novels must have had great recognizeability for Minangkabau readers, in particular those with a modern education. It can be safely assumed that they were targeted at an intended readership, just like Chinese-Malay novels. Numerous are the descriptions of events, scenes, and situations that were to be found in everyday Minangkabau life in the Padang interior. It was all very familiar to Minangkabau readers. The same holds for the descriptions of conflicts among and between Minangkabaus, Javanese, Dutch, and Eurasians, and modernists and traditionalists. It is a realism of sorts. Tensions between referentiality and figurality can be detected in every

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 285 discursive act, and the Balai Poestaka novels are no exception to this rule. They offered their readership elements that were meant to reflect everyday reality - the marriage between a modern, well-educated man and an adat- abiding woman and the subsequent (and previous) unhappiness of the two were as recognizable as the descriptions of people's houses, fields, travels, and discussions. These realistic elements were brought together in various configurations in a romantic plot, in which boy meets girl, and the two go through a series of adventures before they meet again and live (more or less) happily ever after. Too many elaborations of the plot - lengthy descriptions of the courtship, nature, flowing tears, and merry-making - could easily draw the readers' attention away from a referential reading towards a figurative one in which they ignore the narrative's attempts to reflect real life and are instead led to make comparisons with other romantic narratives. This is why Minangkabau novels like Siti Noerbaja, Karena mentoea and Lajar terkembang may have had a certain appeal for non-Minangkabau readers as well: their 'romantic' form must have been able to attract readers who felt little affinity for the descriptions of specific conflicts in the Minangkabau world. The tensions between romanticism and realism in Balai Poestaka novels are further complicated by a pervasive, strong didactic voice of authors showing their readers how to cope with particular problems and predicaments society was posing for the individual. The readers are soothed, puzzled and made to reflect at once - hence in a way these modern Minangkabau authors were only perpetuating the tradition of oral story- tellers and their tendency to observe their public and its immediate reactions. Links between the Balai Poestaka novels and the Malay 'tradition' may have been stronger than even reflective modernists like Takdir Alisjahbana were willing to admit in the 1930s. The same could be said of the connections which Minangkabau readers and authors may have established with the Chinese-Malay novels that were so soon pushed into the margin. Although novels like Oey Se (1903), Gan Liang Boen atawa Malem jang serem (1924), and Setangan berloemoer darah (1927) must have been primarily intended for a Chinese readership - their main protagonists are Chinese discussing Chinese values and concepts, and the narrators presuppose a certain amount of empathy with and knowledge of the problems confronting the Chinese in the Indies - on the point of form, correspondences with the Balai Poestaka novels are obvious. Chinese-Malay novels, too, try to define new values and ideas as much as they reflect existing ones. In Chinese-Malay novels, too, the development of a romantic plot is dressed up in fragments of newspaper-like realism, thus making for a possible appeal to the non-Chinese reader. Here, too, the focus is on the interactions within and between various groups - Chinese, Sundanese, Javanese, Europeans, modernists, traditionalists - rather than among distinctive individuals. Here, too, language is not presented as a problem. In these novels, too, the interactions are primarily represented in terms of marriages and friendships, so that they encourage allegorical reading

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access 286 H.M.J. Maier in the same way as the Balai Poestaka novels do, with the protagonists tending to represent and exemplify certain trends in society, and their adventures to summarize events that were of key importance in real colonial life. On this level of generalization, it could be claimed that the main formal difference between the two corpuses is constituted by the variety in the forms of Malay used. Operating in the shadow of colonial authority, Balai Poestaka Malay converged with the Van Ophuysen-inspired standard Malay which was soon given the name 'high Malay'. Generally speaking, the language of Chinese-Malay novels did not really conform to any clear standard - as though the transmission of information were more important than the form in which it was transmitted - and Kwee Tek Hoay's confident remark that 'low Malay' would eventually be victorious over 'van Ophuysen Malay' (Salmon 1981:116) seems to represent a rare cry of annoyance and frustration.

