A Study of the Cultural Pages of Harian Rakjat in the Early 1950S

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The Communist Imagination: A Study of the Cultural Pages of Harian Rakjat in the Early 1950s

Stephen Miller

A thesis in fulﬁlment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

School of Humanities and Social Sciences, UNSW@ADFA, Canberra, Australia

August 2015 2 Acknowledgements

This dissertation would not have been possible without the enthusiasm, good humour, intelligence and patience of my primary supervisor, Paul Tickell. I cannot thank him enough for his continuing support and faith. He was well supported by my co-supervisors, Emeritus Professor Barbara Hatley and Dr. Edwin Jurriens. I want to especially thank Barbara for her patience in reading drafts in the final throes of thesis production. Dorothy Meyer saw the project through from the beginning of candidature until submission, providing companionship, coding advice, proof reading, and general editing support. Her enthusiasm and passion for my work were central to the thesis reaching the point of submission. The keen grammar sense of my mother, June Miller, helped improve the readability of many sections of the writing. Dr. Kaz Ross also deserves to be mentioned for a late reading of a complete draft and pushing me to submit. It is great to have good colleagues in your corner. I would also like to thank the administrative staff at UNSW at ADFA, especially Bernadette McDermott, who has always been flexible and helpful when dealing with a candidature that lasted far too long. During the prolonged revision process Rifka Sibarani’s support, enthusiasm, and affection was much appreciated, as it continues to be post-thesis. So many other people have also helped me out at various times—students, colleagues, friends, family, comrades. I apologise if you do not find your name here, but rest assured your support was appreciated.

3 4 Contents

I Shadows 9

1 Introduction 11

2 Communism and Culture in Indonesian History 25 Introduction ...... 25 Academic Study of the Communist Movement before 1965-66 . . . 27 The New Order Narrative ...... 30 “The Fear of Stultiﬁcation” ...... 32 The Bumi Manusia Controversy ...... 34 Social Commitment ...... 37 The Wayang Controversy ...... 42 The Manifesto is Not Dead! ...... 45 The Magsaysay Controversy ...... 49 Exile Literature ...... 52 “An Ode to Indonesian Culture” ...... 56 Work After 1998 ...... 69 The Cold War is Not Over! ...... 72 Recent Academic Work ...... 76 Conclusion ...... 81

II Politics, Organisation & Ideology 83

3 Artists, Activists, and Organisations 85 Introduction ...... 85 The Formation of Left-Wing Cultural Politics ...... 85 The National Awakening ...... 85 The National Revolution ...... 86 Dazed and Confused? 1949-50 ...... 89 The Birth of Lekra ...... 91 Communist Politics, 1950-55 ...... 94

5 6 CONTENTS

Indonesian Communism and International Politics ...... 94 The Industrial Upsurge ...... 96 The “National United Front” ...... 99 The Role of Harian Rakjat ...... 102 The Trajectory of Communist Politics, 1950-55 ...... 103 The Organisation of Culture ...... 107 Lekra in Central Java ...... 109 Lekra in West Java ...... 112 Lekra in East Java ...... 114 Lekra in Sumatra ...... 115 Lekra in Other Areas ...... 117 Aﬃliates and Associates ...... 118 Friendship Societies ...... 133 City-Wide Cultural Fronts ...... 137 The LKI/BMKN ...... 147 Culture in Movement Organisations ...... 153 Conclusion ...... 160

4 Cultural Lethargy 163 Introduction ...... 163 The Unﬁnished Revolution and Culture ...... 164 A Social and Moral Crisis ...... 167 Art for Mammon’s Sake ...... 169 Navel Gazing and Social Engagement ...... 171 Ways Forward (1): Crisis as Opportunity ...... 175 Ways Forward (2): Take Sides! ...... 178 Ways Forward (3): Go to the Masses ...... 180 Realism: Socialist and Otherwise ...... 182 The National Front in Culture ...... 186 “Realism” in the Battle for Position ...... 189 Conclusion ...... 195

III Case Studies 199

5 Jakarta, Hollywood & Rome 201 Introduction ...... 201 “Hollywood” Films ...... 202 General Attacks on Hollywood ...... 204 “Bad” Hollywood Films ...... 206 “Neither/Nor” Hollywood Films ...... 212 CONTENTS 7

“Good” Hollywood Films ...... 215 Indonesian Communism and Hollywood: A Love-Hate Relationship? ...... 221 Communist bloc ﬁlms? Of Course They’re Good! ...... 222 Communist Bloc Cinema as a Model? ...... 226 Alternative Foreign Models ...... 227 Absent Friends? Asian Cinema in Kebudajaan ...... 227 British Cinema: Little Hollywood? ...... 228 Italian Neo-Realism: The Real Alternative? ...... 230 Why was Italian Cinema a Model? ...... 236 Indonesian Cinema ...... 239 The Communist Vision for National Cinema ...... 247

6 Live Performing Arts 251 Cultural Nights ...... 252 The Asia-Paciﬁc Peace Conference Evening, Medan ...... 254 SOBSI and PKI Cultural Evenings in Jakarta ...... 256 “Stimulus That Must Be Pursued” ...... 261 “Commercial”, “Irrational” and “Feudal” Art ...... 267 Popular Theatre ...... 272 Conclusion ...... 280

7 The Communist Imagination 283 Overview of the Stories ...... 284 “Reportage” & “Personal Statements” ...... 285 Key Themes ...... 292 Revealing Conditions ...... 292 Urban Conditions ...... 293 Rural Conditions ...... 301 Conditions for Women ...... 307 Getting Active: Stories of Struggle ...... 318 Plantations as a Key Point of Conﬂict ...... 319 Unionism and Unions in General ...... 326 Conﬂict in the Countryside ...... 335 Red Religion ...... 337 Religion in General ...... 338 Islam and Communism ...... 343 What Makes a Good Communist? ...... 346 The Representation of Islamic Leaders ...... 351 Religious Tolerance and Intolerance ...... 356 8 CONTENTS

Darul Islam ...... 358 Conclusion ...... 362

8 Conclusion 365

References 374 Part I

Shadows

Chapter 1

Introduction: Culture and the Long Shadow of 1965

In 2015, we commemorate the ﬁftieth anniversary of one of the largest massacres in history. Between September 1965 and March 1966, more than 500,000 Indonesians were slaughtered, mainly by army-backed militia.1 This formed the backdrop to a sophisticated grab for power by Major-General Suharto of the Army’s Strategic Reserve Command, and was the genesis of the New Order regime that held power until May, 1998.2 The killings occurred in the aftermath of a failed coup by Leftist oﬃcers, which the In- donesian army, under the leadership of Suharto, seized as an opportunity to move against the communist party and the Indonesian Left more generally.3

1A range of different figures has been put forward for the number of people killed when the New Order regime established its power, varying from the official figure of the New Order regime at 78,500 to more than two million. Most observers agree 500,000 is a conservative figure. See Cribb (2001b); Cribb (2001a); Cribb (1990); Mehr (2009), as well as the references in the following footnote. 2The events of this period have been covered by many works and have formed the key focus of public discussion in Indonesia of history prior to the establishment of Suharto’s “New Order” regime, as well as of academic attention outside Indonesia. For examples of the latter, see especially Roosa (2006); Lane (2010); Mehr (2009); Cribb (1990); Robinson (1995); Simpson (2008); Wieringa (2001). More discussion of this literature follows in the next chapter. 3An argument can be made that the “Thirtieth of September” movement led by Lt. Col. Untung, Col. Latief and others did not constitute a coup, since it did not seek to overthrow then President Sukarno, but rather to crush the so-called “Council of Generals”, i.e. the pro-Western army leadership. In doing this the movement was, however, clearly seeking to change the composition of key elements of state leadership. In the absence of a term better or more succinct, I will refer to the movement as a coup, as this is the most

11 12 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION

Suharto’s victory marked the end of competition between two broad visions of Indonesia’s future following the victory of Indonesian republicans in the national revolution of the late 1940s. On the one side there had been a vision, inspired by the Soviet Union, China, and a number of decolonising states, in which the key political and economic form was one of populist state capitalism; on the other, a weaker state capitalism that was pro-Western and more dependent on foreign investment and the global market. The former meant alignment with the Soviet Union and China and was associated with radical nationalism and strong anti-imperialism; the latter meant alignment with the United States and the “moderate”, “liberal” nationalist and religious parties (and pro-Western technocrats). These models reflected the internationalised character of the struggle in Indonesia, which was a key front in the Cold War.4 The killings and imprisonments of the mid-1960s were not simply a key turning point in Indonesian history, and most definitely did not take place in national isolation. The crushing of the communist movement was a significant victory for the West; in Nathaniel Mehr’s words, the slaughter was a “constructive bloodbath” from the West’s point of view. This goes a long way to explaining the muted response from the “Free World”, the continued low profile of the 1965-66 killings, as well as the strong support and encouragement that the ensuing New Order regime continued to receive for three decades.5 Nonetheless, seeing the struggle in this way reflects a certain “view from the top”—a competition between two different visions of how Indonesia should be ruled and how it should integrate into the international hierarchy of nation-states. It is unlikely, however, that the masses of people who took part in the increasingly polarised struggle of the period between 1950 and 1965 had these considerations as central motivating elements for these political activity, activity which often came with risk and personal sacrifice even common practice. 4This was clearly the case in terms of the US State’s assessment of Indonesia’s significance. For a study of the United States’ approach to Cold War strategy in Indonesia, see Subversion as Foreign Policy: the Secret Eisenhower and Dulles Debacle in Indonesia (Kahin and Kahin, 1995a). 5‘Constructive Bloodbath’ in Indonesia: the United States, Britain and the Mass Killings of 1965-66 (Mehr, 2009). 13 before 1965-66. For these activists, the national and international vision only had meaning insofar as they saw it as leading to better outcomes for their communities. Since Suharto’s victory was marked by the crushing of their organisations, it was therefore not simply a matter of the end of the line for a particular vision of how the Indonesian state might be organised and integrated into the global system of states, it also marked the violent suppression of a whole tradition of grass roots organising. Suharto’s victory was the culmination of a process with deep roots and a complex, sometimes contradictory, history reaching back to the infancy of the anti-colonial movement in the first quarter of the twentieth century. But the way the new regime took power gave it a strong interest in obscuring the development and complexity of this history. Since it had taken control by physically destroying its opposition, since its power rested to a significant extent on trauma and fear, and because it never felt able to rely primarily on popular support—indeed its rise to power rested to a significant extent on the crushing of popular organisation—, its legitimacy was always weak and easily threatened. This was particularly the case when it came to the narrative of the birth of the regime and the organisation presented as the “black hat” in that story: the Communist Party of Indonesia (PKI). Furthermore, since the coup and the right-wing reaction to it were portrayed as the end point of a linear process in what was essentially a morality tale6, this sensitivity reached back in history, especially to the 1940s and 1950s. Thus there has been a strong impetus to interpret prior events as the necessary seeds of the climax of the story—that is to read history teleologically forwards to the cataclysm of 1965.7 This narrative, and this reading, was not narrowly applied, nor has its application disappeared since democratisation. It has been applied to the entire movement associated in one way or another with the PKI, and has encompassed all of the mass organisations in the PKI’s sphere of influence.

6See Roosa (2006, Introduction), Wieringa (2001), Mehr (2009), amongst others. 7Jennifer Lindsay argues this point at length in her introduction to Heirs To World Culture: Being Indonesian 1950-1965 (Lindsay and Liem, 2012). 14 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION

Beyond the complex of organisations around the PKI, it even included other radical nationalist organisations and their affiliates, for example the National Party (which for largest part of the pre-1965 period was controlled by its left-wing under the leadership of Ali Sastroamidjojo)8, and smaller parties and organisations such as the Indonesia Party (Partindo) and the Trotskyist ACOMA (“Communist Youth”). It has even been used to create suspicion around post-1965 progressive organisations and movements far removed from the PKI.9 Amongst the organisations and inviduals caught in the regime’s extensive net was Lekra10 (the Institute for People’s Culture), which was founded by fifteen “cultural workers” in August, 1950, and shared both political perspectives and some personnel with the PKI.11 By the early 1960s Lekra was a mass organisation of some one hundred thousand members, organising artists and other cultural workers in a whole series of areas of cultural endeavour, from folk dance to film-making. As such it is probably the largest such organisation to ever have existed anywhere.12 It was almost universally identified as “Lekra/PKI” in Suharto government propaganda and by writers sympathetic to that propaganda. Because of its size and influence before 1965 (and for other reasons that will be explored in the following chapter) it became central to discussion of communism in Indonesian history, especially from the early 1980s onwards. Even since the regime finally fell in mid-1998, every year on the an-

8See Sastroamidjojo (1979) for Sastroamidjojo’s account of this period, written after Suharto’s siezure of power and first published in Indonesian in 1974, one year before the Sastroamidjojo’s death. 9During the Suharto era this revolved around the idea of the “latent danger” of communism. For a contemporary account of New Order era anti-communism, see Goodfellow (1995). 10Abbreviated from Lembaga Kebudajaan Rakjat (The Institute of People’s Culture). 11Foulcher (1986, p. 17). The fifteen “cultural workers” included PKI polit-bureau members Njoto and Aidit, and the communist painter, Sudjojono. 12That is, the largest mass organisation of artists and cultural workers that was not affiliated to a state or the ruling party of a state. Needless to say, in the Stalinist countries the near compulsory membership of state-sanctioned cultural organisations would have meant that several such organisations may well have had memberships of similar or even greater size. But these organisations were qualititatively different from Lekra, which existed as part of a movement that was not controlled by the state, and which constantly faced competition, opposition, and even suppression. 15 niversary of the coups and the killings Indonesian newspapers and television stations continue to run specials on the coup and the period that preceded it, often repeating arguments from Suharto’s “New Order” period. Tempo, Indonesia’s most prominent news magazine, usually runs a special edition each year, and it was therefore no real surprise that in 2013 the special anniversary edition focussed on the role of the Institute of People’s Culture (Lekra ) in the 1950s and 1960s.13 Media such as Tempo and publishers—who have at times had to face bullying and even direct violence—have used the more open environment that has prevailed since 1998 to air and discuss ideas that in one way or another challenge the ideology of the Suharto era. Furthermore, academics and other writers in both Indonesia and overseas have gradually sought to provide and analyse more evidence concerning pre-1965 history (these works will be discussed at greater length in the following chapter). This thesis is a contribution to that growing body of literature and more broadly to the gradual dissolution of the Suharto era ideologies that have not only provided obstacles to understanding Indonesia’s history during the 1950s and 1960s, but have also continued to serve as justification for the on-going oppression of those who were the regime’s victims in 1965-66 and their families. In this sense this work is clearly part of a broader movement aimed at pelurusan sejarah (“putting history straight”) that has emerged since the fall of the New Order regime. It contributes to this “revisionist”14 endeavour through a study of the relationship between culture and the communist movement in the early 1950s based on a detailed reading of extant primary source material. As outlined above, the flagship of the movement around the communist party in this area, Lekra, has featured prominently in post-1965 discussion

13Edisi Khusus Tempo: “LEKRA dan Geger 1965”, Tempo, 30 September-6 Oktober, 2013. 14I am borrowing a term here from scholarly research on the history of the Soviet Union, especially of the Russian revolution of 1917 and its aftermath. See the seminal Rethinking the Russian Revolution (Acton, 1990), amongst many others that sought to rethink Russian and Soviet history in the aftermath of the collapse of Stalinism in Europe after 1989. 16 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION of the movement, and will consequently feature prominently in this study. Moreover, it is also important to note that it is not simply a matter of Lekra being a prominent phenomenon in Indonesian history, it is also a relatively exceptional case in world history: a truly mass organisation of artists and other cultural workers with no direct link to state power. These factors alone are grounds enough for a focus on “cultural communism”, but there are other reasons for this focus, not the least of which is a broader focus on culture prominent in the Indonesian national liberation movement as a whole.15 Post-1965 accounts of the period between 1950 and 1965 have tended to focus on the “hot” period immediately preceding the coup and counter-coup of 1965. Even when such efforts have aimed at “putting straight” the biases of the Suharto era, this focus in itself reflects the distortions of New Order regime propaganda, with its narrative of the coup as the climax of a tale of national betrayal and moral depravity. This study, following the lead of several others since the mid-2000s, seeks to counter that bias by focussing on the relatively neglected period immediately following the recognition of Indonesia’s sovereignty. The period chosen for this study, 1950-55, began with the communist movement in disarray and ended with the party emerging as one of the “big four” parties following the elections of 1955. By the end of the period, the PKI and the movement around it had laid a firm foundation for the important role in national politics that it played in the following decade, a role that concluded with the slaughter of 1965. The relative neglect of this period is good reason to study it, but it is important in doing so that the events of that time are not read teleologically as pre-cursors to the more heated and controversial period of the mid 1960s.16 While events, ideas, and activity may have meaning for historical actors in relation to an imagined future (and this is certainly the case for activists in the communist movement in the early 1950s), it naturally can never have

15Perhaps the most famous example of which is the prominence given to culture by the key pre-war nationalist leader, Ki Hadjar Dewantara (Soewardi Soerjaningrat), in his educational philosophy which formed the central ideological basis for the formation of the independent educational movement Taman Siswa. See Tsuchiya (1987). 16Which is not to suggest that there were not significant conflicts in the early 1950s. As we will see below, there was a significant level of industrial conflict in the early 1950s, and episodes like the Sukiman raids also provide examples of significant human rights abuses. 17 meaning for them in relation to the actual future as it unfolds subsequently. This thesis treats activists in and around the communist movement as normal historical actors, whose activity has meaning mostly in contemporary and past conditions, rather than those of succeeding periods. An important aspect of this approach is avoiding the idea of seeing communism and communists during the period as either essentially malevolent or, for that matter, heroic, or even tragic. In short, the events of the period will not be seen as having meaning only or principally through their relationship to those of the mid 1960s. Given this, in the discussion of the period the way key terms like “communism”/“communist” and “Marxism”/“Marxist” are used needs to be con- textualised, because both sets of terms have had controversial and diverse meanings at different times, in different contexts, for different groups, individuals, and institutions. “Communism” for most people has a meaning associated in one way or another with the political system that emerged in the Soviet Union in the 1920s and 1930s following the Russian revolution of 1917. In the case of the PKI and the movement around it, this relates to two key issues: looking to Stalin’s Soviet Union and other polities, such as the People’s Republic of China—in idealised form, of course—as a model; and a set of broad grass roots organisational practices and approaches associated over the previous century with left-leaning grassroots politics (e.g. union organisation, strikes, pickets, demonstrations, boycotts, etc.). That the first issue is to a significant extent in contradiction with the second is important to understanding the real social meaning of organisations like the PKI. Oth- erwise we might be drawn to treating the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) and the PKI of the early 1950s as direct equivalents simply because they used the same label and the PKI looked to the state ruled by the CPSU as a model, which is essentially what much anti-communist propaganda both before and after 1965 has done. Communist movement activists did not see their movement as being authoritarian and anti-democratic, and the movement did not attract people to their organisations on the basis of control of the levers of state power—indeed, throughout the 1950s the PKI and the movement around it was oppositional, 18 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION even marginal. Like other such parties in similar situations (for example the communist parties of Italy or France, of India, or even of Australia), it could only attract people in significant numbers on the basis of its ability to organise around issues of relevance to the conditions of ordinary Indonesians. In this sense it might be worthwhile using a composite term like “popular Stal- inism” to differentiate the Stalinism of a popular mass party like the PKI from the Stalinism of a bureaucratic party of state rule, like the CPSU. This thesis might therefore be said to be an exploration of a particular aspect (broadly, cultural politics) of an instance of “popular Stalinism”. It includes discussion of aspects of ideology and praxis relevant to culture in and around a popular oppositional movement. To this end, in this thesis words “communism” and “communist” will be used in what could be called a “descriptive” (rather than analytical) way. Its use will be tied to the two issues identified above. Usually these terms will describe something associated with the PKI and the movement around it, or something associated with the Stalinist states and parties that existed in the period (whether ruling parties or “popular Stalinist” parties). This practice in no way attributes particular political meaning beyond these associations, in much the same way that one might have referred to the former East German state as the “German Democratic Republic”, without in anyway suggesting that it actually was a democratic state. A key argument of the second chapter of the thesis is that basic secondary literature covering cultural politics in the history of the communist movement in the period (particularly for the early 1950s) is only just beginning to emerge. This means that the resources to build a grounded understanding of the communist movement have only just begun to form. It is therefore dangerous to attribute particular theoretical meanings to terms and labels used in the movement. For this reason, the terms “Marxist” and “Marxism” will be avoided on many occasions, and where they are used will usually have an “analytical” meaning, that is they will have a theoretical sense of referring to ideas or activity that are consistent with the key political ideas of Karl Marx. To this end, it is important to remember that the number of phenomena labelled “Marxist” is far greater than those that can be theoretically 19 justified as “Marxist”. The extent to which the movement around the PKI can be justifiably be categorized as Marxist is a topic that awaits further study, but for the purposes of this thesis the starting point will be the PKI’s obvious role as a prominent nationalist and anti-colonial/imperialist organisation. The ideas and activity of the movement around the PKI will be the ideas actually expressed in the key PKI media outlet of the period, Harian Rakjat (“The People’s Daily”), not what particular labels (“Marxist”, “Communist”, etc.) might mean to modern readers. Except where particular bodies of theory are important to understanding details of the primary source material, the thesis will not spend time elucidating theory that might be thought to be relevant. For these reasons, there will be no significant discussion of Marxist theory, although at certain points the presentation might be informed by such theory. In some places, however, some bodies of ideas will nevertheless need to be elucidated: for instance in endeavouring to understand the ideas around cultural politics described in Chapter Four, it is important to understand something of the nature of the influences from the international Stalinist movement that were relevant to communist movement intellectuals in the period. In this sense, the thesis is clearly “exploratory”. It seeks to minimise presumptions about the history being studied, being conscious of the way that tropes about the movement and its history have been used to discourage grounded open discussion and research, and the way they have been used to directly or indirectly justify the violence and repression perpetrated by the New Order regime at its genesis and throughout its rule (and continue to be used to justify undemocratic politics). These tropes continue to colour our understanding of the movement’s history, even for writers and researchers sympathetic to the victims of New Order violence. The antidote to the influence of these biases is a grounded, descriptive approach based on detailed study of primary sources and, wherever possible, the use of voices from contemporary sources, where they still exist. This explains the extent of direct quotes in the thesis, which seeks wherever possible to build up a picture of the ideas and activities of the movement based on 20 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION the words of activists from the movement itself. This is not to say that there are not problems with this approach, or that there will not be a role for more “analytical” work, but rather to say that this work will be more effective if based on detailed study of primary sources: it merely reflects a particular view of the most efficacious way of developing and testing theory. “Communist” and “Marxist” are, needless to say, not the only terms with which we will have to be careful in this thesis. For example, “Culture”, unless otherwise stated, will not be understood in the broad anthropological sense, but rather in the much narrower sense of “the practice, appreciation, consumption, and organisation of artistic expression” (a sense even narrower than that of Cultural Studies). Other key terms, such as “realism”, “socialist realism”, seni untuk rakjat (“art for the people”), and seni rakjat (“people’s art”) will be used as they emerge from discussion, and will generally be elaborated in so far as they were in the discussions in the available primary sources. When quoting these primary sources, I will be using their original orthography, rather than the common practice of modernising spelling to suit contemporary conventions. There are two problems with this latter approach. The first is that the 1950s was a period of transition in terms of the development of the national language, and a number of writers on the left in the period experimented in various ways in their endeavours to present the new national language in a more kerakjatan17 way. This can present challenges, since it is not clear what should be modernised for consistency with modern orthography, and what should be left as it is in the original to make it consistent with contemporary orthography. The second issue is that modernising orthography can alienate people from actual primary sources, making them less accessible because readers become unaccustomed to older forms.18