It is impossible to give an elaborate summary of the hundreds of novels that could be categorized as forming part of the corpus of Chinese-Malay literature. Thio Tjien Boen's Tjerita Njai Soemirah, published in 1917, may be read as the exemplary Chinese-Malay novel, in that it combines all of the main characteristics of the genre outlined above. In it, societal events - such as racial conflicts, parties, gossip, acts of violence - are presented in a form of Malay that must have reminded contemporary readers time and again of facts and events they were familiar with from newspapers and personal experience. These realistic elements are arranged in a romantic form: a (double) love affair and a (double) marriage, and a series of adventures surrounding them. Possible tensions between romanticism and realism, between figurality and referentiality, are neutralized by the didactic voice of the narrator, who offers a solution to all problems. Tjerita Njai Soemirah could be read as a fine reflection indeed of the changes that were taking place among people of Chinese descent in the Indies.

The book consists of two parts, entitled 'Human Fortune* (Peroentoengan Manoesia) and 'Failed Revenge' (Pembalesan jang Loepoet). The first part is set in the little town of Soemcdang in West Java in the year 189-. A young man, Tan Bi Liang, who is an orphan of Chinese descent, falls in love with Soemirah, the daughter of a (deceased) Javanese nobleman and a Sundanese lady. Soemirah is also wooed by a close relative, Ardiwinata alias Arkoem, a man with a criminal past. Tan and Soemirah promise each other eternal love, but the knowledge of the love between them does not prevent Arkoem from trying to win Soemirah for himself. He is rejected, and in his anger makes several attempts on Tan's life. Initially Soemirah's mother is strongly opposed to a marriage between her daughter and a Chinese man. Nevertheless, neither Arkoem's assaults nor maternal objections are able to kill the love between the two. Eventually the mother, confronted with the

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 287 sincere love between them, gives in to the young couple. At Soemirah's instigation, Arkoem is arrested and subsequently imprisoned by the Dutch authorities. The family is to leave Soemedang and start a new life in Bandoeng. The second part is set in the city of Bandoeng in the year 191-. Arkoem returns to take revenge for Soemirah's rejection. He succeeds in persuading his young niece Rogaja to assist him with the excecution of his scheme. The girl obtains a position in the household of Tan and Soemirah and their two children, and keeps her uncle informed of what happens there. Then the son of the happy couple, Tan Hie Tjiak, and Rogaja fall in love. Initially Soemirah is opposed to a marriage of her son to a native girl. At a picnic held by the Tan family, which he had planned to be his own moment of glorious revenge, Arkoem is killed by a madman. Confronted with their sincere love, Soemirah eventually gives in to the young couple. The family is to leave the Indies. Before starting a new life in China they will visit Europe, where Tan Jr. and Rogaja will be married.

Reading always takes place against the background of other reading: the mere fact that we read Tjerita Njai Soemirah as a novel is an illustration of this point. Parts I and II of Tjerita Njai Soemirah - a man wants to marry a woman of his own choice and, confronted with all sorts of objections and problems, is forced to define his place in society - could be read as two variations on the master plot that shaped the writing and reading of so many Malay novels at the time. This basic narrative line is filled in with elements like suicide, murder, poisoning, spying, secret letters, gossip, and money, which extend, cover, emphasize, and support its romantic character. As in most novels of that period, the author tries to weave these literary motifs into careful descriptions of real life in the Indies - or does the reverse hold and should we say that the author tries to weave elements of reality into literary descriptions? From the tensions between the two, the central theme of Tjerita Njai Soemirah as a whole emerges: the quest for a relevant and effective Chinese identity in the Dutch Indies between 189- and 191- - the very years in which, as was said above, 'the passive feelings of separateness of the Indies Chinese were transformed into vigorous nationalism' (Williams 1960:19). And of course the narrator offers a solution in accordance with the obligatory didactic voice. Part I ends with a marriage between a Chinese man and a native - half Sundanese, half Javanese - woman. It is a marriage based on individual love and emotion, instead of the operations of adat, relatives and money. The same is the case in part II: here, too, a Chinese man - and it is important to note that his Chineseness is not really made into a problem, even though his mother is not a Chinese - marries a native woman on the basis of individual love and emotion. In both cases, the partners have enjoyed a modern education: for instance, they have (some) knowledge of Dutch, are

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familiar with European customs, and read newspapers. In both parts of the novel, serious maternal objections have to be overcome, and discussions take place between the lovers and relatives about differences between races (bangsa) before the young couple is eventually given permission to marry. The model may be clear; the repetitions are incomplete, however, and this very incompleteness is intriguing enough to prompt contrastive comparisons and institute a rewarding reading. Moreover, correspondences and contrasts can be found not only within the novel itself by juxtaposing its two parts; they can equally be found by juxtaposing Tjerita Njai Soemirah with other novels. The variations are located in time: the first wedding takes place in 189\ the second one some twenty years later, i.e. in 191-. These time indications cannot but make us effectively aware of the tensions in the text. On the one hand, they invite us to divide the novel into two parts, to compare their fragments, and to explore the possibilities of close reading in close comparison. On the other hand, they force us to turn away from the language of the novel and create links between the words and the knowledge we have, from newspapers and history books, of actual developments in the Indies shortly before and after the turn of the century. Tjerita Njai Soemirah offers its readers not only a romantic love-story of the boy-meets-girl type, but also a picture of the changes that were taking place in Chinese circles between 1890, when the narrative begins, and 1920, when the narrative ends and its reading began. As we shall see, part I places special emphasis on the contrasts between the Chinese hero on the one hand, and representatives of the two other groups in Indies society, Europeans and natives, on the other. Part II continues this exploration of Chineseness in a more positive way, ending in the apotheosis of the heroes deciding to leave for China. First there is a negative description - Chinese are defined as non-Europeans and non-natives - and then a positive one - the Chinese are aware of their Chineseness and have the courage to draw the ultimate conclusion. Altogether, the novel's structural sequence runs parallel to the alleged development among the Chinese in the Indies in real life: a development from indifference to self-awareness. In both parts, the narrative centres on the marriage of a man of Chinese descent: in the first part, the marriage of Tan Bi Liang to Soemirah, in the second part, that of their son Tan Hie Tjiak to Rogaja. These marriages read like metaphors for the protagonists' attempts to define themselves - and hence like emblems of their attempts to define their (group's) position in an increasingly hostile and fragmented world. These attempts are all-pervasive. They are best illustrated by the use of what could be called the key word of the novel: the word 'ingat' and its derivatives, which occur on almost every page. Contemporary dictionaries already defined this word as 'to be aware', 'to remember'. Time and again, in every situation, in every activity, heroes and heroines are reminded to be

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 289 watchful and careful, to remember and recollect What is the ultimate aim of these acts of memorizing and recollecting, this stance of watchfulness and caution, however, remains rather undefined, and with what values this Chinese self-confidence is to be given substance is a question that remains open to the very last pages of the text, where Tan Sr decides to leave the Indies for China. Tan's decision is telling in itself: in China alone, the narrator seems to tell us, can tradition and identity be found, memory realized, awareness concretized. The hero of part I, Tan Bi Liang, is still actively involved with non- Chinese people around him. The novel opens with a description of how he attends a party where people of all nations and classes meet in what reads like a miniature representation of colonial society: 'not only villagers, but also many Chinese, Dutch and aristocrats came' (Jboekan sadja orang kampoeng, poen orang Tionghoa, Olanda dan Prijaji banjakjang dateng). Here Tan falls in love with Soemirah by way of a very conventional Malay device: the boy and the girl look at each other (berpandangan). Tan has to endure some violent attacks from Soemirah's native cousin Arkoem, and they are only gradually able to give expression to their love. 'We will follow our own heart' (Kita toeroet hati sendiri sadja) (1,55), says Soemirah to Tan at the crucial romantic moment. Individual feelings are meant, it seems, free from societal pressures. However, Njai Soemirah's Sundanese mother, the widow of a Javanese nobleman, voices her objections against a possible marriage on grounds of social status as well as race. First she does so to her daughter: 'I want you to get a husband who is really compatible with your social rank* (akoe maoe soepaja angkau dapet soeami jang sembabat betoel dengan deradjatmoe) (1,65), and 'I consider it a disgrace for an indigenous girl to have to follow a man of another race' {akoe pandang hina sekali kaloe satoe gadis boemipoetra moesti ikoet lelaki lain bangsa) (1,67). Moreover, what would other native people think? In the subsequent discussion with Tan she tries to make him aware of the fact that they are of different races (bangsa) and that a marriage between them is therefore not proper, saying 'firstly, we are of different races, secondly, I think that a girl of my race who goes so far as to become the wife of someone of another race will become a disgrace to the people of my race' (pertama kita orang ada berlainan bangsa dan kedoea saja pandang satoe gadis bangsa saja sampe djadi bininya seorang lain bangsa, itoe perempoean akan djadi penghinaan dari semoea orang bangsa saja) (I, 76). Interesting in itself here is the fact that no distinction is made between Javanese and Sundanese, the protagonists (and the narrator) suggesting that they are of one and the same race (bangsa, of which 'ethnicity' may be another appropriate translation). What keeps the Sundanese and Javanese together is something of a negative character they do what the Chinese (and the Dutch) do not do. The only concrete differences Soemirah's native mother can think of are the facts that the Chinese eat pork, while the natives do not, and that both the Chinese and the Dutch are infidels - two