17A term that is diﬃcult to translate, but is somewhere between “democratic”, “populist”, “salt of the earth”, and “of the common people”. The root word of the term, rakjat (the people; the common people), was at the root of a number of key terms for cultural communists. 18This is an argument that was made by the prominent novelist and historian, Pramoedya Ananta Toer. 21

Throughout the study I will be referring to both the “communist party” (or “PKI”) and the “communist movement” (or “the movement around the PKI”). These two terms are distinct, the former referring to the formal entity, the Communist Party of Indonesia, while the latter will refer to the wider ecology of organisations and activities that surrounded the PKI, including the significant number of “fellow travelling” organisations, such as Lekra and the trade union federation, SOBSI. This is not meant to suggest that these organisations were under the direct control of the PKI, or that they had identical political ideologies to the PKI, but is rather simple recognition of the fact that they were part of a broad movement that had as its central strand the PKI, even as it also had relationships to other political currents, or had conflicts with the dominant lines of the PKI at particular times or on particular issues. This in itself is a conscious move away from the notion of Indonesian communism being something monolithic and malevolent, a perception born of the propaganda of the Suharto era. I will concentrate on the cultural pages of the daily newspaper, Harian Rakjat (“The People’s Daily”, henceforth HR) as an object of study because for most of the period HR was the official organ of the PKI19. The end of 1955 was chosen as the cut-off point for this study, as it can be seen as marking the transition from a period when most of Indonesia’s political organisations looked to the elections as a way of resolving political conflicts to a period when different organisations and institutions (including President Sukarno and the army) jockeyed for power in the aftermath of the elections’ inconclusive results. While calls for fresh elections continued into the 1960s, it would not be until 1999 that such a wide swathe of Indonesian society would again be looking to free parliamentary elections to resolve political antagonisms.20

19HR was established as the organ of the PKI in July, 1951, but does not appear to have come under complete control of the party (e.g. it was not PKI property) until mid-1952. The collection at the National Library of Australia (and at many other libraries) begins in September, roughly at the time that Mula Naibaho moved from the Surabaya based Zaman Baru to become the controlling editor of HR, a move marking the consolidation of media arrangements for the PKI under the new leadership of Aidit, Njoto and Lukman. See Hindley (1964, p. 67, 72). 20It is important at this point to note a signiﬁcant diﬀerence between the early 1950s 22 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION

Before moving on to a detailed analysis of Harian Rakjat, however, I will begin in Chapter Two with a survey of literature on the communist movement and its relationship to culture, moving especially from a discussion of the varied literature on this period that appeared in the shadow of the New Order regime, and then on to that produced more recently as a more liberal political culture developed and consolidated itself following the collapse of Suharto’s presidency in the late 1990s. The second part of the thesis focuses on the relationship between context, activity, and ideas about culture in the communist movement. In Chapter Three I will begin with an outline of the political and historical context of cultural activity in and around the communist movement in the period, before moving on to a detailed study of material in Kebudajaan focused on what might be learnt about the organisation of culture in the movement, and the meaning it had in the political context. This provides a sense of the environment, the “ecology” in which ideas and aspirations around cultural expression in the movement grew and developed. Chapter Four looks at these ideas, as they were expressed in Kebudajaan. This discussion focusses on what writers actually wrote in the supplement, rather than relying on stereotypes of New Order propaganda or Cold War tropes. It nevertheless makes some reference to these ideas, since part of the current meaning of these writings is precisely the distance between dominant ideas of the nature of the Indonesian communist movement and its relationship to culture and extant primary source evidence. Part Three consists of an investigation of three key areas of cultural endeavour in the movement, as they are reflected in Kebudajaan: cinema, live performing arts, and finally short creative prose. Each of these areas provided different opportunities and challenges for the movement, and provide a variety of insights both into the role of culture in the movement, and the movement’s apparent vision for national culture and for Indonesian society and post-reformasi Indonesia: in the early 1950s Indonesia never reached the stage of enshrining parliamentary democracy in a constitution, let alone to the stage of having a functional elected parliamentary government. It is also important to record that there were significant instances of political repression and human rights abuses, not the least of which was the “Sukiman Raids”, which will be discussed in the next chapter. 23 more broadly. Chapter Five concentrates on cinema, which was a key form of emerging global mass culture, but was a still weak in Indonesia. Conversely, Chapter Six looks at forms of cultural expression that were vital and vibrant in the period: live performing arts. These forms were embraced and celebrated enthusiastically by the movement, and appear to have played an important role in the vision that key movement leaders had for the development of national culture. Chapter Six then centers on a set of forms that were largely amateur (in Kebudajaan, that is), but provide contrasting insights—firstly since they were actually “performed” (i.e. published) in the supplement, and in that sense give us insight into how activists saw their own activity, that of others in the movement, and the conditions and development of Indonesian society more broadly. The detailed studies in Parts Two and Three provide a number of unexpected insights, as well as elaborating perspectives that have begun to be developed in other writing on the period. Above all, they contribute to the production of a more human, more concrete, and more complex picture of the communist movement and its relationship to culture. 24 CHAPTER 1. INTRODUCTION Chapter 2

Communism and Culture in Indonesian History

Introduction

The period between 1950 and 1965 was a period of transition from the struggle for national liberation to more mundane nation building, i.e. “development” (pembangunan). This is not to argue that the events of 1965-66 were the necessary end point of that process, that history “demanded” a more technocratic and authoritarian leadership such as that oﬀered by the New Order regime, and the period merely represented the process of this need being worked out by Indonesian society. Nevertheless, Indonesia was confronted by a general problem faced by newly independent nations in the great period of decolonisation in the three decades following the end of World War Two: the transition from the need to unify disparate interests and mobilise masses of people for the cause of conquering state power to the need to consolidate and build that nation-state in the face of conﬂict between those same disparate interests. The latter included not simply the interests of those who had played active roles in the struggle for national liberation, but also those of groups that stood aside from that struggle or even those who opposed the

25 26 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE nationalist movement, but which continued to play important roles in the economy, state administration or the military. Beyond this there was also the need to find some kind of equilibrium in the face of conflicts between differing national interests on the global stage, which in this period meant above all negotiating the tensions of the Cold War.

This struggle for Indonesia’s future did not play out in a smooth, un- contradictory way, but consisted of a diverse range of possibilities being explored, conflicts erupting and subsiding, and then finally the savage finale in which the military took decisive control of state power amidst the murders of hundreds of thousands of people. A central argument of this thesis is that elements of Indonesian history which did not lead to that end point, or which were eliminated by the repression of 1965-66, can nevertheless be important aspects of that history. The context of gross human rights abuses at the genesis of Suharto’s “New Order” regime make this especially important, since these have in part been justified by an account of Indonesian history that sought to hide such elements in the interests of creating a morality tale of the emergence of the regime as national saviour. And this itself is reinforced by the fact that such narratives were used to justify on-going repression until the fall of the regime in 1998, and even more so since these narratives continue even up to the present day to have resonance and obscure our view of history before 1965-66.

This thesis is part of efforts to revisit this history, to uncover some of what has been obscured, and to recover such elements in the face of the continued impact of more than three decades of authoritarian rule. It is an attempt to step back, study contemporary material with new eyes, with the admittedly partisan, but legitimate, aim of “putting history straight”, not in the sense of providing a definitive, final view of the period or any particular aspect of it, ACADEMIC STUDY OF THE COMMUNIST MOVEMENT BEFORE 1965-6627 but to encourage views of that history that no longer echo or help perpetuate elements of the abuses of years of military rule. In this chapter, I will survey the development of the development of the New Order narrative of the period, especially as it relates to culture, and its impact on how culture and cultural politics in the period have been viewed. As I do this, I will move on to discussing more academic approaches and dissident voices on this history. Finally, I will discuss the emergence of “revisionist” approaches to the period. I will begin, though, by discussing work that was produced before 1965-66, or in its imediate aftermath.

Academic Study of the Communist Movement before 1965-66

Indonesia was a key front in the Cold War, and as the 1950s proceeded this key strategic positioning of Indonesia appears to have encouraged several studies of the Indonesian communist movement, especially after the PKI began to play a leading role in national level politics following the elections of 1955. These studies included those that focused on the history of the party prior to the period1, as well as several signiﬁcant studies that sought to understand the contemporary communist movement. Most prominent amongst these is Donald Hindley’s 1964 study, The Com- munist Party of Indonesia, 1951-1963.2 Unlike several other sources on the communist party or the communist movement more generally, Hindley gives relatively even coverage of the period from the recognition of Indonesian

1E.g. McVey’s work on the early history of the communist period in the colonial period (McVey, 1965), or her studies of the relationship between the communists, the nationalist movement more broadly and the Soviet Union (McVey, 1954, 1957). 2Hindley (1964). 28 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE sovereignty to the “hot” period of the mid 1960s. It will be a key source throughout this thesis and covers many of the key issues for the communist movement during the period, although there are some important areas that are missed, for example coverage of the Sumatran land disputes, such as that at Tanjung Morawa, that were so prominent in the early 1950s. Of particular relevance to this study is the fact that Hindley spends little time on Lekra or on culture more generally in the movement.

Another study that was largely the result of the experience of the pre- 1965-66 period was Rex Mortimer’s classic study of the Indonesian Commu- nist Party during the “Guided Democracy” period (1959-1965), Indonesian Communism under Sukarno: Ideology and Politics, 1959-1965.3 Mortimer was a Communist Party of Australia leader and participant in the 1940s solidarity campaign with Indonesian independence. He left the party in the mid 1960s to complete a PhD in Southeast Asian Studies at Monash University, which was the basis for his book. It represents something of a transitional work, in that it is in many ways informed by work immediately before the events of 1965-66 and the direct aftermath of the crushing of the communist movement. Its focus is the early 1960s, but does cover some issues of relevance to our study (above all the important issue of the party’s relationship to religion, which will be considered in Chapter Seven in relation to the way issues related to religion and morality are represented in short creative prose in Harian Rakjat). But Mortimer makes almost no reference to cultural activity in the communist movement, with Lekra only mentioned twice (once on p. 244 in relation to the 1964 campaign against ﬁlms from the United States, and on p. 366 in a list of mass organisations associated with the PKI). Mortimer’s focus is also largely on strategy, rather than the detail

3Mortimer (1974). ACADEMIC STUDY OF THE COMMUNIST MOVEMENT BEFORE 1965-6629 of grass roots activity.4 Other studies, such as Justus M. van der Kroef’s study a year later5, are more coloured by Cold War anti-communism, but nevertheless provide some information (although not always reliable) and useful discussion. References to culture in the movement are extremely limited, however, and at times problematic. Not only this, but the focus still tends to be on the latter part of the period, rather than the early 1950s.6 Some works focussed on culture produced before or around 1965-66 have material of relevance to this study. Of particular signiﬁcance is James Pea- cock’s brilliant study of early 1960s Ludruk, which we will be using in chapter six, and Claire Holt’s magisterial Art in Indonesia: Continuities and Change, which includes valuable detail of both Lekra activity and key communist movement sanggar (more on this institution in chapter four), such as Pelukis Rakjat (“The People’s Painters”) and Seniman Indonesia Muda (SIM, “Young Indonesian Artists”).7 Before proceeding to a deeper investigations of issues, I will begin with a discussion of the development of the New Order narrative regarding culture in the communist movement. As I do this, I will discuss

4This is also the case with Törnquist (1984), which will be discussed below. In both cases there is an element of reassessment of PKI strategy in the wake of the decisive and bloody defeat of 1965-66. This is a contrast with Hindley, whose research was completed almost two years before the killings. 5The Communist Party of Indonesia : its history, program and tactics ([van der Kroef], 1965). 6Van der Kroef includes a relatively long discussion of the 1959 Lekra Congress, but provides little detail of the history of the organisation, leaving his presentation abstract and focusing on the latter part of the institute’s development, rather than the period we are concerned with in this study. Not only this, but the his book seeks to present the entire history of the PKI to that point (i.e. from formation in 1920 until the mid 1960s), which dilutes any discussion of the early 1950s in particular. Beyond this, coverage of Lekra is problematic in that van der Kroef claims that the institute only had 6000 members in the 1960s (with no identiﬁed source or evidence) and that the institute was “essentially élite-minded” ([van der Kroef], 1965, p. 217). Brackman (1963) is even more staunchly anti-communist and likewise seeks to cover the entire history of the PKI, and likewise barely mentions Lekra or culture. 7Peacock (1968); Holt (1967). 30 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE parallel developments in academic considerations of the matter, especially as the lead to the situation since 1998, which has seen both an opening up of discussion and investigation, and the continued resilience of Suharto era tropes.

The New Order Narrative

Suharto’s regime started propagating its version of pre-1965 history soon after the killings and arrests began, using its dominance of the mass media to potent eﬀect (left-leaning publications had been banned in the immediate aftermath of the coup and counter-coup). Its account of the cultural element of pre-1965 politics followed suit, and was developed throughout the regime’s time in power, continuing to cast a long shadow over public and academic discussion of culture and politics of the period before October, 1965. By the late 1960s, the Malaysian writer and critic, Yahaya Ismail, was writing a thesis at the University of Indonesia on Lekra and currents around it under the super- vision of Indonesia’s foremost literary critic (and staunch anti-communist), H.B. Jassin.8 In the early 1970s this was then published as a book, Per- tumbuhan, Perkembangan dan Kejatuhan Lekra di Indonesia (“The Growth, Development, and Fall of Lekra in Indonesia”)9, with a foreword by Jassin. Jassin makes it clear exactly what the assessment of Lekra will be:

Didirikan tahun 1950 Lembaga Kebudayaan Rakyat dari tahun ke

8Jassin was pressured in 1964 to step down from his position at the University of In- donesia due to a “retooling” campaign. “Retooling”, amongst other things, involved the replacement of people in authority that were seen to be sympathetic to Western imperialism by figures considered more staunchly radical nationalist. To this point no significant study has been made of the use of this term in various campaigns and debates in the early 1960s. Its use was not limited to the Left, but appears to have been more prominent there. 9Ismail (1972). Despite its strong anti-communism, it is interesting to note that the book was published in Malaysia rather than Indonesia. Possibly Indonesian authorities were frightened of the “any publicity is good publicity” effect. THE NEW ORDER NARRATIVE 31

tahun tumbuh jadi satu organisasi kebudayaan yang agresif sebagai alat Partai Komunis Indonesia, di samping organisasi lainnya yang beraﬁliasi dengan partai itu. Inilah alat PKI untuk mengua- sai lapangan kebudayaan dan kesusastraan dalam usahanya mere- but kekuasaan di Indonesia. Semboyannya “Politik adalah Pang- lima” dirasakan oleh seniman dan cendekiawan merdeka sebagai ancaman terhadap kebebasan mencipta dan kebebasan berpikir. . .

Founded in 1950, the Institute of People’s Culture grew from year to year to become an agressive organisation that was a tool of the Communist Party of Indonesia, alongside other organisations that were aﬃliated with that party. It was the tool of the PKI for dominating the area of literature and culture within the PKI’s wider endeavour to conquer power in Indonesia. The In- stitute’s slogan, “Politics in Command” was felt by independent artists and intellectuals to be a threat to freedom of thought and creativity. . . 10

Throughout the book, the focus is squarely on the “hot” period of 1962- 65, and no space is given to a consideration of a communist viewpoint on developments. The largest part of Lekra’s history is ignored, and even for the mid-1960s many key questions are left unanswered.11 The Institute is

10Ismail (1972, p. ix). 11For example, if “communist” figures like Pramoedya Ananta Toer (a major target in the book) were really so powerful, how was it that a book of his Hoakiau di Indonesia (“The Chinese Diaspora in Indonesia”) (Toer, 1960) could be banned and he could be jailed? The former head of the Left Nationalist “Institute of National Culture”, Sitor Situmorang, was careful to point to the repression meted out to the left before 1965-66, when he was given the opportunity to speak at a 1993 seminar on the cultural politics of the early 1960s (see below on pages 47–49). Several others have also made this point, both in terms of the repression suffered by key cultural figures like Pramoedya and the popular left-wing poet Agam Wispy, as well as left organisations more broadly, such as PKI-led unions of workers and peasants. See, for example, Lane (2008, Chapters 1 & 2). 32 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE presented as a monolithic tool of a communist conspiracy, and Ismail even goes as far as to devote a chapter to Sitor Situmorang and the PNI (National Party) aligned LKN (Lembaga Kebudajaan Nasional: Institute of National Culture), presenting him and the LKN as a simple extension of Lekra and the PKI.12

Nevertheless, Ismail’s work was the ﬁrst attempt to write a history of Lekra, and it does provide a relatively detailed account of the New Order’s version of Lekra history, a version of history that was to inﬂuence both an- tagonistic and sympathetic accounts of the relationship between Indonesian communism and culture. In his account, Lekra is simply the cultural representative of the PKI, and therefore part of an alien and nefarious movement, from which Indonesia was saved by the New Order regime in 1965.

“The Fear of Stultiﬁcation”

In the early 1970s, the first serious academic work outside Indonesia on Lekra’s history was undertaken by the Dutch academic Henk Maier, the culmination of which was his Doctorandus thesis.13 This was the first earnest attempt to come to terms with the organisation’s contribution to Indonesian cultural history, in particular literary history. It includes chapters outlining the ideas of six major literary critical figures in LEKRA - A.S. Dharta, Boejoeng Saleh, Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Rivai Apin, Joebaar Ajoeb and Bakri Siregar. Material from the thesis was later presented in an article ti- tled “Lekra: De Angst voor Verstarring” (“Lekra: The Fear of Stultification”)

12Ismail (1972, Chapter 7). 13Maier (1974). Ideologievorming van de Lekra 1950-59 (“Ideology Formation in Lekra, 1950-59”). Doctorandus Thesis, University of Leiden. “THE FEAR OF STULTIFICATION” 33 for De Gids.14 This was the ﬁrst study that endeavoured to leave behind Cold War politics. It moved away from the New Order focus on the “hot” period immediately preceding the events of 1965, seeking to investigate the 1950s rather than the 1960s. It introduced a series of key themes that are important to the study of Lekra history: the relationship between national and local forms, and between “traditional” or folk forms and modern forms; the relationship between the broad politics of the PKI’s “National United Front” policy and the communist movement’s approach to culture; as well as the roots of Lekra’s politics and approach in the history of the nationalist movement. In these works, Maier was also amongst the ﬁrst to recognise the importance of the historical research conducted by Pramoedya Ananta Toer and others in Lekra:

In particular Pramoedya Ananta Toer should be given credit for trying to provide Indonesian nationalism with a new historical dimension; under his leadership, literary work was dug up that had been almost completely suppressed by the authority of Balai Poestaka and Poedjangga Baroe. The work of authors like Tirto Adisurjo, Pangemanann, Mas Marco, and Thio Tjin Boen showed that resistance to suppression and intimidation, revolt against injustice and cruelty had already found literary expression as early as at the beginning of this century. Nationalism could draw inspiration from the endeavours of these people and Indonesian authors should take their work as an example. (Maier, 1987, p. 20).

14Maier (1983). This article was itself translated and revised by the author as “Chairil Anwar’s Heritage: The Fear of Stultiﬁcation—Another Side of Modern Indonesian Liter- ature” in the Cornell University journal Indonesia (Maier, 1987). 34 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

But Maier’s work lacked detail for many of the claims he made15, and his work was an isolated incidence in the period in which it was published. The beginnings of a broader literature and renewed public discussion required the return to the national (and international) stage of the ﬁgure Maier had singled out as a key intellectual in Indonesian thought on national culture and politics: Pramoedya Ananta Toer.