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access 290 H.MJ. Maier characteristics that are found mentioned in so many writings of the time that one tends easily to read them as technical devices rather than substantial arguments. Substantial differences in terms of tradition, identity, memory or history are not explored by the Chinese narrator and his mouthpieces in 'Human fortune'. The Chinese are different, and that should be enough for the time being. Or rather, the Chinese are made different in 189-. What are the reactions to these maternal concerns? Soemirah tries to defend herself and her Chinese beloved against her mother's criticism by questioning the so-called high morality of the native nobility: 'you name me a nobleman who does not have a second wife, mother' (tjoba iboe bisa bilang prijaji jang mana tida berselir) (1,65). Then she compliments the 'Chinese' by defending native women who marry Chinese men: 'I know quite a few wealthy and important Chinese, officers even, whose mothers are even so native women, yet how could these be bad women?' (saja poenja taoe tida Icoerang orang-orang Tjina kaja besar dan jang djadi officier djoega dan toch iboenja ada seorang perampoean Boemipoetra, satoe moestail itoe ada perampoean djahat djoega?). These words show that Soemirah, just like her mother, is already aware of the barriers between the Chinese (Tjina) and natives (boemipoetra); the less able is she to convince her mother that these ethnic, racial, and religious barriers can be crossed and that individual happiness and personal fortune (oentoeng) lie ahead. The old lady succeeds in putting an effective end to the discussion by making a simple appeal to her daughter's memory: 'do you not remember how difficult it was for me to raise you?' (angkau tida inget begimana soesa akoe piara angkau dari ketjil sampe djadi besar?). It all reads like an initiation to racial segregation - and one could wonder on which side it was initiated. Tan Bi Liang's reaction to the old lady's objections is not effective either. He says to her: 'Since the days of yore human beings have been able to be so fertile precisely because of mixed marriages' (dari doeloe kala manoesia bisa mendjadi biak begini jaitoe lantaran kawin tjampoeran), and 'love takes no notice of (differences in) race' (perkara ketjintaan tida memandang bangsa) (1,78-79). The native lady pushes these reflections in defence of transgression, in favour of the human race, aside without much ado, urging Tan Bi Liang to accept barriers. And, although the young man does not really grasp the argument nor the situation, he decides to leave Soemirah to her native origin, her racial identity, for the sake of propriety and of his beloved's peace of mind. As a result of this experience in particular, he will increasingly act as an outsider. Bi Liang has to cope not only with the arguments of native women, but also with the reminders of native men. In his confrontations with Soemirah's cousin, the native criminal Arkoem, he relies on his own physical superiority, taking the assaults very casually. Eventually, however, he is seriously wounded on a very dark night - at the very same moment Soemirah is preparing to commit suicide out of despair at not being able to keep the vow (djandji) she has made to her beloved. It is romance in a

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 291 nutshell: murder and suicide in the nocturnal dark as a prelude to the shining light of happiness. Only after this crisis does Soemirah's mother become aware of the sincerity and beauty of the individual feelings of love of the couple, and is she willing to discard her ethnic (or racial) prejudices and give her blessing to their union. The couple decides to move to the relative anonymity of the urban environment of Bandoeng, away from the gossip and slander, the peeping and prying, and the scandal-mongering of the little provincial town of Soemedang. The wedding itself is passed over in silence; the narrative does not say where it takes place, what ceremony is observed, or whether the wedding is as pluriform and pluriracial as the party at which Tan and Soemirah first met. Arkoem's life takes a different turn: he is arrested by the police following a tip from Soemirah, who does not appreciate Tan Bi Liang's indifference and prefers the help of Dutch authorities to her Chinese partner's feelings of superiority. Of course the Chinese narrator tells us that Arkoem detests his cousin; upon his arrest - the last confrontation between them in part I - he accuses her of betrayal (doerhaka) of her native family and reminds her of the fact that she has been sold to a infidel (1,102). Failure to observe a barrier - a racial, ethnic, and religious one - is tantamount to betrayal and should be punished. So Arkoem makes a vow to come back after serving his prison sentence in order to take revenge and make Soemirah atone for her behaviour. Natives should remain among natives, he seems to be saying, and Chinese should stick to Chinese - and the fact that Arkoem is represented as a criminal certainly does not strengthen the case of the natives. Furthermore, a native feels compelled to ask Europeans for assistance against another native because the Chinese behave so indifferently. The situation in Java in 189- was complex indeed.

Part II, set in 191-, is overshadowed by a dual threat of Dutch authority and native grudges - the consequences of the behaviour of a native girl and a Chinese boy who effectively transgressed the ethnic boundaries in 189-. The Chinese protagonist still seems to be puzzled by the question of why he is being forced to play the role of 'the other'. His lack of appreciation of the situation borders on studied indifference. How to deal with these shadows, that are so recognizable, so realistic, so relevant? Beware and remember! The two children that are born of the (happy) marriage of Soemirah and Tan Bi Liang, a boy and a girl, are given a European education. As a result they become familiar with European customs like reading newspapers, smoking cigars in a lazy chair, and doing embroidery. This is not to say, however, that they try to become real Europeans; their education is meant rather to teach them to beware, to be careful and selective. The boy, the eldest of the two, is given particular attention by the narrator to illustrate this point.

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Tan Hie Tjiak looks like his Sundanese mother, dresses like a European, and knows Dutch. He is a native, European and Chinese all rolled into one, and so he is the personification of the heterogeneity of society, the very same society which soon enough will prefer the racism of segregation to the heterogeneity of mestizo culture, forcing him, like everybody else, to make a choice and give priority to one of the three. Following his father's wishes, the boy finds employment with a Chinese entrepreneur in Batavia (Bi Liang forbids him to offer his talents to a European company, we are told), and is sent to a Chinese school of Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan, 'following his father's wish that a Chinese should know the customs and institutions of his race' (menoeroet kahendak ajahnja jang orang Tiong-hoa moesti tahoe adat lembaga bangsanja) (11,35). There he may have learnt a poem like the one quoted above: 'With this I remind you / that the study of books must be pursued / and the example of Confucius observed / so that people may feel respect'. In short, it is the proper 'Bildung': the boy has to live up to his Chinese name and become a man who is fully aware of his Chineseness and ignores (or forgets?) his partly native antecedents. Tradition should be remembered and this recollection should guide the young man's behaviour. It involves the very discursive practice of Chinese values, Chinese rituals, and Chinese ideas that had not even been mentioned twenty years before, at the time when assimilation and integration still seemed possible and feelings of equality were at least as strong as a sense of difference. Chineseness is gaining the upper hand, but once again individual emotions are trying to break through the barriers of race. Tan Hie Tjiak may have been made more aware of his Chineseness than his father, but he too falls in love with a native girl, Rogaja. She is a niece of Arkoem (and so is related to Soemirah!). At her uncle's instigation, she has found a position as domestic servant in Tan Bing Liang's household; soon, however, she is treated as a member of the family. Upon discovering her son's romantic feelings, Soemirah behaves like her own mother twenty years before; she, too, raises objections against a possible marriage. First she tries to explain to her husband why she objects to a marriage of her son with Rogaja in terms of slander and race, saying 'I must see to it that my child is not involved in another unpleasant affair like his father' (akoe moesti djaga soepaja anakkoe tida dapet lagi perkara koerang senang begltoe seperti ajahnja), and 'he may end up being unwilling to marry a girl of his own race' (ia tida nanti maoe kawin sama satoe nona bangsanja). Tan Bi Liang laughs her worries away; he reminds his wife of their own marriage and their own freedom of choice, urging that individual emotions are more important than the opinion of a community or society, more important, it seems, than the voice of the past, and more relevant than tradition. Soemirah's reflections make one wonder, incidentally, to what extent Tan Bi Liang has really crossed a barrier like herself: he behaves like a Chinese, and sees to it that his son is raised as a Chinese as well, even