The Bumi Manusia Controversy and the split among the liberals From the mid-1970s onwards the Suharto government began to release writers and other cultural figures who had been imprisoned (universally without trial) and in many cases exiled to the Indonesian Gulag on the island of Buru. One of the last to be released was the writer Pramoedya Ananta Toer. During his time on Buru, Pramoedya wrote several books. Amongst these works was the Bumi Manusia (“This Earth of Mankind”) tetralogy for which Pramoedya was to become internationally known.16 The publication and subsequent banning of the first instalment of this work set in train discussions in the print media concerning Pramoedya’s alleged role in oppressing liberal/pro-Western and Islamic writers and artists in the mid-1960s. These discussions also covered in some detail the role and history of Lekra—although for the most part this meant reiterating different variations on the core New Order narrative of Lekra history.17

15At times these claims also seem contradictory. For example, the quote above immediately follows a passage in which Maier claims “Indonesia’s past was not very interesting for Lekraists” (Maier, 1987, p. 20). 16Also known as the “Buru Tetralogy”. This consists of Bumi Manusia (Toer, 1980b); Anak Semua Bangsa (Toer, 1980a); Jejak Langkah (Toer, 1985); and Rumah Kaca (Toer, 1988). Published in English as This Earth of Mankind (Toer, 1982); Child of All Nations (Toer, 1984); Footsteps (Toer, 1990); and House of Glass (Toer, 1992). The ﬁrst two volumes have also been published as a single book under the title “Awakenings” (Toer, 1991). These novels were among several books composed while he was incarcerated on the prison island of Buru, initially orally, then in handwritten exercise books, and ﬁnally using a battered and somewhat dysfunctional typewriter. 17It should be noted that these presentations of Lekra history and Pramoedya’s role generally occurred in the context of opposing the banning of Pramoedya’s novel. So, for THE BUMI MANUSIA CONTROVERSY 35

Central to these presentations were commandist interpretations of the slogan “politics in command” (politik adalah panglima, literally “politics is the commander”), a slogan that was promoted in the mid-1960s. A typical example of the way the slogan was used and Lekra history was generally presented in the early 1980s is provided by Sori Siregar’s “Literature and Politics from One Period to Another”18:

“Kebudayaan” buat mereka adalah senjata perjuangan untuk meng- hancurkan musuh. . . Untuk mensukseskan perjuangan revolusioner mereka, Lekra dengan gencar berusaha melumpuhkan semua garis kebudayaan yang tidak mendukung garis kebudayaan versi mereka. . .

Lembaran-lembaran kebudayaan di surat-surat kabar dan majalah penuh dengan agitasi dan insinuasi untuk memenangkan perjuangan partai. . . Dengan semboyan “politik adalah panglima” Lekra terus memukul lawan-lawannya tanpa ampun. Lekra telah menjadi organisasi yang sangat ditakuti oleh budayawan-budayawan dan sastrawan-sastrawan non-komunis. . . Menurut ajaran komunis ini, setiap alat harus dipergunakan sepenuhnya untuk kepentingan cita-cita partai. Kalau kesusastraan menjadi alat propaganda, hal itu merupakan keharusan bagi perjuangan partai.

“Culture” for them was a weapon in their revolutionary struggle to destroy their opponents . . . In order to achieve their revolutionary example, anti-Lekra hardliner and mastermind of the anti-communist “Cultural Manifesto” of 1963, Wiratmo Soekito, declared himself opposed to the banning of the novel. See Wiratmo Soekito “Lekraisme dan Anti Lekraisme” in Berita Buana, 28/10/80. It should be noted, however, that Wiratmo was most certainly not arguing any kind of liberal line in 1965-66. See Wiratmo Soekito “Perlukah Larangan Buku-buku Komunis?” in Merdeka, 6/11/66. Although publicly the controversy only led to a split between liberal and hardline anti-Lekra positions, in student discussion groups and elsewhere, the New Order’s version of Indonesian history began to be challenged more fundamentally. See Lane (2008, Chapter 4). The Cultural Manifesto (Manifesto Kebudajaan) was a public declaration by anti-communist writers and intelectuals. It was an attempt, welcomed and actively supported by the army, to counter the extensive inﬂuence of Lekra and other left- wing cultural organisations like LKN. See Goenawan Mohamad (1988a,b) for an insider’s account of the Manifesto and surrounding events. 18“Kesusasteraan dan Politik dari Masa ke Masa”, in Zaman, 6 Tahun II, 2/11/80. 36 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

goal, Lekra continually endeavoured to smear all cultural currents that did not support their cultural attitudes. . . The cultural pages of newspapers and magazines were full of agitation and insinuation aimed at furthering the cause of the party. . . With the slogan “politics in command”, Lekra continually and mercilessly attacked its opponents. Lekra became an organisation that was feared by non-communist artists and writers. . . According to this communist teaching, every possible tool must be used to its fullest in the interests of the party. If this means that literature becomes a propaganda tool, then that is just a necessity in the party’s struggle.19

This slogan continued to be brought up whenever Lekra and the relationship between communism and culture before 1965 emerged as an issue in public debate throughout the latter half of the New Order regime’s rule. It was proffered as evidence of Lekra’s authoritarianism by both more liberal and hard-line anti-communist writers. Nevertheless, the rifts between these two currents of New Order cultural opinion continued to develop throughout the 1980s, with differing attitudes to pre-1965 history playing a significant role in the evolution these tensions. According to Wiratmo, friction amongst former signatories of the anti- communist “Cultural Manifesto”20 had already emerged in the 1970s21, but it was in the aftermath of the Bumi Manusia that these differences became openly apparent, expressed in a series of more or less heated and extended debates. Throughout much of these debates Lekra and Lekra history was a prominent theme, even if surviving Lekraists were unable to participate. On the one hand, liberal writers would either defend the human rights of ex-Lekraists or

19Siregar (1980). 20For a brief explanation of the “Cultural Manifesto”, see the footnote above on the preceding page. 21See Wiratmo Soekito, “Satyagraha Hoerip atau Apologia Pro Vita Lekra”, in Horison XXVII (November, 1982), also reproduced in same author, Kesusastraan dan Kekuasaan (Soekito, 1984). The latter should not be confused with the book of the same title by Goenawan Mohamad, which was published in 1993. SOCIAL COMMITMENT 37 argue for more sociological and political interpretations of art and the artistic process; on the other, conservative writers would loudly warn of the dangers of communism, of its past wrong-doing in the ﬁeld of art, or would accuse liberal writers of trying to revive its artistic doctrines in another form.22

Social Commitment in Literature and the Arts

These debates seem to have stimulated interest outside Indonesia, and in 1986 Keith Foulcher published the ﬁrst scholarly history of Lekra covering the whole period of the Institute’s existence: Social Commitment in Literature and the Arts: The Indonesian “Institute of People’s Culture”, 1950-1965.23 For the ﬁrst time readers were provided with an outline of the organisation’s history from foundation to destruction in late 1965, as well as short anthologies of work and key documents (in both the original Indonesian and in English translation). Lekra history was placed in the context of post-1965 cultural politics (Chapter 1), as well as that of the “Great Debate” in culture before independence (Chapter 2). Foulcher also drew attention to a key element of 1950s Lekra culture—the prevalence of “reportage” and “personal statement” stories in media associated with the Institute, arguing that these works constitute an untheorised departure from the dominant norms of literary aesthetics in the period:

A more radical departure [from dominant aesthetics] occurs in the extension of the “personal statement” style of story-telling into reportage contributions. . . These “stories” are Indonesian language compositions [as opposed to regional language compositions] by individuals without pretensions to the status of writers, telling of the conditions of their own lives, or an experience of public signiﬁcance which they have lived through. They contain no au- thorial mediation at all, and as such they are not short stories in any recognised literary sense. LEKRA’s publication of them

22See Foulcher (1987) and Heryanto (1985). 23Foulcher (1986). 38 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

in Harian Rakyat’s “Cultural Aﬀairs” page is a radical aesthetic gesture, however, because it indicates the possibility of a turning away from established conventions of Indonesian literature. . . 24

Foulcher endeavours to situate Lekra history in the broader environment of Indonesian nationalism, and to explain the work and motivations of Lekra artists in ways that do not present the Institute and its members as “black hat” characters in a nefarious foreign plot. This allowed him to put forward ideas that might help to explain phenomena that continued to be of importance even in the New Order debates—for example, to explain why visual artists tended to be more strongly aligned to Lekra than writers (and, by extension, why it might be that the battle in literary circles between 1963 and 1965 was bitter, as well as why discussions post-1965 continued to be literature-focused).25 Foulcher, who wrote his honours thesis on the “Cultural Manifesto”26, was consciously reacting against the anti-communist cultural ideology that had dominated discourse from 1965:

One of the major purposes in the foregoing study has been to

24Foulcher (1986, p. 53-54). Interestingly, Foulcher’s discussion does not connect the reportage prose of “individuals without pretensions to the status of writers” to the reportage poetry of prominent and emerging Lekra writers, such as Agam Wispi and Amarzan Ismail Hamid. I will return to the them of “reportage” literature in Chapter 7. 25He writes: The production of painting and the plastic arts, unlike literature for example, is an expensive undertaking, quite apart from questions of the artist’s day- to-day income, and LEKRA oﬀered the kind of organizational and ﬁnancial support networks which artists required for the practice of their creative expression. (Foulcher, 1986, p. 42)

26The ﬁrst chapter of the thesis was published as “A Survey of Events Surrounding ‘Manikebu’: The Struggle For Cultural and Intellectual Freedom in Indonesian Literature” in Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (Foulcher, 1969). The title of the article (and the almost identical title of the thesis) clearly indicate that Foulcher’s sympathies are with the signatories. And indeed his account is close to what was becoming the dominant narrative of the New Order cultural ideology, which held the Manifesto up as a key instance of resistance in the face of communist oppression. In this sense, the development of Foulcher’s ideas on the period mirrored those of several liberal supporters of the Manifesto (like Goenawan Mohammad, Arief Budiman, and Rendra), who gradually became more and more critical of this narrative, especially in the 1980s and early 1990s. SOCIAL COMMITMENT 39

modify the popular conception of LEKRA as a tool for PKI political ambitions, a vehicle for the dissemination of political propaganda in cultural form.27

In contrast to this popular presentation, Social Commitment asserts that “The LEKRA movement was a wider and more dynamic movement than this view would suggest, representing an area of largely autonomous cultural practice”.28 This type of sentiment is repeated in several places in the book, for example:

I am suggesting. . . that there is a history of LEKRA, with its own internal dynamics, quite separate from PKI political history. . . I believe that the proper perspective is to move from the body of ideas and impulses which formed the core of LEKRA, outwards to inﬂuence from and conﬂuence with the PKI, rather than the reverse.29

This certainly provides a better starting point than the assumption that Lekra was simply the “tool” of the PKI (an organisation with which the Insti- tute never had a formal organisational link).30 Nevertheless, some problems still remain. In the first place, such an approach can contain something of a denial of the relationship between the PKI and Lekra. In interviews conducted by the author prior to this study, former Lekraists often talked of the relationship between the PKI and Lekra as being that of organisations that were sealiran (of the same current). To a certain extent this was simple statement of fact in the face of New Order falsification—whatever the 27Foulcher (1986, p. 206). 28Foulcher (1986, p. 206). 29Foulcher (1986, p. 19 fn37). 30The fact that Lekra never developed formal links to the PKI seems to have been part of the tensions between some in the Lekra leadership and PKI leader D.N. Aidit in 1964, when Aidit provocatively led the “Congress of Revolutionary Art and Literature” (Kongres Seni dan Sastra Revolusioner–KSSR), which overshadowed the Lekra National Conference of the same year, held only one week earlier. These two competing national conferences on left-wing culture were quite possibly also part of tensions within the PKI leadership, since politburo member Njoto (who was also a founding member of Lekra) was apparently opposed to formally linking Lekra to the PKI. See Ajoeb (2004b) for an account of this period, written by a former General-Secretary of Lekra. A recent biography of Njoto also covers this ground (Riza, 2010). 40 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE relationship between the PKI and Lekra, the PKI did not have a formal link to Lekra. But Lekra nonetheless had a close relationship with the PKI, in the least through shared personnel (e.g. Njoto, Sudjojono), and definitely through some shared broad political perspectives. This is the case whether Lekra had a formal relationship with the PKI or not. This emphasis on the asserted, but never proven or demonstrated, formal links between the PKI and Lekra is a consequence of the New Order regime’s violent suppression of the PKI and the organisations around it. It is natural that people who had been the subject of this brutal repression should react by rejecting the PKI label. Not only this, it is natural that they should want to correct the regime’s assertions with the simple historical fact that there is no evidence of a formal relationship between the two organisations. There is, however, the danger in this that such arguments begin to implicitly accept and internalise the idea that there is something illegitimate about being associated with the PKI (as opposed to the other major parties of the period). But, as the writer Pramoedya Ananta Toer was wont to point out, the PKI was a legal and legitimate party in the 1950s and 1960s.31 The PKI, whatever its sins, was made illegitimate by a one-sided and extremely violent process in which the party’s leadership—let alone the ordinary members who were murdered, imprisoned, or otherwise marginalised with them—was never given any real opportunity to defend itself.32 Foulcher also takes up another key aspect of the New Order narrative concerning Lekra and communism: the idea that for the Institute and its members the international Stalinist literary theory of “Socialist Realism” was

31In an interview with the author in early 1993, Pramoedya emphasised this point on several occasions. When asked directly about his relationship to the PKI his response was “In the 1950s and 1960s the PKI was a legal and legitimate political party. I wasn’t a member of it, though. But if I was—so what?” 32This tendency for those sympathetic to organisations that were around the PKI to continue to accept and internalise the assertions of the New Order concerning the PKI continue (understandably) to be an issue in Indonesia. For example a 2007 book on the history of the left-wing women’s organisation Gerwani carried the title “Gerwani was not Communist!”, even though Gerwani had exactly the sort of relationship to the PKI that Lekra did—shared personnel and shared politics. And in the mid-1960s Gerwani was under the same pressure to formalise the relationship. See Diniah (2007). See also Wieringa (1995) and Wieringa (2002) for more on Gerwani. SOCIAL COMMITMENT 41 the approach to committed art. In anti-Lekra tracts, such as Ismail (1972), it plays an important role, alongside “Politik adalah Panglima”, as evidence of Lekra’s authoritarianism and Machievellianism in relation to art.33 Foulcher argues that “socialist realism”, so far as it existed in Lekra, was concerned with the attitude of artists, rather than the aesthetics they employed. The premise of the latter’s argument seems to be that it is surprising that socialist realism was not primarily concerned with aesthetics, but the history of socialist realism shows it to be primarily concerned with the political com- mitments of the artist—which makes sense since it developed as the state cultural ideology of the consolidated authoritarian regime under Stalin in the 1930s.34

Lekra was not an institution of state, but an organisation in civil society seeking to mobilise artists. It was not in its interest to impose an aesthetic on artists. It follows, therefore, that unless there was an organic reason for aesthetics to come to the fore (as they did to some extent, for example, in debates around abstract visual art35), Lekra was unlikely to encourage, let alone prescribe, a particular approach on grounds of form. In any case, mainstream forms in Indonesian high literature did not, on the whole, deviate far from the realist norms of “socialist realist” art in the USSR (i.e. surreal- ism, futurism, and other strong forms of literary modernism had made little impact).

33See, for example, Ismail (1972, p. 50-53). 34That is, it was an official state ideology that set out in the first place to discipline artists. On the history and theory of socialist realism see James (1973) and Robin (1992). Taylor (1991) provides a comprehensive account of the inter-relationship between Soviet politics and the rise of Socialist Realism up to its victory in the early to mid 1930s. Cliff (1991, esp. Ch. 11) and Cliff (1993, esp. Ch. 14) cover the political background to the repression of the 1930s from the point of view of the crushing and destruction of the Opposition and the “Old Bolsheviks”. Kurniawan (1999) and Karyanto (1997b) discuss socialist realism in the Indonesian context. 35See Holt (1967, p. 234-239) for an account of the tensions between the abstract oriented “Bandung” and “Yogya” schools. 42 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE The Wayang Controversy

In the same year that Social Commitment in Literature and the Arts was published, Ruth McVey returned to writing on communist history, with an essay on the controversy around the modernisation of Wayang (Shadow Pup- pet theatre) in the early 1960s. This seminal essay did not limit itself to Wayang, or to the 1960s, but sought to contextualise the debate in the search for a radical nationalist culture following the revolution. It begins with the 1967 defence statement of the only communist leader to be given anything remotely resembling a public trial, Sudisman, in which the former politburo member referred to himself and the other leading members of the PKI forming a “ﬁve-in-one”, an allusion to the Pandawa brothers in the Mahabharata, which is a basis for key cycles of lakon (plots) in Wayang. This is the stepping oﬀ point for a discussion to the problems faced by the PKI and the nationalist movement more broadly in seeking to modernise folk art forms. McVey argues that, initially at least, the PKI both shared the broad task of development of a vision for a new Indonesian cultural modernity, and set itself the task of developing a cultural modernity that was alternative to the existing nationalist elite, arguing that this required:

A delicate balance. . . between exogenous and indigenous models, between using and criticizing local ways, in order both to endorse modernity deﬁned as an Indonesian quality and assert the PKI’s particular claim to it.36

According to McVey this new modernity would have a lower class focus, as the PKI sought to develop a national cultural vision based on the social forces it saw as key. This makes sense of the fact that Wayang (i.e. Wayang

36McVey (1986, p. 28). A more complete version of the quote: The PKI thus faced not only the nationalists’ task of creating a goal culture that was diﬀerent from the modernity of the foreigners, but also the problem of somehow divorcing itself from the modèren style of the Jakarta elite. . . A delicate balance was required between exogenous and indigenous models, between using and criticizing local ways, in order both to endorse modernity deﬁned as an Indonesian quality and assert the PKI’s particular claim to it. THE WAYANG CONTROVERSY 43

Kulit, shadow puppet theatre, as opposed to other forms based around the same/similar characters and narratives) does not seem to have become a focus of significant attention until after Lekra’s first congress in late 1959.37 McVey notes that several endeavours were made throughout the early to mid twentieth century to modernise Wayang, and especially to recruit it for the nationalist cause, most of which failed to achieve any longevity. She identifies three forms that did succeed, all based on the interaction between Western theatre and Wayang: Wayang Orang, Ketoprak and Ludruk. She presents these three forms as emerging in a historical series, with Wayang Orang developing initially from the late eighteenth and throughout the nineteenth century, before being popularised in the early twentieth century. Developing first within the walls of the Mangkunegaran palace in Surakarta, Wayang Orang (Wayang Wong in Javanese) maintained the characters and lakon (Wayang narratives) of traditional Wayang Kulit, with gradually developing modern aspects, such as shorter performance time, and more focus on the action and romance of the stories. Nevertheless, movements and costumes continued to be highly stylised, in general tending toward the alus (“refined”) courtly ideal, with a full repertoire of the levels of Javanese speech. This all gives a clear colour: that of the Javanese aristocracy and the clas- sically cultivated Javanese urban middle class. According to McVey this extended politically to an association with the National Party (PNI).38 Kethoprak in turn developed from around the 1920s. While costumes can be somewhat stylised, and story lines can be taken from Javanese legend and myth, the range of storylines is wider and allows more modern themes, but does not include the Hindu classics Mahabharata and Ramayana, which are the basis of Wayang Orang narratives. It also allows more space for

37Which is not to say that there was no discussion of Wayang Kulit in Kebudajaan in the early 1950s. Marsum Hr. and Sugjamto “Diskusi tentang: Derwati makan semir” Harian Rakjat 06/09/52 discusses a modernised Lakon (Wayang narrative), in response to the publishing of the narrative in a previous edition of Harian Rakjat’s cultural supplement, Lembaran Kebujaan (“The Cultural Pages”). Other articles discuss Lakon that have been adapted for new political purposes, but usually for Wayang-derived forms, such as forms of folk theatre or dance. For an example of this in the case of a dance performance see Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari kecamatan Kras” HR 06/06/53. 38McVey (1986, p. 32). 44 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE improvisation, humour, and common ngoko level Javanese. Performance times are shorter and more appropriate to a modern, urban audience. In the 1950s Ketoprak was taken up by student performers and a wide range of social and political groups, with a variety of political aﬃliations from military to radical nationalist.39

Ludruk developed in East Java around the city of Surabaya in the 1930s. Decidely proletarian and kasar (“crude” in Javanese cultural terms), with stories that are florid and modern and related directly to the difficulties and dreams of the urban poor, Ludruk was of low status and “consequently found no official favour”. According to McVey this meant that “[o]nly the PKI could really love it” and that the party’s “affection was returned; the political loyalty of the ludruk troupes, like that of their audiences, went overwhelmingly to communism”. 40

Through this series McVey draws a sweep from courtly, alus, Wayang Orang through urban, middle class Ketoprak to proletarian, kasar, and lower class Ludruk. She also draws attention to the role of clowns (punakawan) in Wayang and the folk theatre forms as central to ideas about the potential for modernising these forms to suit contemporary political and social need—an issue of some importance to communist writers in the early 1950s (and later), as we will see. We will return to the theme of modernising existing popular performing arts forms in chapter six, and consider McVey’s arguments further in the conclusion.