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 293 though he is of mixed descent. The Chinese element is gaining the upper hand over the native. Even Soemirah accepts the racial barriers now. She sees her son as a Chinese and tries to persuade him not to marry a native girl like Rogaja - after all, he is a Chinese and she a native, she reminds him, and he should remember the pressures of gossip and slander in Chinese circles. 'No doubt people will blame me most strongly', she says, 'They will say "that is what the Javanese are like - of course she was looking for a Javanese daughter-in- law"' (paling keras tentoe orang salaken akoe ... orang nanti bilang, dasar orang Djawa, tjari mantoe djoega dapet orang Djawa). It is a near-repetition of the objections voiced by her own mother against her marriage to Bi Liang, evoking as well as reflecting the anxiety and obsessions of those living in a colonial society which was becoming increasingly segregated along lines of race. A native woman who has objections to a Chinese son-in-law; a native woman who behaves like a Chinese woman; a Chinese man who might equally well have been a native; a native woman who has objections to a native daughter-in-law; a native man who does not want his relative to marry a Chinese - all in all, things were very complicated at the time of writing, 191-. As in 189-, societal pressures and individual emotions are neutralized by violence, only this time the violence is more extreme: the Tan family's picnic ends with a car accident, a heavily wounded Hie Tjiak, a suicide attempt by Rogaja, and the killing of Arkoem. And once again the Dutch interfere: not in the form of officers of the law this time, but in that of a doctor with velvet gloves, which turn out to be as effective as the policeman's gun in part I in guaranteeing the survival of the Chinese hero. This crisis of violence, blood and medicine asks for another radical solution: the Tans move to their homeland, China, as though this is the most effective reaction to the growing violence.

By juxtaposing Part I with Part II and comparing these, in their turn, with historical descriptions, one could no doubt read Tjerita Njai Soemirah as a reflection of the change in awareness among the people of Chinese descent in the Dutch Indies between 1890 and 1920. Interestingly enough, Chineseness is not explored and defined in terms of cultural, linguistic or even racial differences, but rather in terms of the right and correct attitude: the Chinese are strong and resolute, natives are violent and weak and easily submit to force and tough action. In 189- Bi Liang is still open to native and Dutch people alike, in other words, to heterogeneity; in 191- his son has been made into a Chinese who turns away from the 'others', natives and Europeans alike. In part I, natives are still represented as equals; they play a role in decisions about marriages, their advice is taken seriously, and their customs are respected. In part II, natives are no longer taken seriously, and even

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worse, those who are visible have criminal tendencies and are unreliable. For a Chinese it is not hard to be superior to the natives: anything can be achieved by showing self-confidence, strength, and goodness, by money - and by being watchful. The Chinese male protagonists are able to expose themselves to the natives without any serious risk of losing their individual identity, which is gradually defined in terms of a racial identity. The native women are inferior to these Chinese males and give in to their men, because they are much more strongly aware of the need of their children for roots, for recollections. Soemirah does not stick up for her Javanese background, Rogaja does not seem to be aware of it at all, and both Soemirah and Rogaja are perfectly prepared to follow their husbands to China. They give in time and again, thus serving as emblems of native weakness. The relationship of Chinese males and native females is an uneven relationship indeed. A reverse shift can be detected in the presentation of the Dutch (Europeans). In the first part of the book, whites are still depicted as pleasant (or at least, harmless) company at the party where Tan and Soemirah meet; in the remainder of part I they stay invisible until the police is asked to intervene. Twenty years later - at the time of Thio's writing, in 1917 - the Europeans are much more visible. Here every possible suggestion of their being pleasant company is radically avoided and they are represented as rude and arrogant. During his (European) schooldays in Batavia, the young Chinese boy has to defend himself against the physical aggression of his Dutch fellow-students. The family has a Dutch teacher who, by showing some unusual behaviour, creates uneasiness. When Tan Jr meets some Dutch schoolmates at a swimming-pool, they treat him in a very insulting manner. When he reads about the war in Europe in a Dutch newspaper, he realizes how one-sided the news is presented, in favour of those nations which are supported by the Dutch in Europe - as though Germany and Austria did not have armies at all. All of these unpleasant confrontations teach Tan Hie Tjiak that the adoption of a firm, self-confident attitude is the best way of protecting oneself. From the Chinese perspective, relations between the various races are becoming strained and tense, but then, those in power should be respected, we are told, no matter how unpleasant they may be. The role of the colonial authorities remains the same: they are always safely present somewhere in the background, in the form of police or doctors. Thanks to them, Arkoem is arrested and Tan Jr is saved - if the need arises, the whites are there. It is all very pragmatic, very realistic. Eventually, however, the Tans move to China, apparently in order to retrieve the Chinese identity they are unable to satisfactorily recover in the Indies. In China, Tan Sr will 'have better opportunities of promoting the trade in Chinese goods in the Indies. In short, he wanted to become a bridge between traders and factories in China and Chinese traders in the Dutch Indies' (ia bisa berichtiar dengen lebi gampang boeat memadjoekan perniaga'an barang Tiongkok di Hindia. Pendeknja, ia maoe djadi djembatan