39McVey (1986, p. 32-33). 40McVey (1986, p. 33). Having said this, it would be wrong to assume that the communist movement had the unanimous and unquestioning support of Ludruk troupes. Peacock reports that by the early 1960s there were troupes associated with a variety of political groupings (or, at least, sponsored by these groupings), with the two key poles of political life in that period, the PKI and the army, being the chief players. Peacock also reports that these troupes were perfectly happy to adjust the content of their performances to suit the political preferences of audiences, with the same players moving from military, to nationalist, to communist, or on to their ordinary lower class audiences with ease. See (Peacock, 1968, Ch. 4). THE MANIFESTO IS NOT DEAD! 45 The Manifesto is Not Dead!

Foulcher’s work contributed to the on-going development of more liberal attitudes to Lekra history as the New Order regime aged. In the late 1980s, a leding intellectual on that more liberal side of the New Order cultural world (but who had been a signatory of the “Cultural Manifesto”), Goenawan Mohammad, travelled to Australia as a visiting scholar for Monash University and conducted research on the cultural polemics of the 1960s. The results were published in Indonesian as a special supplement41 in the magazine that Goenawan edited, Tempo42, as well as a working paper in English published by Monash.43 Goenawan made use of primary sources, in particular quoting from a limited number of articles from Lentera, the cultural section of the radical nationalist newspaper Bintang Timur, which was edited by Pramoedya Ananta Toer. His article was also somewhat unusual in the Indonesian context at the time for its open discussion of issues such as the relationship between art and reality, between art and politics, and propaganda and literature.44 Nevertheless, the article does return to a number of themes that would be familiar to readers of New Order discourse on Lekra and the pre-1965 cultural left. Goenawan writes of “literature” becoming “propaganda”45, of the “dictatorialism” (kommandoisme) of the PKI, and of the attacks on “independent” artists.46 Like other anti-communist writers, Goenawan makes much of the slogan “politik adalah panglima”.47 In his description of the events of

41Goenawan Mohamad (1988b). 42This was, and still is, Indonesia’s leading news magazine (of a similar standing to say “Time” or “The Economist”). 43Goenawan Mohamad (1988a). It was also later published as the lead essay in Goe- nawan’s 1993 book Kesusastraan dan Kekuasaan (published in the aftermath of the controversy discussed belowon pages 47–49). It was subsequently re-issued by Monash in a revised form in 2011 (Goenawan Mohamad and Harry Aveling (ed. and trans.), 2011). Unless otherwise stated, I will use the Tempo version in my discussion. 44See Goenawan Mohamad (1988b, pp. 14-15, 21-23). Goenawan puts forward Arief Budiman’s conception from the “contextual literature” debates of art and politics being “parallel”. 45Goenawan’s approach is, however, more tolerant than usual of “propaganda”. He even quotes Lu Hsun: “All literature is propaganda, but not all propaganda is literature”. 46Goenawan Mohamad (1988b, p. 14-23) 47Which he gives in the unoﬃcial version of “politik sebagai panglima”. It is not clear 46 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE the early 1960s, Goenawan refers to the “violent tone” (nada keras) of debate, and the “personalised” nature of Lekra/PKI attacks.48 For example, he writes of:

. . . serangkaian kampanye yang sengit. . . dan jelas systematis, yang dilancarkan terutama oleh para mereka yang punya hubungan dengan PKI dan PNI.

. . . a series of attacks, which were vicious. . . and obviously systematic, were perpetrated chieﬂy by those with associations to the PKI and PNI.49

In contrast with more hard-line anti-communist writers of the New Order period, he is quick, however, to add:

Kini harus diakui bahwa pengganyangan seperti itu tidak seband- ing dengan yang ditanggungkan para penulis dan cendekiawan prokomunis setelah hancurnya PKI secara keras dan berdarah beberapa waktu setelah 1965.

Now it has to be admitted that a crushing such as this cannot be compared to what had to be borne by pro-communist writers and intellectuals after the violent and bloody destruction of the PKI in the period following 1965.50 why he does this. “Politik sebagai panglima” might be seen as a little sharper. Politik adalah panglima and politik sebagai panglima are close, but not identical in meaning. The difference is hard to translate, because the normal equivalents in English for adalah and sebagai have quite different roles. Adalah is an optional copula (unlike “to be/is”, which is a compulsory copula, and which is a powerful word with many roles) and sebagai means something like “in the role of”, but can also mean (especially in common non- standard forms) “like, in the same way as”. This may be pedantry, as the impact of this difference for a normal reader might be negligible or non-existent. Nevertheless, it seems curious that Goenawan chose to consistently use a less common, unofficial form of the slogan. 48Goenawan Mohamad (1988b, p. 9). It should be noted, however, that Goenawan himself was not averse to a certain amount of “personalising” in his presentation. His supplement in Tempo was illustrated by cartoons of key actors in the mid-60s debates— Wiratmo Soekito is given a jovial expression; H.B. Jassin a serious, thoughtful expression; while Pramoedya appears with a stern, angry expression. 49Goenawan Mohamad (1988b, p. 4). 50Goenawan Mohamad (1988b, p. 4-5). THE MANIFESTO IS NOT DEAD! 47

Goenawan entitled his essay in English “a Signatory’s view”, and perhaps this pushed him towards defending the “Cultural Manifesto”. He argues that it is in reaction to the dictatorialism of the Left at the time that the manifesto arose (and by extension that he signed it). He argues that signatories were opposing the idea that art could fundamentally be assessed in terms of politics, thus giving a critic the position of “discerner of heresy”:

. . . fungsi kritikus sebagai penyidik murtad atau tak murtadnya sebuah karya, atau dalam kata-kata George Steiner, a discerner of heresay [sic], adalah sesuatu yang harus ditentang. . . Dengan semangat seperti itu sebenarnya Manifes Kebudayaan menentang semboyan “Politik Sebagai Panglima”.

. . . the function of the critic as, in the of words George Steiner, a “discerner of heresay” [sic] is something which must be opposed . . . It was actually in this spirit that the Cultural Manifesto opposed the slogan “Politics as the Commander”.51

Goenawan’s essay was an endeavour to open discussion, and indeed he built on this work in the early 1990s by inviting the then France-based poet Sitor Situmorang (who had been head of the left-PNI aligned Lembaga Ke- budajaan Nasional 52) to give a seminar in 1993. As a prominent writer of the 1950s and 1960s, Sitor’s return for the event was quite an occasion and naturally attracted significant attention. It was the first time that a figure from “the other side of the fence” had been given the opportunity to publicly

51Goenawan Mohamad (1988b, p. 18-19). I have consciously not translated “sebagai penyidik murtad atau tak murtadnya”, since this is the translation of George Steiner’s “discerner of heresy” (mistakenly written as “heresay” by Goenawan), which is included in the Indonesian original. Goenawan goes on to lament the fact that the Manifesto did not stimulate extended and open debate. This view contrasts with those of figures like former LKN leader, Sitor Situmorang (outlined below), which openly discuss the cultural politics of the period as being inexorably linked to broader power plays. By the time Goenawan was composing his monograph the driving force behind the Manifesto, Wiratmo Soekito, had already admitted to working for military intelligence, and other easily available material also made it clear that the army played a key role in supporting and encouraging the supporters of the Manifesto. See Foulcher (1986, p. 125-126); Bodden (2010, p. 51). 52The Institute of National Culture. The LKN has been presented in anti-communist discourse—like that of Ismail (1972) and Moeljanto and Taufiq Ismail (1995)—as a simple extension of Lekra (and therefore of the PKI and Moscow/Peking). 48 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE present their version of the events of the early 1960s, and the talk was framed as a reaction to Goenawan’s 1988 monograph.53 Sitor emphasised that the political situation of the early 1960s was complex, with no single centre of power. The politics of the period were to be seen “more as a constant manoeuvring and jockeying for power” among competing forces.54 He rejected the view that he and Pramoedya were in a position of “unrestrained power to silence their enemies, presenting instead a picture of power struggle, in which all of the actors sought to forestall the influence of their enemies. In this picture the left feared and tangibly experienced the power of the military and its civilian allies”.55 Sitor argued that “Goenawan had overlooked the possibility that the Cultural Manifesto had itself been the product of the political manoeuvrings of the time”.56 The seminar gave rise to substantial public controversy, and was relatively widely reported in the Indonesian popular media. However, most of the reporting tended to concentrate on reactions from the floor during the discussion period of the seminar, rather than Sitor’s speech itself. A figure who featured prominently in these reports was Taufiq Ismail, a Manifesto signatory. In the Jakarta daily Republika, Ismail put forward “evidence” of “the intense and obvious” “engineering” with which the left (“with terror, slander and physical destruction”) had attacked supporters of the Manifesto.57 The tone of this article and several others that appeared around the time echoed many sentiments that are familiar: “Politics in Command”, the equivalence of the PKI and Lekra, communist conspiracy, as well as the dangers of mixing art and politics. Wiratmo went so far as to state that “the enemies of the Manifesto were not only former Lekra figures themselves but all those who would subordinate culture to politics”.58 In other places he talked of Lekra influence, and argued that the spirit of the Manifesto was

53For an overview of the seminar and the controversy that ensued, see Foulcher (1994). 54Foulcher (1994, p. 4). 55Ibid. 56Ibid. 57Foulcher (1994, p. 4). Foulcher is quoting an interview with Ismail in Republika, 22 August 1993. 58This from the man who openly admitted cooperating with the military for political ends in the 1960s. See Foulcher (1994, p. 7). THE MAGSAYSAY CONTROVERSY 49 under attack. In illustration he cited the reported intention of the Legal Aid Institute (LBH) to involve itself in the making of a ﬁlm, the existence of politicised poetry, and the work of artists supporting the campaign for justice in the case of the murdered factory worker, Marsinah.59 Although anti-Lekra perspectives were absolutely dominant in the public debate, tensions within the artistic establishment were also once again apparent. These came to a head when a number of leading liberal ﬁgures resigned from the editorial board of Horison, the country’s premier literary magazine. Goenawan Mohamad, Ali Audah, Arief Budiman, Umar Kayam, Aristides Katoppo and Sapardi Djoko Damono all left, and it was only in the wake of their departures that Horison published a series of strongly anti-Lekra articles.60

The Magsaysay Controversy

The last major public discussion of Lekra during the New Order period took place in 1995-96, following the awarding of the Ramon Magsaysay prize to Pramoedya Ananta Toer. This incensed several of those on the cultural Right, in particular Mochtar Lubis. As in the 1993 controversy, “live” public debate was more open, and more challenges were thrown up against the mainstream representation of Lekra and PKI history. Again, however, discussion was limited to the 1960s and, as in 1993, while “live” debate (in particular at the “Reﬂeksi Kebudayaan” seminar) was more open, the representation of the debate in the print media focused on the controversial/sensational aspects of the debate, and did not challenge the dominant portrayal of Lekra/PKI history. This time, however, two anthologies of articles and other materials (in-

59Foulcher (1994, p. 9). On the Marsinah case, see Saptari (2003a) and Supartono (1999a). 60Foulcher (1994, p. 10-12). The Horison articles were published in the September- October 1993 edition (no. 9-10, vol. XXVIII). They included Lukman Ali, “Sepotong Pengalaman Sebelum dan Sesudah Manifes Kebudayaan Dilarang” (Lukman Ali, 1993); Ikranegara, “Sekelumit Pengalaman Manifes Kebudayaan” (Ikranegara, 1993); H. Rosihan Anwar, “Terror Orang PKI terhadap Intelektual Lawannya” (Rosihan Anwar, 1993); and “Kerling Gadis Napoli: Wawancara dengan Taufiq Ismail” (No author given, 1993). 50 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE cluding accounts and transcripts of the proceedings at Refleksi Kebudayaan) were published relatively quickly after the key events.61 This was something of a step forward compared to 1993, although a similar anthology was also published in the first round of New Order controversy over Lekra following the publication of Pramoedya’s Bumi Manusia62. During the live debate, some reference was made to recent research into the claims about Lekra in the 1960s. However, much of the comment on these materials seemed to proceed without direct reference to actual details of those texts, and no significant body of historical evidence was produced in print discussions. In reaction to growing criticism of dominant New Order discourse on Lekra history arising from the debate around the Magsaysay controversy, two key figures on the cultural Right published a book that did include some primary source material—Taufiq Ismail and D.S. Moeljanto’s (1995) Prahara Budaya: Kilas-Balik Ofensif Lekra/Dkk (A Storm in Culture: A Consideration of the Offensive of Lekra et al)63. Despite the inclusion of some primary source material, Ismail and Moel- janto’s effort did not advance discussion beyond the point already reached by Yahaya Ismail in the early 1970s. Lekra/PKI (as they are described throughout the book) are drawn consistently black, with little social explanation of the history discussed—except in terms of a mysterious “communist conspiracy”. A metaphorical blanket is thrown over the entire left, so Lekra, LKN, Lesbi 64 and other left cultural groups are considered as a single phenomenon. The presentation of right-wing artists is for the naïve only—“free”, “independent” artists are portrayed in innocent struggle against the forces of evil.

61Refleksi Kebudayaan (Panitia Dialog Terbuka Refleksi Kebudayaan, 1996) and Polemik Hadiah Magsasay (Institut Studi Arus Informasi, 1997). 62Adhy Asmara, 1981 Analisa Ringan Kemelut Roman Karya Pulau Buru “Bumi Manu- sia” Pramoedya Ananta Toer (Adhy Asmara, 1981) 63Moeljanto and Taufiq Ismail (1995). Apparently Ismail and Moeljanto did begin work on the book before the Magsaysay controversy. However, criticism of the sort of position represented by Ismail and Moeljanto had been developing prior to the controversy, as well. The push to publish was clearly related to the controversy, and the book was toured through a series of seminars in Java and Sumatra in the wake of the controversy. 64Lesbi (Lembaga Seni Budaja Indonesia) was a small cultural organisation associated with the radical nationalist Indonesia Party (Partindo). THE MAGSAYSAY CONTROVERSY 51

Ismail and Moeljanto undertake no clear discussion of the role of the army in politics, despite there being evidence of this role.65 Although the book includes quite an amount of primary material from the 1960s media, Prahara still relies on uncorroborated anecdotes, particularly in Tauﬁq Ismail’s contribution to the work. Prahara also makes no mention of the violent (and illegal) repression of the Left from October 1965 onwards, or the role of the Right and the military in bringing about this repression. This made the authors’ ululations about Left-wing repression prior to October 1, 1965 seem more than a little disingenuous.66

65It is interesting to note that the book’s publisher is not as naive in his presentation of events:

Di samping pendukung PKI, termasuk dalam kelompok kiri, adalah sebagian besar mereka yang menyebut dirinya kaum nasionalis, yakni anggota atau pendukung PNI dan Partindo. Kanan adalah mereka yang anti- PKI, terutama adalah anggota dan pendukung partai-partai dan ormas yang berdasarkan Agama, terutama Islam, kaum nasionalis yang taat beribadah (sebagian dari PNI), kaum sosialis (eks PSI, Partai Sosialis Indonesia), dan kaum nonpartai. Pada Umumnya mereka didukung oleh militer, terutama Angkatan Darat.

(Besides PKI supporters, on the left there was the largest part of those who called themselves nationalists, i.e. members or supporters of the PNI and Partindo. On the right were those who were anti-communist, especially those from parties or mass organizations that were religious, particularly Islamic, nationalists who were devout (part of the PNI), the socialists (ex-PSI, the Indonesian Socialist Party), and those who were non-party. In general they were supported by the military, especially the army).

Quote from Parni Hadi (Chief Editor of Republika) in the publisher’s foreword to Pra- hara Budaya. This is a relatively accurate description of the balance of forces in the early 1960s, and is candid about army involvement. It is also interesting to note that Parni is more straightforward on two other fronts. He identifies the struggle between Lekra and right-wing artists as one between “tendency art” and “art for art’s sake” (p. 11), and sees the struggle as being clearly an extension of the Cold War in Indonesia (p. 12). 66This is in stark contrast to figures like Goenawan Mohammad, who consistently in the 1993 controversy stressed that the suffering of leftist writers and artists was far greater than anything suffered by liberals and right-wingers in the early 1960s. See, for example, his interview in DeTIK, 19 October, 1993(Goenawan Mohamad, 1993a). 52 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE Exile Literature During the New Order Period

While debates on Lekra and communist history were leading to a split amongst the New Order cultural elite—thereby opening up space for dissenting views— a much more marginalised literature was emerging from amongst direct participants in pre-1965 cultural politics. Following the events of October 1, 1965, several hundred Indonesians found themselves stranded in Stalinist countries. These people were, amongst other things, attending conferences, studying and working (for example, as journalists). Spread across Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union, China, and Vietnam, most of them continued to be unable to return to Indonesia right up until the fall of the Suharto regime in the late 1990s. From the late 1980s, many of these exiles collected in Western Europe, especially in the Netherlands and France.67 From there they published a number of exile publications, such as Kreasi, Arena, and Kancah. Just as work published openly in Indonesia is strongly coloured by ardent anti- communism, the exile literature is coloured by the politics of the pre-1965 Indonesian and international Left, as well as the trauma of 1965-66 and subsequent exile. This can make some of their works diﬃcult reading at times, nevertheless they provide alternative views to those propagated by the Suharto regime and its supporters throughout the New Order period and often speak from personal experience, even if certain aspects of this experience are suppressed and others emphasised. One of the earliest works in this group is Di Tengah Pergolakan (“In the Midst of Upheaval”), which was released in 1981. Penned under the pseudonym “Helmi” by former Lekra member Kusni Sulang, who was living in exile in Europe, it was published by “Yayasan Langer” in West Germany.68 The author was a student and artist in Yogyakarta in the early 1960s, and Di Tengah Pergolakan gives us interesting glimpses of the left political scene in and around the city during this period. It provides a concrete pic-

67For a brief overview of the history of the exiled Indonesian left after 1965, see Hill (2010). 68Kusni Sulang [“Helmi”] (1981). A new edition under the nom de plume “J.J. Kusni” was published in 2005 (Kusni Sulang [“J. J. Kusni”], 2005). EXILE LITERATURE 53 ture of individual-level experience of the relationship between students and Lekra, as well as providing some impression of the roles of key associated institutions in Central Java, such as the visual artists’ groups Bumi Tarung and Pelukis Rakyat. He provides an interesting presentation of his personal experience of Lekra at a local level, including his observations on the reality of branches and sub-branches around Yogyakarta (which contrasts with presentations available in official documents). He also describes in some detail his experience of a Turba69, as well as an interesting portrayal of the politics of the “unilateral actions” (Aksi Sepihak) of 1964-65. Central to the narrative of Sulang’s booklet is the story of his Turba experience in the lead-up to the “Revolutionary Art and Literature Congress” (Kongres Seni dan Sastra Revolusioner- KSSR), which was held under PKI auspices in late 1964. His colouful account of the clash between the perspectives of the congress organisers and a Turba group seeking to work up their direct observations of conflict in the Klaten region gives some insight into the atmosphere surrounding the conference, providing an idea of the nature of the relationship between artists/activists and the party, as well as that of Lekra to the PKI. Sulang draws an interesting picture of the contradictory character of the politics of “the State with Two Aspects”70 at a grass-roots level, along with some of the concrete consequences of these contradictions even before the massacres of 1965-66. For these reasons Sulang’s work is a significant contribution to the study of Lekra history. Until the early 2000s Di Tengah Pergolakan remained the only example of a detailed and searching memoir of the direct experience of a left-wing cultural activist in the Sukarno period. But like so much work discussing cultural politics before 1965, its focus (naturally, given the age of the author)

69Turba was the popular acronym for the slogan “Turun ke Bawah” (“Go to the Grass- roots”), which was the policy of encouraging artists and writers to live and participate in communities of ordinary workers, peasants, and fishing people as part of a process of developing more effective and progressive political art. 70This was the analysis, developed by the PKI leadership in the 1950s and especially the early 1960s, which saw the Indonesian state of the time as comprising two “aspects”: a “pro-people” aspect and an “anti-people” aspect. This analysis developed out of the National United Front approach (discussed in the footnote above on page ?? and in the following chapter). 54 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE is squarely on the early and mid 1960s. Another exile to create an account of Lekra history is Kuslan Budiman, whose 1986 manuscript Lembaga Kebudayaan Rakyat (Lekra) dan Persoalan di Sekitarnya (“The Institute of People’s Culture (Lekra) and Issues Around It”) 71 endeavoured to discuss Lekra history in a more comprehensive and academic way. Nevertheless, Budiman’s direct experience did influence some of his discussion. For example, he writes of the importance of cultural units (Kebora) in trade unions, something that does not feature in Foulcher (1986):

Kaum buruh di kota-kota waktu itu tergabung dalam SOBSI. . . mereka biasanya [membentuk] bagian yang diberi nama KEB- ORA (Kebudayaan dan Olah raga). . . organisasi ini mempunyai hubungan erat dengan Lekra atau yang mengurusi biasanya juga anggota Lekra.

Workers in the towns and cities at that time were organised in SOBSI. . . they usually had sections that were called KEBORA (Culture and Sport). . . these groups had close links to Lekra, or those that organised them were also Lekra members.72

Budiman also discusses a key form of Central Javanese folk theatre, Kethoprak, in which he was a participant, and which was an important area of activity for Lekra (see below in Chapters 3 and 6). Although the colourful and illustrative anecdotes of Sulang’s book, his discussion of the challenges faced by activits seeking to modernise existing scenarios (lakon) is interesting and pertinent to any assessment of Lekra’s work in the area. In addition, Budiman writes about the challenges of Kethoprak artists, which is interesting coming from a former Bakoksi (National Kethoprak Union) activist. Budiman discusses eﬀorts to improve the social status of Ketoprak, through forming student Ketoprak troupes, the reinterpretation of existing scenarios (lakon), and the development of new scenarios. He also discusses issues such as these in relation to shadow puppetry (Wayang). Budiman relates that these endeavours caused quite a stir, with resistance

71Budiman (1986). 72Budiman (1986, p. 57). EXILE LITERATURE 55 emerging from within the ranks of the Left as well as from the Right, and how they helped bring about signiﬁcant change, such as the emergence of women puppet-masters (Dalang).