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 295 antara soedagar-soedagar di Tiongkokbegitoe djoegafabriek-fabriek disarm dengen soedagar-soedagar Tionghoa di Hindia OHonda). That is the way it is with the Chinese in the Indies: they must protect Chinese interests. Trade is the best way of preserving them, and if necessary they should leave.

Like so many other Chinese-Malay novels, Tjerita Njai Soemirah presents a fragmentary narrative in which a sequence of events prevails over elaborate descriptions. Any interpretation of Tjerita Njai Soemirah should show order and coherence in the treatment of the quick succession of events rather than rare elaborations and reflections on the central theme. The end, for instance, comes as a complete surprise in that neither the story-line nor its padding prepares the readers for Tan's sudden decision to leave the Indies for China. Equally bewildering is the sudden reference at the end of the novel to China as the 'homeland' (tana aer); Chineseness has certainly been recollected in the course of the narrative, but is never explicitly associated with China until the very last pages of the novel. Up to that point in the novel, the homeland has never been recollected or remembered, let alone mentioned as a possible way out for the family's problems. It has never been hinted at as the ultimate goal of Tan's quest for an identity. Reading backwards, as one should, one would be very hard put to it to construct an interpretation in which the family's departure figures as a plausible reaction to the problems it is facing if no connection is established with the historical context in which the novel was written. The year 1917 was the year in which Thio Tjin Boen published his novel. In that year, 'Chinese-Malay literature' had already attracted a public and Balai Poestaka had not yet published an original novel in Malay. In that year the famous conference of Semarang took place, at which leading members of the Chinese community in the Indies gathered to discuss their position in the Indies, and became aware of the fact that there were several ways of defining Chineseness, which were mutually virtually incompatible. In Suryadinata's terms, Thio Tjien Boen showed himself to be a protagonist of Chinese nationalism, his novel serving 'to stimulate Chinese nationalist feeling ... and to foster the development of the pan-Chinese movement, that is, to unify the Indies Chinese (who consist of various cultural groups) and orientate them culturally and politically towards China' (Suryadinata 1981:17). From this perspective, most fragments as well as the novel's ending can be explained as being separate elaborations of a single idea. Tjerita Njai Soemirah reads like a fine example of a realistic romance, which is the principal genre of Chinese-Malay literature. Very recognizable and very familiar descriptions of daily life in the Indies between 1890 and 1920 are strung together in the romantic framework of a boy-meets-girl story. The links between the descriptions, or between the scenes, are very loose. What binds them together is a single element: they all circle around the term 'ingat' and its derivatives. It seems as though the didactic voice is the force that keeps the novel together as a whole, making for an

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access 296 H.M.J. Maier encompassing interpretation. The readers are offered the same solution as the novel's protagonists: 'Remember and recollect!' 'Beware and think beyond the present moment!' 'Be careful!' 'Reflect!' In short, 'Ingat'l