Budiman goes on to take up a number of themes that are familiar from texts discussed earlier: the fact that Lekra and the PKI were not in power in the 1960s, and were often subject to signiﬁcant repression, using, amongst other examples, the repression in reaction to land disputes in the 1950s and 1960s. 73 He uses the example of the thousands of deaths, arrests and jailings during these campaigns and the banning of cultural work that played a role in these campaigns, such as the poetry collection Matinya Seorang Petani (“The Death of a Peasant”) and the banning of the declaiming of Agam Wispy’s poem “Demokrasi”.74

Budiman’s intention may have been to produce a general introduction to Lekra history, which balanced the distortions of supporters of the ruling regime (Lembaga Kebudayaan Rakyat was written before Foulcher’s Social Commitment). As such, it does a suﬃcient job (certainly better than Ismail’s Pertumbuhan, Perkembangan dan Kejatuhan), but had very limited impact, as it was never published, and never circulated to any signiﬁcant extent in Indonesia.

73With a particular focus on the “unilateral action” campaigns in Central Java in the 1960s. For more on the “unilateral actions”, see Mortimer (1972), especially chapter seven. For an anti-communist appraisal of the campaign, see Kasdi (2001) and Kasdi (2009). 74The poem “Matinya seorang petani” was written originally in reaction to the killing of a peasant during a land dispute in Tanjung Morawa in September, 1954. It was published in Harian Rakjat, 17/09/55 (Wispi, 1955). It subsequently became a left-wing favourite, and was often read out in declamation competitions. It was published in his compilation Jang Tak Terbungkamkan [“Those Who Were Not Silenced”] (Wispi, 1960), and was used throughout the land disputes of the early 1960s in Java. “Demokrasi” was another favourite that railed against the repression by the military, which often acted arbitrarily throughout the 1950s and 1960s. “Demokrasi” appeared in the Lekra journal Zaman Baru, No. 13, 1959 (Wispi, 1959). Like Foulcher, Budiman also takes up arguement that “Social Realism” was a signiﬁcant ideology for Lekra, writing that it was something that might be discussed, but was never understood or implemented. 56 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE “An Ode to Indonesian Culture”

The “exile” resulting from the New Order’s savage repression of the Left can be seen as having two components—“external exile” (those stranded or ﬂeeing overseas), and “internal exile” (those jailed or sent to distant concentration camps within Indonesia). Figures such as the writers Agam Wispy, Utuy Tatang Sontani and Sobron Aidit are examples of the former, while Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Putu Oka and Joebaar Ajoeb are examples of the latter. The exile literature published in Europe included works by “internal” exiles. Probably the most important producer of “internal exile” literature on Lekra and the relationship between Indonesian communism and culture in the 1950s and 1960s was the former general-secretary of the Institute, Joebaar Ajoeb (1926-1996)75, who died shortly before the fall of the Suharto regime. In 1990 Ajoeb wrote three related essays under the title of Sebuah Mocopat Kebudayaan Indonesia (“An Ode to Indonesian Culture”, below abbreviated to Mocopat).76 These essays circulated in photocopied form in Indonesia, and were also published in exile publications in Europe. In the early 2000s they were ﬁnally published as a book by Teplok Press.77 The essays were neither scholarly, nor were they written primarily as history—they were clearly written as an intervention in Indonesian cultural life at a time of rising dis- sent towards the Suharto regime.78 As the former general secretary of Lekra, Ajoeb had been imprisoned for a decade following the events of 1965-66, and remained restricted in his movements and actions as an eks-tapol (former political prisoner). In these circumstances the production and circulation of Mocopat constituted a courageous intervention. Nevertheless, this context

75He was general secretary from 1957-65, but apparently also acted as general secretary from the time of A.S. Dharta’s car accident in 1955. 76Mocopat (Macapat) is a verse form used in Java, Bali, Lombok, and South Kalimantan. 77Ajoeb (2004b). In this period he also produced Gerhana Seni Rupa Modern Indonesia [“The Eclipse of Modern Indonesian Visual Arts”] (Ajoeb, 2004a), which circulated in similar fashion until it was also published by Teplok Press at the same time as Mocopat. 78Ajoeb was well known in the early 1990s amongst radicalising students in Jakarta, and had close links to a number of them. He was also regularly visited by foreign scholars and students, including the author. “AN ODE TO INDONESIAN CULTURE” 57 also affected the way Ajoeb approached the essays. Particularly at the beginning of the first essay in the series, he was careful about what he said, and how it was said, and where he could he used the dominant discourse of the time (which was strongly coloured by the interests of the regime)— for example by using the New Order designation for the events of 1965-66, “G30S-PKI”.79 Despite this Mocopat was a spirited defence of Lekra and a creative attempt to engage with the history of the period. His discussion can broadly (for our purposes) be divided into three areas—an exploration of the origins of Lekra; an analysis of the conflicts in pre-Suharto cultural politics; and an account of the relationship between the PKI and Lekra: all areas of central importance in post-1965 discussion of culture and communism in the Sukarno period. After a careful introduction, Ajoeb proceeds in the vein of Pramoedya Ananta Toer, reminding readers that Indonesia is a political and historical creation. This is a key theme throughout the essays: Indonesia as a nation as well as Indonesian nationalism as an ideological world, are social and political constructions that arose from particular historical contexts.80 Ajoeb then moves from this general setting of context to the emergence of Lekra. In his account of the origins of the Institute, Ajoeb is at pains to present Lekra as emerging from a particular “habitat”. Lekra had its roots in the nationalist movement that developed from the beginning of the twentieth century (the “National Awakening”, Kebangkitan Nasional) and the National Revolution of the late 1940s. The revolution had a decisive impact on In-

79G30S stands for Gerakan 30 September, “The Thirtieth of September Movement”. This was the title that the initial coup leaders in 1965 gave their group. In anti-communist propaganda “PKI” is added to make it seem that the coup was clearly and directly linked to the PKI, that it was an official endeavour. G30S has also often been abbreviated to Gestapu (from GErakan September TigA PUluh) to tie the coup symbolically to Naziism. 80Ajoeb asks his readers: Tidakkah anda lihat bahwa negara ini sebuah ciptaan? Sebuah karya raksasa yang melebihi Borobudur, Roro Jonggrang dan semua candi dijadikan satu? Can’t you see that this country is itself a creation? A giant work that surpasses Borobudur, Prambanan, and all the other temples put together?81 58 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE donesian culture, inspiring a generation of artists in a wide range of fields. This generation has been labelled (after the fact) the “Generation of ’45” (Angkatan 45 ), especially when referring to literature (the “45” refers to the year of the proclamation of independence). After 1965 it was largely identified with the right-wing of the nationalist movement, with Lekra literature a negation or at least departure from Angkatan 45. Ajoeb presents the Angkatan 45 as a broad phenomenon not simply limited to literature. He gives a long list of artists in a variety of fields who were active in the period and involved in the struggle for independence, and who interacted with one another across artistic boundaries.82 He presents Lekra as emerging out of this context, as being built by a significant group of leading figures in the Angkatan 45, who saw Lekra as a particular response to the situation following the “Round Table Conference” (Konferensi Meja Bundar, hereafter KMB)83 and the recognition of Indonesia’s sovereignty at the end of 1949. In drawing these connections between Lekra and the Angkatan 45, Ajoeb repeatedly stresses the argument that the latter was not simply a cultural phenomenon, but was also political and inseparable from the national revolution. Amongst other examples, he illustrates this in a discussion of a writer most definitely not associated with Lekra—Chairil Anwar (1922-49). Chairil was seen at the time and afterwards as something of an individualist and cosmopolitan, and so therefore not a model for left-wing writers84, although his dynamism and the vitality of his writing were almost universally admired. Ajoeb argues that nonetheless even Chairil was shaped by the politics of the period—that is of the revolution, and openly sided with the republic, as evi-

82Ajoeb (2004b, p. 28-35, esp. 29-30). 83The “Round Table Conference” was the conference held in the second half of 1949 in the Hague. The agreements made at the conference led to the formal recognition of Indonesian sovereignty, but was seen as a betrayal by many on the left of the nationalist movement (as well as by many favouring an Islamic state as the form for the new nation). Compromises made were seen as perpetuating colonialism in a new form, and the failure to secure West New Guinea as an integral part of the republic was a particularly sore point. See Cribb (1992, p. 409-410) and Kahin (1952, p.433-445). 84See, for example, comments in Boejoeng Saleh “Jawaban kepada saudara Aoh Karta- hadimadja” Harian Rakjat (hereafter HR) 31/1/1953 and Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 11/4/1953. “AN ODE TO INDONESIAN CULTURE” 59 denced by poems like Persetujuan dengan Bung Karno (“An agreement with comrade Sukarno”) and Diponegoro.85 Ajoeb works to remove the artificial boundaries between different artists and currents that were identified in subsequent presentations. He describes artists that were later prominent Lekra members (such as Basuki Resobowo, Hendra and Sudjojono) in close interaction with writers and artists who were later to be associated with anti-communist tendencies, or at least to be claimed by them (as in the case of Chairil Anwar). The drawing of these connections is all the more powerful coming from an eye-witness and key cultural organiser of the period. Part of this process is the argument that Angkatan 45 was not “Universal Humanist”, a designation he ties to the Dutch professorA. A. Teeuw (who Ajoeb associates to the Dutch colonial regime of the late 1940s—he was funded by the Dutch government to study in Indonesia during the revolution) and his close friend, the Indonesian critic Hans Bague Jassin. For Ajoeb, “Universal Humanism” is an ex post facto designation used to justify the appropriation of a common inheritance for one tendency (an anti-communist tendency).86

85Ajoeb (2004b, p. 43-46). Ajoeb also takes up the issue of A.S. Dharta’s provocative declaration “Angkatan 45 sudah mampus!” (“The ’45 Generation is dead!”) in late 1949. This essay has been used to argue that Lekra was a clear break from Angkatan 45. But Dharta wrote this essay before Lekra was formed and before Dharta became its ﬁrst general secretary. Moreover, he was writing in the context of the winding down of the National Revolution in compromise agreements with the Dutch government and the demoralisation of the left-wing of the nationalist movement following the Madiun aﬀair. Ajoeb argues that Dharta (writing under the nom de plume Jogaswara) was putting forward his own personal provocative opinion in a particular context, not any position that was taken up by Lekra. See Ajoeb (2004b, p. 33). The original article was published in the magazine Spektra and is reproduced in Dharta (2010). 86 Kekuatan pokok Angkatan ini bukan pada “humanisme universal”, sebagaimana yang telah digemborkan Prof. A. Teeuw. . . Kekuatan atau kepriba- dian mereka terbentuk oleh kehadiran mereka di tengah-tengah pasang pen- gubahan sejarah negeri dan bangsanya. The strength of this generation was not the “universal humanism” champi- oned by Prof. A. Teeuw. . . Their strength or character was shaped by their existence in the midst of a high tide of change in the history of their nation and people.(Ajoeb, 2004b, p. 29).

See also Ajoeb (2004b, p. 28-36, 40-44, passim). 60 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

Ajoeb sees the on-going “National Awakening” (Kebangkitan Nasional) as the force uniting the various currents (which “interwove” them87). He draws an especially strong link between the nationalist education movement Taman Siswa88 and Lekra, seeing the former as developing a vision of a consciously political process for the construction of a new national culture to support the new nation being built. He attributes the core Lekra idea of Ke- budayaan Rakyat (People’s Culture; Popular Culture; Democratic Culture) to Ki Sarmidi Mangunsarkoro89, who was the leading figure of Taman Siswa in Jakarta, citing Mangunsarkoro’s essay “Kebudayaan Rakjat”, which was published as a booklet in 1951.90 Ajoeb argues that: “Mukadimah LEKRA” itu adalah titisan sejarah kebangkitan nasional bangsa ini, kongkritnya aktualisasi dan pengembangan dari azas yang diperjuangkan Taman Siswa. The Lekra Manifesto [Mukadimah] is an embodiment of the history of the national awakening of this nation, a concrete actu- alisation and development of the foundation laid in struggle by Taman Siswa.91 Ajoeb cites a number of links between the two institutions, in terms of both personnel and activities. He cites, for example, Taman Siswa’s support for the activities of the Lekra “choir and dance ensemble” Gembira (“Joy”) and the close links between leading Lekra figures like Hendra, Affandi, and Sud- jojono and Taman Siswa in Yogyakarta.92 87Ajoeb repeatedly characterises the various elements of nationalist-aligned art as being berkelindan (“interwoven”). For Ajoeb’s discussion of the relationship between Lekra and Taman Siswa see Ajoeb (2004b, p. 48-53 & passim). 88Taman Siswa (“Students’ Garden”) was a nationalist oriented educational movement founded by Javanese aristocrat and anti-colonial radical Soerwardi Soerjaningrat (later known as Ki Hadjar Dewantara, the name he took after founding the Taman Siswa movement in the early 1920s). See Tsuchiya (1987). 89Ki Sarmidi Mangunsarkoro (1904-1957), like Dewantara, was a Central Javanese aristocrat and left-leaning nationalist. He was a member of the PNI and a strong opponent of the KMB—politics which provided common ground with artists and activists sympathetic to the PKI. From the period of the KMB negotiations and the recognition of sovereignty until just after the initial formation of Lekra he was Minister of Education and Culture. 90Mangunsarkoro (1951). 91Ajoeb (2004b, p. 50). 92It is easy to imagine how Ajoeb could have gone further on the latter front. Amongst “AN ODE TO INDONESIAN CULTURE” 61

Ajoeb’s idea of the “habitat” of Lekra is not limited to stories of origin in the revolution and the National Awakening that preceded it in the first half of the twentieth century. He also attempts to show how these influences flowed directly into a particular cultural dynamic “ecology” (to follow his analogy) in the early 1950s, which he identifies both in terms of location and activity. He draws a picture of cultural life in the early 1950s that features prominently two key organisations: the Lembaga Kebudajaan Indonesia (the Indonesian Institute of Culture–LKI)/Badan Musjawarah Kebudajaan Nasional (the National Consultative Council for Culture–BMKN) and the Masjarakat Seniman Djakarta Raya (the Greater Jakarta Artists’ Society– MSDR). In Ajoeb’s version of events, the LKI (which became the BMKN from 1952) was formed as a result of the 1948 Cultural Congress and fall-out from the “Cultural Accord” (Cultureel Akkoord) that formed part of the outcomes of the Round Table Conference in 1949.93 The founding conference of the Institute was held in 1950, with the theme of “Indonesian culture and foreign culture”, with the key note papers (preadvis) by Ki Hadjar Dewantara of Taman Siswa (delivered by the artist and writer Trisno Sumardjo), and the writer, critic, and editor Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana. This topic obviously arose out of wide-spread opposition to the cultural accord, and Ajoeb identifies the origins of Lekra with the radical nationalist position of Dewantara, who argued against the accord and that Indonesia should move away from its cultural relationship with the Netherlands towards a more independent and truly internationalist approach (at the conference Sumardjo essentially supported this approach, and Takdir proposed an approach that maintained the cultural relationship as a means of building on established cultural capital to access global culture). Lekra was formed immediately after the conference on the emotive date of August Seventeenth (Indonesian Independence Day).94 several other leading Lekra figures, for example, Basuki Resobowo was educated in the Taman Siswa system, and was also a teacher there. Soedjojono similarly was both educated and also taught in the Taman Siswa system. For some further discussion of the links, see Ajoeb (2004b, p. 50-51). 93Ajoeb (2004b, p. 19-23). This accords with Foulcher’s account (Foulcher, 1986, 13-17). 94See Foulcher (1986, Ch. 2). 62 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

Ajoeb identifies the LKI/BMKN and its conferences in 1950 in Jakarta, 1951 in Bandung, and 1954 in Solo as key events in the development of Lekra. He also clearly sees on-going activities of the Institute/council as an important element of Lekra’s “habitat”, and generally he presents the body as a key forum in which Lekra related to other cultural currents.95 The other organisation that he gives particular attention is the MSDR, and Ajoeb sees both as bringing together all the tendencies, political and artistic, present in Jakarta at the time.96 Initially the two organisations shared the same office building, and Ajoeb also spends some time drawing the geography of cultural production at the time, in his endeavour to underline the interconnections and level of cooperation that existed. On this front he also emphasises the importance of less formal manifestations of interaction and collaboration, such as the importance of the Senen market (where a number of artists were based) and the Soto Padang Ismail Merapi café (warung), which was a favourite haunt of artists, writers, actors, film and stage crew, etc. He also emphasises the importance of “Tangkiwood”, the area in Mangga Besar where film artists and technicians were concentrated, as well as some infrastructure for film production. Ajoeb was seeking to show through all this that Lekra was not some strange, foreign beast that fell from the sky to wreak havoc in Indonesian culture, but rather was a normal part of Indonesian artistic life in the period, sharing origins, organisations, geography, and activities with non- and even anti-communist artistic groups and individuals.97 Another central theme of the essays is a discussion of key issues that were

95Ajoeb (2004b, p. 19-23; 70-74). 96 MSDR, menghimpun boleh dikata segenap seniman dan sastrawan yang ada di Jakarta, mulai dari mereka yang suka disebut sebagai “Angkatan 45”, LEKRA, sampai pada HAMKA, dan Bachrum Rangkuti, Djamaludin Ma- lik dan Usmar Ismail dengan insan perﬁlman mereka, berikut apa yang kala itu disebut sebagai “Seniman Senen”. The MSDR could be said to bring together all of the artists and writers that were in Jakarta, from those who liked to be called the “Generation of 45”, LEKRA, all the way to HAMKA and Bachrum Rangkuti, as well as Djamaludin Malik and Usmar Ismail with others from the ﬁlm industry, together with those who were known at the time as the “Senen artists”. (Ajoeb, 2004b, p. 72-73)

97Ajoeb (2004b, p. 72-76). “AN ODE TO INDONESIAN CULTURE” 63 internal to Lekra’s development and which became important parts of the anti-communist portrayal of the Institute, especially after 1965. The most important of these are Lekra’s relationship to the PKI; “Socialist Realism”; and “Politics in Command”, all dominant themes in the post-1965 presentation of the period. Ajoeb’s argument on “socialist realism” is simple: it is not much of an issue, since it was never adopted in any formal way. According to Ajoeb, it was clearly only ever a “special interest” for some members of Lekra, and even then only really became a popular issue from the late 1950s. Beyond this he argues that it would have been difficult to apply “socialist realism” to folk art forms that Lekra considered so important (such as Ketoprak and Ludruk), and regardless the term itself (i. e. “Socialist Realism”) was unclear—both elements of it were, according to Ajoeb, rancu (vague) in the period. He argues that a wide spectrum of political and artistic figures held themselves to be “socialists”. This included many anti-communists, such as Vice President Mohammad Hatta and members of the small but influential Socialist Party of Indonesia (PSI). Amongst the latter was the writer, Achdiat Karta Mihardja, who was a key critic of socialist realism. Ajoeb flippantly asks why Achdiat’s work should not be considered “socialist realist”, since he considered himself socialist, his work was consciously political, and can also easily be labelled “realist”.98 More problematic is the issue of the slogan “Politics in Command” or “Politics is the Commander” (Politik adalah Panglima). Ajoeb begins by putting the slogan into the context of Lekra history. He argues that it was not mentioned until a speech by Njoto at the first National Congress, which was held at the end of 1959, i.e. two thirds of the way through Lekra’s history. Even then, it was not adopted or mentioned in any of the decisions of the congress. It was only two years later, in 1961 that it was accepted by a plenum of the Institute as a “basis for creative work” (azas kerja kreatif ), alongside five other tuntunan (recommendations, guidelines).99 According to Ajoeb, “Politics in Command” was:

98For Ajoeb’s discussion of “socialist realism” see Ajoeb (2004b, p. 53-68). 99Ajoeb (2004b, p. 14). 64 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

. . . pedoman yang bersifat umum saja, bukan instruksi atau keharusan. Tidak dibuat petunjuk rinci apapun mengenai ini. Dan tidak ada penjelasan baku yang harus diikuti.

. . . a general guideline, not an order or necessity. No detailed instructions were made about it. And there was no formal explanation that had to be adhered to.100

Moreover, Ajoeb argues, the “Politics” element never referred to a party line:

Semboyan “Politik Adalah Panglima”, tidak berarti politik sesuatu partai adalah atau yang harus dijadikan “panglima”. LEKRA tidak pernah mengikat diri pada pengertian demikian. . . konotasi politik dalam semboyan itu adalah wawasan, bukan lembaga atau orang. . . Wawasan yang dapat lebur ke dalam proses penciptaan dan karya seni seperti patung, cerpen atau sajak. Dan di dalam proses inilah wawasan politik itu tunduk pada tuntutan estetika. . .

The slogan “Politics is the Commander” did not mean that the politics of any particular party was or should be the “commander”. LEKRA never associated itself with such an understanding. . . the connotation of “politics” in the slogan was that it should be an outlook, not an institution or individual . . . An outlook that could be integrated into the process of creation and into works of art like statues, short stories or poems. And in this process that political outlook should be subordinated to the demands of artistic aesthetics. . . 101

Ajoeb argues that if Lekra had indeed taken the approach that opponents suggest is reﬂected in the slogan “Politics in Command”, the Institute could never have had the success and inﬂuence that it did. He draws attention to Lekra’s role in educating artists, reminding the reader that many non- communist and even anti-communist artists passed through organisations like

100Ajoeb (2004b, p. 14). 101Ajoeb (2004b, p. 12). “AN ODE TO INDONESIAN CULTURE” 65

Sudjojono’s Seniman Indonesia Muda, Hendra and Affandi’s Pelukis Rakjat, amongst other institutions.102 In answer to the question why Lekra bothered with “Politics in Command” as a slogan, Ajoeb responds by arguing that there was a long established tendency in Indonesian art and literature to take an anti-political stance. It was an attitude that encouraged artists to think that “politics is dirty” and alienated them from the society around them, thereby depriving them of playing active and creative roles in the National Awakening. In the colonial era this stance, in effect, supported colonialism, and in the early 1960s it effectively supported imperialism. Ajoeb therefore sees “Politics in Command” as a re- statement of a long established approach to the development of Indonesian national culture, one that he sees as echoing the arguments made by both Ki Hadjar Dewantara of Taman Siswa and Trisno Sumardjo (a signatory of the anti-communist “Cultural Manifesto”) at the National Cultural Congress in 1950.103 The key thread throughout Ajoeb’s essays is that Lekra was not only a development of, but also and a constituent part of the National Awakening that began at the beginning of the twentieth century. He argues that its

102Ajoeb (2004b, p. 15-16). The evidence Ajoeb is putting forward at this point refers mainly to the time before the most controversial (at least in post-1965 terms) period of polemics, those immediately preceding the crushing of the Left (i.e. the early 1960s). But by the latter period a number of the non- and anti-communists who had passed through Lekra affiliates had hardened their positions and were somewhat alienated from the leaders of their “almae matres”. The specific example that he gives is the painter Zaini, an anti- communist artist who had come through the Sudjojono led Seniman Indonesia Muda. In 1963 Zaini was one of the nineteen signatories of the anti-communist “Cultural Manifesto”, which is also published in full (complete with its penjelasan [“explanation”]) in Mocopat (Ajoeb, 2004b, p. 89-99). 103Ajoeb (2004b, p. 16-17). In some ways Ajoeb is clearly responding in kind to the dominant discourse of the New Order period. The New Order sought to present communism and everything associated with it as “deviant” and inconsistent with Indonesian nationalism; Ajoeb seeks to emphasise the commonalities and shared roots with the broader nationalist movement, of which communism and its associations form a legitimate and integral part. The use of Trisno Sumardjo is an example of Ajoeb seeking to make it difficult to retreat to the black and white tropes of post-1965 discourse. His development from a supporter of the left position in 1950, to a strong anti-communist in 1963 underscores both the blurred lines of cultural politics in the period, and the dynamic development of individuals (and by extension organisations) within it. 66 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE key political foundation was kerakyatan104 nationalism, that is nationalism oriented towards the demands and needs of ordinary Indonesians. This was what linked Lekra to the PKI, not a formal, directed relationship with Lekra as subordinate to the PKI. According to Ajoeb, it is only with this in mind that we can make sense of the tensions between the PKI and Lekra in 1964- 65, when elements of the PKI leadership under party chairman D.N. Aidit sought to make the link between Lekra and the PKI formal, and thereby bring the Institute under more direct control of the party.105 The final essay in the series is largely a response to criticism in an open letter from Basuki Resobowo (writing from exile in the Netherlands). The main thrust of the letter is that Ajoeb is seeking to distance Lekra from the PKI, thereby capitulating to pressure from the New Order regime. Ajoeb begins his response with nostalgic reminiscinces of Basuki in his heydays in the 1930s-60s, paying tribute to Basuki’s contributions to painting, film, theatre, and politics (he was a communist-backed non-party member of the Constituent Assembly following the 1955 elections). Ajoeb then goes on to claims that the by then almost octogenarian artist has become “fundamentalist” in exile. Ajoeb states that he is nevertheless keen to have a dialogue with Basuki, in the spirit of the sometimes heated discussions that Lekraists had in the 1950s and 1960s.106. Ajoeb reprints in full Basuki’s criticism (earlier published in an exile magazine), then proceeds to defend himself. Basuki argues amongst other things that leftists should not be concerned (keberatan) if the regime ties Lekra to the PKI, “Let them!” (Biarlah), he cries.107 Reading many parts of Basuki’s

104The word rakyat (rakjat in the spelling of the period), and its derivatives such as kerakyatan, was, and still is, important in Indonesian politics. Seni untuk Rakjat (“Art for the People”) was the key slogan of Lekra in the period of this study. It is difficult to translate completely, but it is most often translated as “the people”, e.g. rakyat Suriah, “the Syrian people”. But it has a strong connotation of “the ordinary people”, a bit like “folk” in English. In this sense it is similar to das Volk in German. So, for example, lagu rakyat = “a folk song”. Kerakyatan means something like “of the people; popular”. 105This move was apparently opposed by fellow politburo member Njoto. See Ajoeb (2004b, p. 9-10). 106Ajoeb (2004b, p. 127-139) 107The full quote, which is at the end of Basuki’s open letter: Ajoeb, buat aku biarlah LEKRA dicap komunis. Masalah dicap PKI tidak “AN ODE TO INDONESIAN CULTURE” 67 letter, it can be difficult to find a clear point of difference between his and Ajoeb’s position. Both argue that Lekra and the PKI had no formal link, but that they were united by shared anti-colonial, anti-imperialist and kerakyatan politics, by some shared personnel, and by shared activity. Nevertheless, it is clear that Basuki wants to emphasise those links and proudly trumpet them. From his position in external exile this was easier than in Ajoeb’s internal exile, where he still carried an ID card that marked him as an eks-tapol (former political prisoner) and where he could be subject to the full force of the New Order regime’s repressive powers. It is this apparent insensitivity that Ajoeb responded to, writing that:

Saya tidak bisa menghilangkan kesan bahwa Basuki Resobowo tidak dapat menangkap atau menghargai baik konteks bahasan saya. . .

I cannot rid myself of the impression that Basuki Resobowo does not understand or properly appreciate the context of my discussion. . . 108

Ajoeb writes that he wrote Mocopat with “the mentality of the Secretary General of Lekra”109, concerned for the whole former membership of Lekra:

Tentulah sukar bagi Basuki untuk dapat membayangkan bagaimana Indonesia itu di dalam dan sesudah tragedi G30S-PKI. Maka itu ia tega bilang “biarlah”. Barangkali memang terlalu sulit baginya membayangkan bagaimana seseorang yang ingin jadi seniman yang ikut serta belajar kesenian di lingkungan LEKRA, tak mengerti seujung rambutpun teori Marxisme-Leninisme, apalagi prakteknya, tinggal di Cikarang atau Glenmore (ini nama kota kecil di Jawa

relevan dibicarakan dalam situasi politik Indonesia sekarang. Ajoeb, I think we should let them label LEKRA communist. The issue of being labelled “PKI” is not relevant in the present political situation in Indonesia. (Ajoeb, 2004b, p. 149)

108Ajoeb (2004b, p. 151). 109. . . alam pikiran Sekretaris Umum LEKRA (Ajoeb, 2004b, p.153). 68 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

Timur) atau di sebuah desa di Bali, tiba-tiba harus mengarungi masa-masa tragedi nasional itu menerpa.

It must be hard for Basuki to imagine what Indonesia was like during and after the tragedy of G30S-PKI [i.e. 1965-66]. That must be why he’s prepared to say “Let them!”. Maybe it is just too diﬃcult for him to imagine what it is like for someone who wanted to become an artist and who studied art with Lekra, but who did not understand one jot of Marxist-Leninist theory, let alone practice, who lived in Cikarang [a small town in West Java], or Glenmore (that’s the name of a small town in East Java), or a village in Bali, and then suddenly ﬁnds themselves having to deal with those times of national tragedy.110

Ajoeb must have known he was hitting a sensitive point for a political exile like Basuki. Nevertheless, he needed to emphasise a point made in his ﬁrst essay: Mocopat was an attempt to intervene in the cultural-political life of the time (the early 1990s), a time which continued to be over-shadowed by the crimes of 1965-66, the mass killings, the numerous imprisonments, the torture, the social marginalisation that aﬀected hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people—a threat that continued to be relevant until the fall of Suharto. Famous cases such as those of students brought to court for circulating Pramoedya Ananta Toer’s novels showed that the regime continued to be extremely sensitive to the issue of communism and culture, and others, such as the case of the raped and murdered labor leader Marsinah111 showed just how willing the regime still was to use terror against its own population.

110Ajoeb (2004b, p. 152-53). He then goes on to ask: Jika anak-anak perempuan Bali yang penari di desa yang biasa yang banyak jumlahnya, diterpa binasa di dalam tragedi nasional G30S-PKI itu, apakah kata-kata kita untuk mereka, “biarlah”? When Balinese girl dancers from ordinary villages, of which there were many, are slaughtered en masse in the national tragedy of G30S-PKI, do we say to them: “Who cares?” (Ajoeb, 2004b, p. 156) “Who cares?” here is a translation of Biarlah, which can also be translated as “Let them!” (the translation that I am using elsewhere), “Let it”, “So what!”, etc. It is often an expression of indiﬀerence. 111On the Marsinah case see Supartono (1999b); Saptari (2003b). WORK AFTER 1998 69

Ajoeb did not live to write in the freer post-1998 environment. His Mo- copat (as well as Gerhana Seni Rupa Modern Indonesia) was an important and courageous endeavour in difficult circumstances by a former Lekra leader to bring balance to the New Order era discussion of Lekra history. But the political context of the period and the political situation of the author could not help but colour it. Basuki’s criticism was unfair in the context of the time, and Ajoeb was justified in responding to it with some indignation. But two decades after it was written, the “communist” label holds less power than it once did. Ajoeb had good reason to attempt to dislodge Lekra from the PKI label. And he clearly had some effective arguments to back himself up. But we have no such need. The communist party was a legal party and a legitimate and recognised part of national political and cultural life before 1965. And so it will be treated in this thesis. Mocopat spends significant time on two themes that are important to us in later chapters of this thesis—political-aesthetic ideology (“Socialist Realism” and “Politics in Command”, as well as “People’s Art”) and the organisational environment of Lekra (especially the significance of the LKI/BMKN and MSDR), which are discussed in Chapters Three and Four.

Work After 1998

From the early 1990s, as the social change wrought by Indonesia’s prodigious economic growth from the mid 1980s began to bite, frustration with the corruption and authoritarianism of the regime began to increase. When the economy faltered in late 1997, these tensions came to a head. Finally, under intense pressure from street demonstrations and an occupation of the parliament building, in May 1998 President Suharto ﬁnally stepped down, after thirty-two years in power. His Vice-President, B.J. Habibie, began instituting a set of reforms that established Indonesia as a parliamentary democracy for the ﬁrst time in four decades.112 This opened the way for the

112See Aspinall et al. (1999) and Aspinall (2005). 70 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE creation of an atmosphere of freedom of expression as had not existed since the 1950s.113 Books began appearing on a wide range of topics that had been taboo under the Suharto regime, including communism. Works in English that had previously been proscribed were translated and published114, original materials from the pre-65 period were republished115 while new works on controversial topics were translated soon after they had been published in English116. Works by Lekraists that could not be published in the Suharto era were finally put into the public domain—including Joebaar Ajoeb’s Gerhana Seni Rupa Modern Indonesia [“Problems of Modern Indonesian Visual Arts”] and Sebuah Mocopat Kebudayaan Indonesia (see above on pages 56–69), as well as Kusni Sulang’s Di Tengah Pergolakan (see above on pages 52–54).117 New works by Lekraists and former communists or their associates were also published, including a number of memoirs and biographies.118 Collections of poetry and prose from Harian Rakjat, including some of the works we will examine in chapter eight, were published, and for the first time Indonesians could read a significant amount of communist literary work.119 The most prolific among the former Lekraists was the one-time Lekra Central Java leader Hersri Setiawan, who published two memoirs, Aku Eks- Tapol [“I am an ex-Political Prisoner”]120 and Memoar Pulau Buru [“A Buru

113As in the 1950s, however, this was not without qualiﬁcation. At various times since 1998, organisations and institutions in Indonesian civil society, and even in government, have sought to censor and suppress views. A couple of examples, amongst many, are the “sweeps” against “communist” books in the early 2000s and the attacks on Irshad Manji, during that liberal Muslim thinker’s recent visit to Indonesia. See The Economist (2001); “asa” (2012); Muryanto and Boediwardhana (2012). 114For example, Robert Cribb’s account of the killings in 1965-66 (Cribb (1990, 2003)), and the work of Ben Anderson and others on the coup of 1965 (Anderson et al. (1971); van Langenberg et al. (1999)). 115E.g. Aidit (2002a,b). 116E.g. Roosa (2008) 117Ajoeb (2004a); Ajoeb (2004b); Kusni Sulang [“J. J. Kusni”] (2005); Resobowo (2005). 118Amongst others: a biography of the Aidit family, Kurniawan and Andryansjah (2005); a biography of Njoto, Riza (2010); Mia Bustamam’s reminiscences of the Seniman Indone- sia Muda and Lekra founder, Sudjojono (Bustamam, 2006); and the memoirs of former Lekra Bali poet Putu Oka Sukanta (Sukanta, 1999). 119Yuliantri and Dahlan (2008b,a). 120Setiawan (2003). WORK AFTER 1998 71

Memoir”]121, a book on his experiences in the New Order Gulag. Hersri has also produced a significant amount of material on the history of the pre-1965 period and contributed to several other projects, often writing forewords, contributing chapters to compilations, or playing a variety of other roles in the production of material about Indonesian history, especially in the 1950-65 period.122 Several works have attacked head-on the claims of dominant New Order historiography123. Arguably just significant as these works has been works that, regardless of political orientation of the authors, began to move away from the themes emphasised by New Order discourse—for example, a study of the PKI’s politics in the early 1950s124; a study of Masjumi’s anti-communist politics in the same period125; and a study of cultural politics in Bali126, amongst several others. This move away from a teleological focus on 1965 and a homogenised and nationalised representation of pre-1965 history has also been reflected in research in English since the mid to late 2000s and early 2010s, as we shall see below. Before discussing this work it is important to note that the forces that supported and sustained the New Order regime did not simply disappear in May, 1998. Forces sympathetic not only to, but also with a vested interest in the continuing dominance of the regime’s version of Indonesian history before 1965, began to regroup in the early 2000s, and a significant backlash against the post-1998 liberalism was underway by the mid to late 2000s.

121Setiawan (2004). 122For example, he wrote the foreword and epilogue to Basuki Resobowo’s memoir (Re- sobowo (2005)); he edited Mia Bustamam’s memoirs of Sudjojono (Bustamam (2006)); he translated Margaret Kartomi’s reminiscences of the Australian movement to support independence(Kartomi (2005)), and conducted interviews with former political prisoners for an oral history of the post-1965 repression (Setiawan (2006)). 123For example Imam Soedjono’s taking to task of the portrayal of the PKI (Soedjono, 2006) and Dwi Rhoma Yuliantri and Muhidin Dahlan’s defence of Lekra (Yuliantri and Dahlan, 2008c). 124Subhan Sd (1996). 125Samsuri (2004). 126Suryawan (2005). 72 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE The Cold War is Not Over! Boxing the Shadows of the 1960s

In the 1980s and early 1990s, an underground opposition to Suharto’s New Order regime grew up. By the early to mid-1990s this consisted of a complex of student discussion groups, NGOs, cooperatives, land rights campaigns, and workers’ campaigns.127 As we saw above, Pramoedya Ananta Toer was an important focal point in the public discourse around these movements. There were a number of reasons for his conspicuous role in cultural and political discourse during the late New Order period from 1980-1998. Firstly the banning of his books, and the determination of Pramoedya and his colleagues at Hasta Mitra publishers (Yoesoef Isak and Hasyim Rachman) to continue to defy the regime, made him the centre of Indonesia’s most prominent freedom of expression case. As well as this, the continued restrictions on his movements and activities following his release from 14 years imprisonment without trial, put him at the centre of a key human rights cause that had an international proﬁle. Pramoedya’s books themselves, which were mainly history or historical novels, encouraged the recovery of non-hegemonic views of Indonesian history that emphasised direct action and the political creation of institutions and prevalent ideas, challenging the “naturalised” history of Indonesian school books. While in the latter, Indonesian history was a process of struggle between diﬀerent largely unchanging moral forces (where the forces of good won out in 1965), Pramoedya drew a picture where key ideas like “Indonesia” had to be actively created in struggles between complex social forces.128 Furthermore, the arrests of students for discussing or circulating his work provided more key human rights and freedom of thought cases that could be focal points of opposition to the regime.129 Finally, Pramoedya served as a

127Lane (2008, Chapters 4-6). 128Lane (2008, Chapter 4) focuses on the role Pramoedya and Hasta Mitra played during this period in helping the anti-regime opposition to recover Indonesia’s historical “memory”. 129This happened on a number of occasions in the early 1990s with the cases of Bonar Tigor Naipospos, Bambang Isti Nugroho, and Bambang Subono. See Lane (2008, p. 103) and Becker (1991). For details of some other cases see Heryanto (2006, Chapter 4). THE COLD WAR IS NOT OVER! 73 living reminder of the pre-1965 Left, and particularly of the period’s cultural left. This helps to explain why Pramoedya was at the centre of all the major controversies that concerned themselves with pre-1965 cultural politics before the fall of the Suharto regime in mid 1998. By the mid-1980s the regime already recognised that it had some serious concerns to address, and developed a number of counter strategies. From 1984 it instituted a new compulsory subject for high school students: Pendidikan Sejarah Perjuangan Bangsa (“The Study of the History of the National Struggle”), which forced students to rote learn the regime’s version of Indonesian history (including the presentation of Indonesian communism as an evil and immoral foreign plot).130 Nugroho Notosusanto, the then minister of education and previously the head of the armed forces history centre (with the rank “Brigadier General”), led these developments until his sudden death from a stroke in mid 1985.131 He was the first writer to produce the regime’s version of the events of the late 1960s132, and with government backing, in 1984 this account was made into a blockbuster style film, made by a leading film-maker, with a number of well-known actors: Pengkhianatan G 30 S/PKI (“The 30th of September Movement/Communist Party Betrayal”). The film won five Citra awards133, and was made compulsory viewing for all school students and many government officials for the next thirteen years. It

130Lane (2008, p. 108-110). This, alongside the also compulsory “Pancasila Moral Edu- cation” (PMP) subject were the key ideological indoctrination classes for school students. PMP was established by the regime in 1975, and was substantially revised in the 1980s (Nishimura, 1995). 131For more on Nugroho’s role in the development of New Order ideology, see McGregor (2001) and McGregor (2007). Immediately prior to becoming the minister of education, Nugroho was the rector (president or vice-chancellor) of the University of Indonesia (UI), an experience that produced the book Perjuangan membebaskan alma mater dari anark- isme: neraca setahun menjadi rektor Universitas Indonesia [“The struggle to liberate the alma mater from anarchism: the balance sheet of a year as rector of the University of Indonesia”] (Notosusanto, 1983). His appointment at UI had provoked a lot of opposition from students. No doubt this sharpened Nugroho’s mind to the emerging threats that the regime faced. 132Published in English in 1968 as The coup attempt of the September 30 Movement in Indonesia (Notosusanto and Saleh, 1968). A final version of this history was published in Indonesian in 1989 as Tragedi nasional: percobaan kup G 30 S/PKI di Indonesia (Noto- susanto and Saleh, 1989). 133The Indonesian equivalent of an Academy Award. 74 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE was also released as a novel in 1986, and became a book found on the shelves of virtually every public and school library in the country.134 From the early 1990s, as opposition began to build towards a movement that threatened to overthrow the regime, the regime and its supporters continued to endeavour to prosecute a counter-offensive. Aside from the debates around Sitor Situmorang’s speech in late 1993 and the awarding of the Magsaysay award to Pramoedya Ananta Toer (see above on pages 47–50), writers like Alex Dinuth sought to reinforce the regime’s views on the pre- 1965 Left and to warn of the “latent danger” of a resurgence of the PKI (a key excuse for the suppression of opposition, often through means involving high-levels human rights abuses).135 Following the regime’s final collapse, liberalisation allowed the publishing of a wealth of material on pre-1965 history that had been banned and could only circulate underground while Suharto still held power.136 In the face of the collapse of the regime, the subsequent independence of East Timor, and the proliferation of previously non-hegemonic ideas, right-wing forces tried to re-group, in their most crude and extreme forms in groups like MAKI (Masyarakat Anti-Komunis Indonesia [The Anti-Communist Community of Indonesia]137), led, amongst others, by the notorious East Timorese pro- integration militia leader, Eurico Guterres. A feature of this attempt to regain lost ground (and intimidate the apparently ascendant Left) was the production of a small number of books and other publications. As in previous efforts since the mid-1980s, the focus was also largely on the “betrayal” of 1965 (“G 30 S/PKI ”) and the danger of a resurgent Indonesian crypto- communism.138 From the middle of the first decade of the twenty-first century, this publishing effort grew significantly, producing a range of works from centre-right

134Atmowiloto and Noer (1986). 135See Dinuth (1993a) and Dinuth (1993b). 136For examples, see above on pages 69–71. 137“Maki” means “to curse or abuse”. The organisation appears to have taken a variety of names, also appearing as “The Anti-Communist Alliance” (Alliansi Anti Komunis–AAK), and more recently “The Anti-Communist Union” (Persatuan Anti Komunis–PERMAK). 138As examples, see Hartisekar and Abadu (1999); Masyarakat Anti Komunis Indonesia (2001); Abu Nain (2001); Keluarga Pahlawan Revolusi (2002). THE COLD WAR IS NOT OVER! 75 interpretations of pre-New Order history139, to writing that is more stridently right-wing and extremist. Works of the latter political colour have, as before 1998, continued to focus on re-iterating and defending the Suharto regime’s position on the history of the mid-1960s.140 In this sense, there has been little development since the fall of the Suharto regime in this sector of literature on pre-1965 history. Since the mid-2000s, however, a couple of developments have occurred. Instead of simply re-iterating or re-emphasising various aspects of the New Order regime’s account of the Sukarno period, accounts are tending to move towards analysis of why the PKI failed, and what lessons the right could learn to defeat an apparently resurgent new In- donesian Left.141 Not all of post-reform (reformasi) right-wing discourse has had the same focus on culture that occurred between 1980 and 1998, when Pramoedya Ananta Toer was a leading symbol of resistance to the regime. In this way, the approach has been similar to that taken by Western historians of communism during and prior to the Suharto’s rule.142 Nevertheless, one key conservative intellectual did see his way to publish a book that returned to the cultural debates of the New Order period, although his account of pre-1965 cultural politics is predictable. Fadli Zon’s Setelah Politik Bukan Panglima Sastra: Polemik hadiah Magsaysay bagi Pramoedya Ananta Toer (“When Politics is No Longer in Command: The Polemics around Pramoedya Ananta Toer’s Magsaysay Award”, 2009)143, published after Pramoedya’s death when the latter was again not in a position to defend himself, reproduced anti-communist tropes of the late New Order period (quite literally: the book consists almost exclusively of right-wing essays from Magsaysay award controversy with no endeavour whatsoever to present or even engage with countervailing views). But in the new context of a changed, post-reformasi Indonesia, this inability to engage with open argument or develop analysis beyond the stereotypes prevalent under Suharto’s rule, gives

139E.g Kasdi and Wulan (2005) and Anwar (2006). 140E.g. Fauzan (2008, 2009, 2011); Dipodisastro (2005); Dipodisastro and Amin (2006); Saidi (2006); Manafe (2007); Dinas Sejarah Angkatan Darat (2010); Wilis (2011). 141E.g. Samsudin (2004); Subroto (2007); Tanjung (2006a,b, 2007). 142E.g. Hindley (1964); [van der Kroef] (1965); Mortimer (1974); Törnquist (1984). 143Zon (2009). 76 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

Zon’s work a feeling of impotence, rather than the hard edge such work had in pre-1998 Indonesia.