A final question we may ask is: 'What about language?' In none of the crises and problems with which Tan and his family are confronted is language ever brought up as a problem. People are talking with one another all the time, and as a result there are many disagreements. Misunder- standings do not occur, however; the existence of linguistic borders is not appreciated, and language frontiers are ignored, even denied. Reading the story of Nyai Soemirah as a reflection of developments in the Dutch East Indies, we should realize that the Indies could have become the epitome of the 'heteroglossia' Bakhtin dreamed of, had not considerations of race and ethnicity destroyed the force and beauty of this concept. We are not told how Tan and Soemirah talk to one another, in what language Soemirah's Sundanese relatives converse with Tan, or what language Soemirah herself uses when speaking with her mother; it is not even made clear whether Tan Sr has a sufficient knowledge of Chinese to survive in his motherland. Language maps are not needed in this world, and are not felt to be needed, either. It is as though both the author and the narrator want to tell us that the transmission of information is more important than the form in which it is transmitted, the warning to beware more important than a definition of what one is to beware of, and the act of reflection more effective than the result of reflection. For us modern readers with our obsessions with questions of language and dialect, Creoles and pidgins, this linguistic indifference is amazing. Thio Tjien Boen's novel serves us as another reminder that discourse is really nothing but an uninterrupted process of historical becoming in which specific terms might only be a nuisance, any map only an irrelevant intrusion, and every linguistic distinction an unrealistic border, and a dangerous one at that. Tjerita Njai Soemirah reminds its readers of the possibility that ethnicity and race are not necessarily defined in terms of language. Or conversely, that the identity of an individual as well as the tradition of a community may only benefit from a command of a wide range of what we are used to calling various 'languages'. The enemy is 'the other' who will try to put you in a box - and the only escape is to collect your possessions and leave before the walls and barriers become impenetrable and even language is no longer heard. Very wise. Very rich. The attempt to classify 'languages' and 'races' may be a useless one, a futile one, and a dangerous one at that.

'What wealthy Chinese would like to follow the example (of Tan)?' (siapa orang-orang Tionghoa hartawan soeka meniroe? ) The last sentence of Tjerita Njai Soemirah ends with a question mark, and so does the novel as a whole. The question is addressed to the intended readers, to their community,

Downloaded from Brill.com09/28/2021 10:28:37PM via free access Tjerita Njai Soemirah and Chinese-Malay Literature 297 to reality, to the future. It is a compelling invitation to a referential reading in retrospect, and to further reflection upon Chineseness and, in a wider sense, upon culture and society. Upon Malay, in some form of Malay. Sometimes punctuation marks can be as strong as the continuous process of 'languaging' which they try to order and stabilize. The question mark at the very end of this novel serves the same function as the dot in 189- and 191-: they invite us to look at the world outside the book, as every mark of order should. They force us to consider the possibility of stepping outside language, into reality, and to act. It looks like an obvious invitation to a political reading. Tjerita Njai Soemirah may be read as a romance, but please, dear reader, relate this story to real life as well. Be watchful. Reflect! And be aware of the problems with which society confronts you. You, too, are part of society! Beware!

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Anderson, B.R.O'G., 1983, Imagined communities; Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism, London: Verso. Bakhtin, M.M., 1981, The dialogic imagination; Four essays, Austin: University of Texas Press. [Edited by M. Holquist.] Becker, A.L., 1991,'A short essay on languaging', in: Frederick Steier (ed.), Research and reflexivity, pp. 226-234, London: Sage. Doom, J. van, 1983, A divided society, Rotterdam: Casp. Grijns, CD., 1991, 'Bahasa Indonesia avant la lettre in the 1920s', in: H. Steinhauer (ed.). Papers in Austronesian Linguistics No. 1, pp. 48-80. Hoffman, J., 1979, 'A foreign investment; Indies Malay to 1901', Indonesia 27:65-92. Kratz, E.U., 1992, 'Peranakan writing and Indonesian literature after Independence', in: C. Salmon (ed.), Le moment 'Sino-Malais' de la lillerature lndonesienne, pp. 133-148, Paris: Cahier d'Archipel 19. Lombard-Salmon, C, 1972, 'Le "Sjair de l'Association Chinoise" de Batavia (1905)', Archipel 5:55-99. Maier, Hendrik M.J., 1991, 'Forms of censorship in the Dutch Indies; The marginalization of Chinese-Malay literature', Indonesia:61-92. Salmon, C, 1980, 'La notion de Sino-malais est-elle pertinente d'un point de vue linguistique?', Archipel 20:177-186. -, 1981, Literature in Malay by the Chinese of Indonesia; A provisional annotated bibliography, Paris: Editions de la Maison de Sciences de l'Homme. Suryadinata, L., 1981, Peranakan Chinese politics in Java 1917-42, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Williams, L., 1960, Overseas Chinese nationalism; The genesis of the Pan- Chinese movement in Indonesia, 1900-1916, Glencoe: Free Press.

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