Recent Academic Work

The post-reformasi period has seen a ﬂourishing in the publishing of works concerning the communist movement in general, as well as works more specifically concentrating on the relationship between it and culture. Pre-1965 works that had been banned have been republished, the limited number of works that had circulated underground in the Suharto period were formally published, and several left-wing ﬁgures published memoirs of various kinds, alongside some oral history works. Internationally, many more academic works appeared that challenged pre-1998 hegemonic views, and these were often quickly translated and published in Indonesian.144. This process accelerated from the mid-2000s, and included an emerging body of work on the relationship between communism and culture, and the cultural politics of the 1950s and 1960s in general. From around this time a scholarly literature began to emerge that sought to investigate more deeply the cultural and cultural-political history of Indonesia between the recognition of sovereignty at the end of 1949 and the destruction of the PKI and the Left in late 1965 and early 1966. This literature has challenged stereotypes and tropes born of the politics of the New Order period in a number of ways. Beyond this it has begun to provide more of the historical detail that will be necessary to develop sophisticated analyses of the period. Recognition of the legacy of the Suharto period has been a key starting point in much of this work. Lindsay (2012), in her introduction to the watershed Heirs to World Culture: Being Indonesian 1950-1965 145, challenges the teleology of many approaches to the cultural and political history of the period:

144For example the work of John Roosa and Max Lane on the “Thirtieth of September Movement” (Gerakan 30 September–G30S) and the politics leading up to the events of 1965: Roosa (2006, 2008); Lane (2010, 2012). 145Lindsay and Liem (2012). RECENT ACADEMIC WORK 77

The 1950-1965 time span of Indonesian history can be seen as many periods within a period. . . But in one signiﬁcant respect 1950-1965 is a single period—namely in the way our ideas about it have been shaped by the way it ended. It is this retrospective vision that the essays in this book focusing on cultural history set out to challenge.146

According to the dominant narrative during Suharto’s rule, the period was often presented as something of a morality play, with the “communists” (i.e. anybody at least somewhat sympathetic to the PKI or who had radical nationalist politics) as the villains and “independent” intellectuals and artists as the champions of artistic and intellectual integrity. Many of the new “revisionist” histories147 have challenged this monochrome presentation of activity and relationships amongst artists, intellectuals, and political activists in the period. Several of these works have challenged the stereotype of the cultural left as simply “aggressive” and dominating, some even recognising the suppression faced by left-wing artists and activists prior to 1965.148 Others have broadened perspectives in various ways: by studying previously ignored regions149, by moving away from a focus on the “Cultural Manifesto” versus Lekra aﬀair150, by moving away from the Suharto era focus on literature151, as well as looking at various ways that groups intersected and interacted in

146Lindsay (2012, p. 2-3). The collection of essays on the cultural politics of the period (Lindsay and Liem, 2012) constitute a ground-breaking work in the writing of the history of the period. They constitute a major source for this section of the thesis, and are a key representative of precisely the “revisionist” history that this thesis, in its own way, is seeking to emulate and relate to. 147I am borrowing a term here from scholarly research on the history of the Soviet Union, especially of the Russian revolution of 1917 and its aftermath. See the seminal Rethinking the Russian Revolution (Acton, 1990), amongst many others that sought to rethink Russian and Soviet history in the aftermath of the collapse of Stalinism in Europe after 1989. 148See, for example, Schulte Nordholt (2011); Bodden (2012); Yuliantri (2012) 149E.g. Bodden (2010) [North Sumatra], Darma Putra (2003, 2012) [Bali], and Hatley (2012) [South Sulawesi]. 150E.g. Lindsay (2012), Chisaan (2012) [focusing on Islamic culture], Hairus Salim HS (2012) [focusing on international Islamic cultural networks], and Darma Putra (2003) [focusing on the National Party (PNI) affiliated Institute of National Culture (LKN)]. 151E.g. Bodden (2010, 2012) [modern theatre], Yuliantri (2012) [singing and dance ensembles], and Irawati Durban Ardjo (2012) [Sundanese dance]. 78 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE ways contrary to stereotypes152. This literature is still exploratory, as well as partial and somewhat inconsistent, with Suharto era prejudices and assertions still making themselves felt at times. So, for example, I Nyoman Darma Putra’s pioneering work on Sukarno era cultural politics in Bali153 sometimes uncritically repeats the “common sense” of the cultural victors in Bali (i.e. the right-wing National- ists of the LKN).154 For instance, in his 2003 essay on the history of Lekra in Bali he states that “Nasakomisasi 155 often aided infiltration by the PKI”.156 This assertion, which clearly reflects anti-communist judgements and precon- ceptions, and could easily be expressed neutrally (e.g. “Nasakomisasi often facilitated PKI participation in organisations”).157 Especially in his 2003 ar-

152E.g. Bodden (2010, 2012), Dolk (2012), and Foulcher (2012). These and the above citations make clear the key contribution that the recent collection, Heirs to World Culture (Lindsay and Liem, 2012), has made. 153Darma Putra (2003, 2012) 154It should be noted here that I am referring to the members of the LKN (Lembaga Kebudajaan Nasional [Institute of National Culture]) as victors relative to the left nationalists around Lekra and other left-wing cultural groups. Like many who supported the emergence of the military regime of Major General Suharto, they did not necessarily prosper after 1965, and the rise of the regime was especially problematic for LKN members, since the organisation was suppressed at a national level (with the national chairman, Sitor Situmorang, and several others held in detention without charge or trial until 1975), and since at the national level the LKN had aligned itself with Lekra and other left-leaning cultural groups like the Partindo (Indonesia Party) aligned Lesbi (Indonesian Institute of Culture and the Arts). Moreover, the Institute’s political patron, the Indonesian National Party (PNI), was circumscribed in its activities and eventually forced to merge with several other parties to form the Indonesian Democratic Party (PDI). Nonetheless, the LKN in Bali was definitely on the winning side of the cultural conflict in Bali in the early to mid 1960s. 155Nasakomisasi was the policy of including representatives from all the key strands of the Indonesian nationalist movement, i.e. Nationalists, religious leaders and communists, in all the institutions of the state and the anti-imperialist movement more generally. See Cribb (1992, p. 312), Soekarno (1926) and Mortimer (1974, passim). 156Darma Putra (2003, p. 59). 157Even more problematic is the fact that Darma Putra cited Geoffrey Robinson’s The Dark Side of Paradise: Political Violence in Bali (Robinson, 1995, p. 230) as if it supported this assertion. Yet Robinson is clear that he is repeating the anti-communist views of army authorities:

[Sukarno’s] conception of “Nasakom”, according to which the country’s three basic political currents—nationalism, religion, and communism—would be knit into a single whole, was especially worrying to the Army, for whom “Nasakomization” implied infiltration by the PKI. RECENT ACADEMIC WORK 79 ticle, Darma Putra makes much of the PKI’s “atheism” (as opposed to their strong secularism), and in association with this, much of the PNI/LKN’s focus on Pancasila.158 Pancasila and the PKI’s supposed “atheism” were, of course, key elements used in anti-communist propaganda both before, and especially after, 1965. The role of such contentions were and are not aimed at bettering our understanding of the complex history of Indonesian communism—they are ideological weapons in a political struggle. For example, Darma Putra (2003, p. 58) claims that the articles and creative writing of leading Lekra figure Putu Shanty was “mainly concerned with poverty, class or caste conflict and atheism”, but provides no concrete examples from those works. He repeats the claim later in the article, making it clear that he sees Shanty as emblematic of wider trends in Lekra Bali, writing that “Writers such as Putu [Shanty]. . . also explored themes which express doubt in the existence of God”.159 To illustrate his point, Darmaputra gives a brief description of a short story by Shanty:

Kekalahanku yang keempat (My fourth defeat) is set in the 1940s

In Darma Putra (2012, p. 326), he repeats the assertion, this time with no reference in support: “‘Nasakomization’ in practice implied PKI inﬁltration into political and cultural activities”. 158The ﬁve principles of state for the Indonesian republic: 1. One supreme Divinity; 2. Just and civilised humanitarianism; 3. Indonesian unity; 4. Popular democracy guided by wisdom in deliberation and representation; 5. Social justice for the entire Indonesian people. [Translation by the author. The original Indonesian: 1. Ketuhanan yang maha esa; 2. Kemanusiaan yang adil dan beradab; 3. Persatuan Indonesia; 4. Kerakyatan yang dipimpin oleh hikmat kebijaksanaan dalam per- musyawaratan/perwakilan; 5. Keadilan sosial bagi seluruh rakyat Indonesia.]

159Darma Putra (2003, p. 64). Darma Putra cannot help but add: “Atheism, however, did not ﬁt with the religious attitude of the Balinese people in general. . . ”. If a key element of PKI and Lekra politics really was atheism, and if atheism really was a poor ﬁt for Balinese society, why was the PKI so successful in Bali? Especially given the powerful forces ranged against them, such as the Army. 80 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE

and 1950s and tells of a domestic conﬂict in a poor family who are unable to hold frequent religious rituals because of the high cost. In the husband–wife quarrel, the futility of belief in God is often articulated.

However, Darma Putra unfortunately provides no example of a character expressing such sentiments, which undercuts his argument and leaves the reader wondering if his analysis has fallen victim to reading his primary sources through the spectacles of post-1965 New Order regime propaganda.160 In his 2012 article, Darma Putra softens his position somewhat, arguing that “Lekra was perceived [by whom?] to support atheism because it was seen [again, by whom?] as an instrument of the PKI”161. He then goes on to contrast Lekra on this front with LKN:

As a secular organization, LKN took no stand on matters of religion. However, its support for Pancasila. . . meant that it did not provoke hostility from religious organizations.162

Later he reiterates this point, this time with some qualiﬁcation:

In the context of religion, however, LKN and LEKRA stood sharply opposed, with the former’s endorsement of Pancasila implying an acceptance of “belief in God”, while LEKRA was per-

160Another issue with Darma Putra’s account is that he claims that Lekra Bali was not formed until roughly 1960 (Darma Putra, 2003, p. 55). While recognising this date as being a “hypothesis” with some evidence in support, he nonetheless goes on to use work published in the early 1950s, paying special attention to the left-leaning magazine Bhakti, which apparently ceased publication in 1954 (p. 58). He uses this work as if it was Lekra work, almost a decade before the organisation existed in Bali (on his own account). This body of work might well raise interesting questions about the process that led to the formation of Lekra, but clearly it cannot be presented as representing Lekra per se. He is also somewhat careless with other historical details: for example, Sobron Aidit (one of D.N. Aidit’s younger brothers) is described as “the leader of the PKI”, a role he most deﬁnitely never held. Likewise, the 1964 “Conference on Revolutionary Literature and Arts” (Konferensi Sastra dan Seni Revolusioner—KSSR) is described as being organised by Lekra, when it was actually organised by the PKI, and may well have been an expression of rising tensions between the PKI leadership under D.N. Aidit and Lekra’s central leadership (Bodden, 2012, passim). 161Darma Putra (2012, p. 322). 162Darma Putra (2012, p. 322). CONCLUSION 81

ceived to support atheism, or at least LKN portrayed it in this way. [emphasis added]

This is the first clear recognition that the account he had been propagating represented the perspective of a particular set of participants, which was being repeated without the support of a detailed study of surviving evidence. The PKI never had a policy of atheism, nor did it oppose Pancasila, but its relationship to both was clearly complex, and it is clear that political opponents saw these two issues as sensitive areas that could be attacked. Nevertheless, it does not seem to be the case that parties like Masjumi and the PNI were able to utilise them effectively to make ground relative to the PKI before the party the latter was destroyed in 1965-66, and these two areas became key elements of the new regime’s state ideology.163 Darma Putra’s otherwise commendable work is not unique in continuing to repeat, either partially or wholly, tropes that were developed by anti- communists and promoted and made authoritative by the Suharto regime, despite at the same time breaking down various elements of this same discourse. It is, nevertheless, a significant part of the new wave historical writing on the period, and focuses strongly on a theme that will be at the core of one of the chapters of this thesis: the presentation of religion in literature produced in and around the communist movement.

Conclusion

The New Order narrative of the history of the communist movement was forged amongst mass killings and widespread human rights abuses. Through- out Suharto’s reign, it served to justify these and other abuses, but as the

163On the PKI’s relationship to Pancasila, (Mortimer, 1974, p. 66-67, 74, 83, 92-95, 115, 313-314, 369, 379-380) and (Hindley, 1964, p. 123, 265), amongst others. On the party’s relationship to religion, see Mortimer (1974, p. 19, passim 33-39, passim 54-95, 158-159, 170, 285, 305, passim 317-337, 365, 376-379, passim 387-390, 411). Even these sources and some others like them give their accounts without reference to detailed studies of the politics of the PKI in these areas (especially in the case of religion in general). This again underlines how far we are from being able to write relatively definitive histories of Indonesian communism in the period, and of the period in general. 82 CHAPTER 2. COMMUNISM & CULTURE regime aged splits began to appear amongst the cultural elite, and space gradually opened for more dissenting discussion of this history, especially in the area of cultural history. At the same time, a limited number of academic works began to be published that challenged the dominant discourse, and exiled left-wing intellectuals— while still marginal—also made efforts to put their perspectives on this history forward. This process accelerated after the fall of the regime in 1998, despite some reaction from right-wing writers from the mid-2000s. Never- theless, the New Order narrative remains influential, and continues to affect public and academic discussion of the history of the Indonesian communist movement, including the history of the relationship between that movement and culture. This thesis is part of a wave of new research on pre-1965 Indonesian history that seeks to move out of the shadow of the authoriatarianism of the New Order period. It endeavours to “step back” and look again at the period with new eyes. It is not trying to write a comprehensive or definitive study of the period or any aspect of the period. It is exploratory, and focuses on returning to contemporary sources to see how they might help us reassess our perspectives and find new research questions for further investigation. In the next chapter I will begin by building a picture of the political situation in 1950 that set the scene for the emergence of a new leadership of the communist movement under D. N. Aidit. These younger leaders saw culture as central to their strategy to rebuild the PKI and the movement around it, a goal that they had more than achieved by late 1955. I will go on to look at the general politics of this strategy and how it interacted with cultural politics at a broad level, before moving on to an investigation into how cultural activity was organised in the movement, as reflected in Kebudajaan, the cultural supplement of the PKI organ Harian Rakjat. Part II

Politics, Organisation & Ideology

Chapter 3

Artists, Activists, and Organisations

Introduction

Indonesian communist ideas concerning culture developed in a particular place and time, and within a particular organisational ecology. The cultural ideas and forms of expression of the movement only make sense in this context. What was the history that created this context? What did contemporary political events and issues contribute to its development? This chapter looks at the history that led to the cultural-political situation of early 1950s Indonesia, as well as outlining the politics of the communist movement of the period. It then goes on to examine how cultural activity was organised in the movement and how this activity was integrated with the movement and wider society—with a focus on insights that a reading of Kebudajaan might give us into these issues.

The Formation of Left-Wing Cultural Politics in Early 1950s Indonesia

The National Awakening and Cultural Politics

Artistic expression formed a signiﬁcant part of the activity of the Indonesian anti-colonial movement from its beginnings. A number of pioneering anti-

85 86 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS colonial/nationalist leaders—Tirto Adisoerjo, Mas Marco Kartodikromo, Se- maun, Muhammad Yamin, Abdul Muis, amongst others—wrote novels, and when anti-colonial radical Soewardi Soerjaningrat founded the nationalist education movement Taman Siswa in 1922, creative expression and the foundation of a new independent national culture were central concerns.1 In the more conservative period following the defeat of the PKI-led anti- colonial rebellion of 1926-27, a “Great Debate” developed amongst the emerging Indonesian intelligentsia exploring how local intellectuals should relate to Western, and especially Dutch, culture. On the one hand pro-Western (and more collaborationist) intellectuals like Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana embraced Western culture as liberating Indonesians from the inertia and backward- ness of stifling traditional ideas and customs. On the other stood figures like Ki Hadjar Dewantara (the earlier Soewardi Soerjaningrat2), who argued for the building of a more self-reliant national culture that looked more to positive elements of traditional culture and also to the cultures of other colonised countries (such as India—Dewantara was strongly influenced by Rabindranath Tagore). These tensions came to a head as Indonesia sought to establish and consolidate itself as an independent nation following the end of hostilities with the Dutch.3

The National Revolution

Hundreds of years of Dutch colonial rule in the Indonesian archipelago came to an end on March 8, 1942, when the Dutch Indies government surrendered, after minimal resistance, to the advance of Japanese imperial forces. Dutch administrators were, for the most part, relieved of their posts, and thousands of Indies Dutch people were interned in harsh conditions for the remainder of the war.4 Dutch and allied enterprises were taken over by Japanese military

1For more on Taman Siswa see Tsuchiya (1987). 2This name was taken by Soerjaningrat after he began his activities building the Taman Siswa educational movement. 3See Foulcher (1986, Ch. 2). 4For more on the experience of Dutch civilians, internees, and prisoners of war during the Japanese occupation, see de Jong (2002). THE FORMATION OF LEFT-WING CULTURAL POLITICS 87 administrators, or were simply disbanded (as in the case of some plantation enterprises, where land was converted to rice production to feed Japanese forces). Many Indonesians who had managed to get an education before the war suddenly found themselves in positions of modern responsibility and authority that would have been impossible under the Dutch colonial regime. This contributed to the growth in confidence amongst the developing nationalist leadership and, alongside the easy defeat of the European colonial masters, contributed significantly to dispelling colonial myths of European superiority.5 Late in the Japanese occupation, hints at Japanese support for Indone- sian independence began to be made, especially in Java, and an Investigative Committee for the Preparation of Independence (Badan Penyelidik Usaha Persiapan Kemerdekaan) was allowed to convene. By the time of Japanese surrender on August 15, 19456 the rudiments of an indigenous modern administration were in place, at least in some places, as were other preparations for independence, including a rudimentary constitution and state philosophy (Pancasila).7 Nevertheless, when the surrender and ensuing political vacuum arrived, the key established leaders were not immediately prepared to take the initiative, and only declared independence after being “kidnapped” by young left-wing activists. The declaration was greeted with mass support and inspired uprisings in many areas of Indonesia, some taking the form of social revolution (perhaps most notably in East Sumatra and Aceh).8 The defeat of the Dutch by the Japanese, and then the declaration of independence three and a half years later, invigorated a generation of In- donesian artists in a wide range of fields. Many openly sided with the newly declared Republic of Indonesia, and a lot of new works were produced in often difficult circumstances. New artists and writers came to the fore—such

5On the period of the Japanese occupation, see Kahin (1952, Ch. 4). 6This is the date of Emperor Hirohito’s public announcement of Japanese surrender. The official ceremonial surrender was held on board the battleship USS Missouri on September 2, 1945. 7Kahin (1952, Ch. 4). 8On this period of the National Revolution, see Anderson (1972), Reid (1974, Ch. 4) and Kahin (1952, esp. Ch. 5-6), amongst many others. 88 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS as the painters Hendra and Affandi, the poet Chairil Anwar, and the novelist and short story writer Pramoedya Ananta Toer, amongst many others. This emerging group of artists, especially in literature, came to be known as the “Generation of ’45” (Angkatan 45 ), after the year of the declaration of independence.9 The Dutch, as the pre-war colonial masters, attempted to re-take Indone- sia with the support of the Allies, but, in the face of strong resistance from Indonesians and a concerted international solidarity campaign10, they finally conceded sovereignty in late 1949 at the “Round Table Conference” (Kon- ferensi Meja Bundar—KMB—in Indonesian). Through the agreements of the conference, the Netherlands government sought to protect what it saw as its on-going interests in Indonesia. These included a “Cultural Accord”, which many on the Left felt was an endeavour to preserve preeminent Dutch cultural influence in Indonesia.11 The dénouement of the Revolution also included the crushing of the In- donesian Left, especially the PKI and its affiliates, following a conflict between pro-independence forces known as the “Madiun Affair” (Peristiwa Ma- diun).12 This conflict grew out of tensions over concessions made to the

9Tense is important in this sentence. It is important to note that the term did not come into usage until late in the revolutionary period, and the term was by no means accepted by all its referents after the fact—especially since it came to be identified with the liberal cultural ideology of “universal humanism”, which was seen as pro-Western and pro-capitalist. 10On the solidarity campaign in Australia, see Lockwood (1975). 11See Kahin (1952, p. 431-445) and Reid (1974, Ch. 8) 12Given the intensity of the Cold War conflict globally, and the role that the story of the Madiun events have played in discussion of Indonesian history, especially since the rise of the staunchly anti-communist Suharto regime in 1965-66, any discussion of this conflict is fraught. This begins with the label given to the events. They are normally referred to as the “Madiun Affair” (in Indonesian—Peristiwa Madiun) or the “Madiun Rebellion” (Pemberontakan Madiun). Choosing the latter label clearly takes a particular side in the conflict, assuming that one side comprised the legitimate bearers of the anti- colonial standard. More objective is to recognise these events as a violent conflict between significant forces in the nationalist movement with differing views of the way forward. The former (“Madiun Affair”) gives the impression of small conspiracy that happened in the shadows and involved a limited number of people. But the events of late 1948 mobilised hundreds of thousands of people and affected the lives of millions, covering a significant area of central and eastern Java—a scale which was clearly massive, but this basic picture still requires further research. To a lesser extent, the sweep of the events might also be THE FORMATION OF LEFT-WING CULTURAL POLITICS 89

Dutch in the “Renville Agreement” in January, 1948, and moves to withdraw guerilla units from Dutch occupied areas and demobilise many popular militia (which had more eﬀect on the Left than the Right). An uprising that appears to have begun in the lower echelons of left-leaning military units was supported the PKI leadership, but was put down in a matter of weeks by troops supporting the Sukarno-Hatta leadership of the republic. Tens of thousands were killed in the conﬂict, and many key leaders of the PKI were captured, held without trial, and later executed (including Musso, the PKI chairman recently returned from exile in Stalin’s Russia, and the former prime minister of the republic, Amir Sjarifuddin). 36,000 left-wing cadre were reported to have been imprisoned in the aftermath of the uprising.13

Dazed and Confused? Indonesian Communism, 1949-50

Throughout the National Revolution enthusiasts of “communist” ideas of various kinds14 played key roles in republican politics, both in government circles that favoured diplomatic (and more compromising) approaches to the achievement of national independence and those that favoured a “100% freedom” approach to the struggle.15 The defeat of communist and other left seen as reason to call into question the use of “Madiun” in the label, since it might also suggest that the events occurred in a restricted area. Nevertheless, I will be referring to this part of Indonesian history as the “Madiun events” or the “Madiun movement”. Both give a sense of the extent of the phenomenon and are neutral. The “Madiun events” is also a valid translation of a common Indonesian term cited above (Peristiwa Madiun), but it gains by the use of a straight-forward English plural form, rather than the somewhat cryptic singular form, “affair”. 13The Madiun events remain an area of controversy and lack of clarity. They have played an important role in public discourse about national history in Indonesia. From both of these perspectives, it is similar to the events on and following October 1, 1965. Studies include Swift (1989), Poeze (2011), and Kreutzer (1981). For some PKI views of the events, see Aidit (1964) and Aidit et al. (2001). For testimony from a direct participant, see Setiawan (2002). 14During the revolution a number of groups claimed the heritage of the PKI of the 1920s, including various parties and organisations that would later merge to form the PKI of 1950-51 and organisations whose politics were aligned to Tan Malaka’s “national communism”. The nature and diversity of all these political tendencies requires further study. 15In Indonesian these broad strategies are often referred to as diplomasi and perjuangan (struggle) approaches. 90 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS forces at Madiun most definitely constituted a defeat for the latter approach and a victory for the more conservative elements of the nationalist movement, represented most notably by Vice President Mohammad Hatta. And, sure enough, by the end of the following year the logic of their approach to nationalist politics played out to its conclusion: a compromise agreement that gave formal recognition of independence, but did not concede the full territory of the Dutch East Indies to the new republic and protected on-going Dutch economic interests. Moreover, the “Round Table Agreement” that brought about the recognition of sovereignty included a cultural element that recognised and sought to promote a “special” cultural relationship between the Netherlands and In- donesia. Just as the economic arrangements of the agreement were seen as protecting the on-going economic relations of the colonial era, this was seen as encouraging the continuation of colonial culture.16. The wave of repression that followed Madiun saw the killing or imprisonment of large numbers of middle level leaders of the communist movement, and this damage to communist organisation was compounded by the execu- tion without charge or trial of eleven key leaders of the communist party, including PKI chair Musso, former Prime Minister Amir Sjarifuddin, five politburo members, the chair of the Labor Party, and two key leaders of the pro-communist trade union federation, SOBSI.17 During 1949 there were attempts at regroupment, but most surviving communists were afraid to openly associate themselves with the PKI or the other two re-formed communist

16Kebudajaan frequently referred to the key institutional outcome of the Round Table Agreement in culture, the Stichting voor Culturele Samenwerking (Sticusa, the Foundation for Cultural Cooperation) as an expression of persisting colonial culture. A favourite strategy was to refer to prominent figures who took a stand against Sticusa—for examples of this see “Pramoedya Ananta Toer tentang STICUSA” HR 21/08/54 and Bakri Siregar “Prijono tentang KMB dan Sticusa” HR 8/10/55. Editorials, reportage, and short fiction in Kebudajaan also frequently pointed to the agreement as the source of Indonesia’s woes, see for example Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Seniman dan Politik” HR 13/06/53, Njoto “Besuki (catatan perjalanan singkat)” HR 16/1/54, and Saibun “Mogok Setahun” HR 19/6/54. See Foulcher (1986, Ch. 2 & 3) for general coverage of the issues around the agreement and its cultural fall-out. 17Hindley (1964, p. 21). The chair of the communist-oriented Labor Party was apparently killed in fighting during the rebellion. THE FORMATION OF LEFT-WING CULTURAL POLITICS 91 sympathising parties (the Socialist Party and the Labor Party).18 In 1950 PKI membership was only around 4000-5000 and members were still demoralised and disoriented.19 In this dire situation a group of young communists, including the then twenty-six year old Dipa Nusantara Aidit, thirty year old M. H. Lukman, and the twenty-three year old Njoto set about re-orienting and re-invigorating the party, and part of their strategy was a systematic approach to culture in the communist movement and in Indonesian society more broadly.

The Unﬁnished Revolution and the Birth of Lekra

Adalah suatu kepastian, bahwa dengan gagalnja Revolusi Agus- tus 1945, Rakjat Indonesia sekali lagi terantjam suatu bahaja, jang bukan sadja akan memperbudak kembali Rakjat Indonesia di lapangan politik, ekonomi dan militer, tetapi djuga di lapangan kebudajaan.

It is a matter of certainty that, with the failure of the August Revolution of 1945, the Indonesian People are once again threatened by a danger that will not only once again enslave them politically, economically and militarily, but will also enslave them culturally.20

The defeat of the Madiun movement dealt a signiﬁcant blow to the perjuangan-oriented forces (that is, those groups and tendencies that favoured defeating the Dutch through struggle—including military struggle—rather than gaining an independence through diplomacy that preserved colonial interests).21 When the formal recognition of sovereignty came, demoralisation on the Left combined with a broader social and political ennui in the face of

18Hindley (1964, p. 22). 19Hindley (1964, p. 69). 20Lekra, Mukadimah (Manifesto), 1950. Also available in Foulcher (1986). 21In Indonesia these two tendencies are often referred to as those favouring diplomasi or perjuangan (“struggle”). Of course the distinction between these tendencies can be artificial, since many groups and individuals sometimes favoured confrontation, and at other times negotiation, or combined the two strategies in a variety of ways. 92 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS a compromise end to what had been a life and death battle. Many felt that a struggle that had cost so many so much had produced an outcome where the concerns of the former colonial rulers were still protected—including protecting and privileging Dutch cultural interests.22 The end of the national revolution also brought to an end the conditions that produced the Angkatan 45, although most of the personnel (with notable exceptions like Chairil Anwar) remained and the ideals developed during this period continued to resonate in cultural life. Even before the formal recognition of sovereignty, the demoralisation and disorientation of 1949 led the later Lekra founding chairman, A.S. Dharta (writing under the pen name “Jogaswara”) to declare “Angkatan 45 sudah mampus!” (“The Generation of ’45 is dead!”).23 According to Joebaar Ajoeb24 and many others this situation called for more concerted efforts to build a new national culture that broke free from its colonial history.25 Moves to coordinate efforts to develop an anti-colonial national culture had already begun immediately prior to the Madiun events in August 1948, when republican political and cultural figures came together for the first National Cultural Congress in the Central Javanese town of Magelang. Following the recognition of sovereignty a new national cultural body, the Lembaga Kebudajaan Indonesia (LKI—“The Institute of Indone- sian Culture”)26 was formed to coordinate these efforts in collaboration with the republican government and civil society bodies. In early August 1950, it

22See, for example, the articles cited above in the footnote on page 90. This was by no means a sentiment restricted to the communist movement, and as the 1950s progressed it became increasingly common to talk of the National Revolution as being unfinished, and this idea became a key element of “Guided Democracy” ideology after 1957—see Feith (1970) and Lev (1966). Indeed this idea continues to have resonance as evidenced by statements like Pramoedya Ananta Toer’s 2003 speech “The revolution begun in 1945 must be completed” (Toer, 2003) and Kartika Sukarno’s 2011 Jakarta Post article “Indonesia’s unfinished revolution” (Sukarno, 2011), amongst many others. Lane (2008) is essentially a more academic and detailed elaboration of the same theme. 23Dharta (1949). 24Founding member and later general secretary of Lekra. 25See the footnote above on page 90. 26The LKI changed its name to Badan Musjawarah Kebudajaan Nasional (BMKN— The National Consultative Council for Culture) following the the 1951 National Cultural Congress. This appears to have taken effect from 1952 (Holt, 1967, p. 246). THE FORMATION OF LEFT-WING CULTURAL POLITICS 93 held its first congress after formation (which was considered the second national cultural congress, with the congress in Magelang constituting the first). The main theme of proceedings was “Indonesian culture and foreign culture”, with a wide range of artists, intellectuals and political figures in attendance. Ki Hadjar Dewantara and Sutan Takdir Alisjahbana, both prominent figures of the colonial era nationalist movement, provided the congress with “preadvis” (“preliminary reports”) designed to guide discussion.27 Dewantara argued against the cultural accord and the KMB agreement, and it was in the context of the strong showing of those opposed to these agreements, and a general feeling that the national revolution had been left unfinished, that “around fifteen cultural workers and activists”28, including soon to be PKI politburo members Njoto and D.N. Aidit, formed Lekra a week and a half after the congress on the emotive date of August 17 (Inde- pendence Day).29 With the support of the PKI and “fellow travelling” organisations, Lekra quickly established branches in a number of cities and towns around Indone- sia. By the time of the third national cultural congress, held in Bandung in October, 1951, the institute claimed that it had 21 branches, overwhelmingly in Java (especially Central Java).30 As well as establishing an organisational structure, organising a variety of artistic activities and intervening in LKI, Lekra also developed media that discussed and published work produced in and around the communist movement. This apparently included space in a variety of regional media, along with the cultural pages (Lembaran Kebudajaan, later simplified simply to Ke-

27Dewantara’s was delivered by the novelist Armijn Pane. 28. . . kurang lebih 15 peminat2 dan pekerdja2 kebudajaan. This quote is from Lekra (1951, p. 1), described below. 29Foulcher (1986, p. 13-17). 30Lekra prepared a booklet for the conference, Lekra menjambut kongres kebudajaan (“Lekra welcomes the cultural congress”, hereafter Lekra menjambut). This work consisted of an introduction to the organisation, essays on a variety of topics, poems, a short story, and two oﬃcial Lekra documents (including the Lekra Mukadimah, which was the institute’s manifesto). The branches claimed in Lekra menjambut included only two outside of Java and Sumatra—in Balikpapan (Kalimantan) and Menado (North Sulawesi). The largest concentration of branches was in Central Java, which had eight branches (Lekra, 1951). 94 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS budajaan) of the left-wing daily newspaper Harian Rakjat, which was in the process of becoming the PKI’s organ in 1951-52, and the Surabaya weekly, Zaman Baru (later the oﬃcial organ of Lekra).

Communist Politics, 1950-55

Indonesian Communism and International Politics in the Early 1950s

In the 1950s the PKI and the fellow travelling organisations around it were part of an international network set around Stalinist states and organisations. There is no doubt this played a part in the development of the communist movement in Indonesia. For example, as the Soviet Union’s bargaining position in international politics strengthened following the successful testing of its own atomic bomb, an international movement for “peaceful co-existence” was built. This certainly had it effects in recently war-torn countries like In- donesia. Moreover, the Stalinist-led international peace movement provided a series of conferences, festivals, and other events for Indonesian activists and artists to attend and from which to find inspiration.31 Nevertheless, although it seems clear that Indonesian communists were influenced by this international movement, they did develop their political lines somewhat in- dependently of it, and were certainly never under the direction of Moscow.32 Greater international influence may actually have impressed itself on the other wing of Indonesian politics—the modernist Islamic right represented by Masjumi appeared to have been strongly influenced by the wave of staunchly anti-communist politics emanating from Washington. With the beginning of

31For some coverage of the impact of the peace movement on Lekra see Foulcher (1986, p. 20-21). For a participant’s view of one of these international events, see Sudjojono (1951). 32Hindley (1964, p. 30-31) argued that the USSR lost interest in Indonesia once the PKI had been crushed after the Madiun events, and Törnquist (1984, p. 72) also makes this argument. More recently Efimova (2005, 2010, 2011) has argued that the Soviet leadership under Stalin remained interested in Indonesia and sought to influence the emerging new leadership as it consolidated its power and refined its political strategy. Nonetheless, even Efimova makes it clear that Moscow was not seeking to direct the Aidit group. COMMUNIST POLITICS, 1950-55 95 the Cold War as a backdrop, the Indonesian republican government under Sukarno and Hatta had been able to gain effective support from the United States only after the PKI and other left-wing forces had been crushed following the Madiun events. Even then it was American lobbying that convinced Indonesian negotiators to accept the most controversial elements of the set- tlement: failure to concede sovereignty over the entire territory of the Dutch East Indies (leaving West New Guinea in Dutch hands); and accepting responsibility for the colonial debts of the Dutch East Indies, a significant portion of which had been run up paying for military operations against the republic.33 From 1950, as the Korean War began and McCarthyism spread in the United States, American statesmen and diplomats took a more aggressive stance towards allies, potential allies, and neutrals. H. Merle Cochran, one of the architects of the Round Table Conference agreement, became US ambassador to Indonesia from the time of the recognition of sovereignty until the end of February 1953. He pursued a policy that sought to bring Indonesia unequivocally into the pro-Western camp, and had a close relationship with Prime Minister Sukiman (1951-52).34 This relationship may have encouraged Sukiman to conduct the extensive anti-communist repression of August 1951 (see below on pages 97–98) and pushed the government towards signing an aid agreement that unequivocally aligned Indonesia with the United States in the Cold War, a move that brought the Sukiman government down in April

33The level of this debt was substantial: ƒ4.6 billion (US$1.7 billion), most of which was paid off before the PNI-led government of Ali Sastroamidjojo finally repudiated the debt in 1956. The figure is from Cribb and Kahin (2004, p. 107). Also see Feith (1962, p. 475-476); Taylor (1960, p. 239-250, 437-439, & Appendices 6 & 7); and Tervooren (1957, p. 330-334). As leverage against the Dutch government, the US used the substantial amounts of money it was proffering in loans as part of the Marshall Plan. The Netherlands was one of the largest beneficiaries of Marshall Plan grants per capita, despite its economy sustaining significantly less damage in World War II than its neighbours. GDP in 1946 was the same as 1938, as compared to countries like Germany, where GDP was half what it had been eight years earlier(De Long and Eichengreen, 1991). On the role of US pressure and use of the Marshall Plan as carrot/stick, see Gouda and Zaalberg (2002). For an argument that the lever of Marshall Plan aid did not play a key role, see van der Eng (1988). On the issues of accepting colonial debts and excluding the territory of West New Guinea, see Kahin (1952, p. 438-444). 34Feith (1962, p. 192). On Cochran’s role in the Round Table Conference, see Kahin and Kahin (1995b, p. 33-34). 96 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

1952.35 This aggressive stance on the part of the US continued throughout the 1950s, intensifying under the Eisenhower administration, and included encouragement and support for the regional rebellions of the late 1950s.36

The Industrial Upsurge

As a consequence of a combination of the after effects of the trauma of Madiun and the compromise end to the National Revolution, the communist movement entered 1950 in a demoralised and disoriented state. Membership of the PKI fell to between three and five thousand.37 Nevertheless, 1950-51 produced conditions favourable to the party’s recovery. Following the recognition of sovereignty there was more opportunity for political parties and other civil society organisations. And the compromise end of the National Revolution left many disillusioned. Moreover, the recognition of Indonesian sovereignty gave the labour movement the confidence to make demands of the newly independent state: “. . . strikes broke out in almost all the cities of the country and many of the estate areas in the months immediately after the transfer of sovereignty”.38 New trade union freedoms, both in Republican and BFO39 (former Dutch controlled) areas, as well as inflationary pressures, “produced strikes on an enormous scale among dock workers, various groups of factory workers, and estate workers on rubber, palm oil, and tobacco plantations”40. The statistics are astounding: “The number of working days lost through strikes in 1950—a monthly average of 727,799 days or 18 days for each of the 41,017 striking workers—represents an all-time maximum for Indonesia”.41

35On the issue of the “Mutual Security Aid” agreement, see Feith (1962, p. 198-207). 36For an extensive discussion of the United States’ government approach in this period, see Kahin and Kahin (1995b). 37Hindley (1964, p. 24). 38Feith (1962, p. 84). 39Bijeenkomst voor Federaal Overleg (Federal Consultative Assembly). 40Feith (1962, p. 84). 41Feith (1962, p. 84, fn62) cites ﬁgures from the Java Bank Report. These ﬁgures are incredible considering the tiny size of the Indonesian proletariat in 1950. The working class would have been unlikely to make up more than 5% of the population, and of which less than a half would have actually been wage earners (the others being children or other dependents). Consequently, 41,000 striking workers probably represented close to 2.5% of COMMUNIST POLITICS, 1950-55 97

The PKI-backed SOBSI trade union federation was generally the most militant and well organised of the various trade union federations that vied for workers’ sympathies in this period and consequently benefited most from the unrest.42 Nevertheless, the PKI itself remained relatively small and lacking in leadership throughout 1950. However, the emerging leadership of the party under D.N. Aidit was already moving to reorient, reinvigorate, and reorganise the party. This process that was not complete until early 1954, and took the form of gradually marginalising older dissenting leaders, establishing or re-establishing organs and media under the direction of members loyal to the new leadership, and a membership drive that flooded the party with tens of thousands of new members more likely to have allegiances to the younger leaders.43 From around August, 1950 (i.e. around the time of the National Cultural Congress44 the young leaders began this three and a half year process, and by late 1952/early 1953 (i.e. the beginning of our study of Kebudajaan) the position of the Aidit group was already strong, although figures from the old leadership remained in a limited number of positions of influence for a further year. The industrial upsurge and renewed organising efforts seem to have led to significant growth in PKI’s membership numbers (although nothing of the scale of growth that was to come). In mid 1951, a year after the re-launch of the party’s theoretical journal Bintang Merah, D. N. Aidit claimed that the party had “teens of thousands” (belasan ribu) of members—i.e. between ten and twenty thousand members. This constituted a growth of anywhere from one hundred to just under three hundred percent in just one year. This growth of the party and increasing confidence and militancy of the communist-led trade union federation did not go unnoticed. In August 1951, the total number of workers. In modern Australian terms these figures would be like more than 400,000 workers averaging 18 striking days per month for a whole year, or six million workers doing the same in the contemporary USA. 42Tejasukmana (1959) gives an overview of trade unions in 1950s Indonesia, although the reader has to keep in mind that it is written by a former Minister of Labour, who was at times in conflict with various actors and organisations in the sector, including the communists and SOBSI. 43For an outline of this process, see Hindley (1964, p. 19-26 & 63-68). 44See the discussion above on page 93. 98 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS the Sukiman government used an apparent provocation as pretext to conduct a mass sweep against the communist movement. Tensions were already rising in mid-1951 and on August 5 a mysterious armed group bearing hammer and sickle symbols attacked a police post in Jakarta’s port, Tanjung Priok. In a prolonged shootout, a number of police were killed and wounded. The PKI condemned the attack and declared it had no connection to the group, and no evidence of such a connection was forth-coming in the months of public debate that followed. Nonetheless, the government used this and a number of other equally mysterious disturbances as a pretext for mass arrests. Talk even circulated of “another Madiun”.45Some fifteen thousand46 party and union activists were held without trial, some well into 1953 (that is until the fall of the Wilopo cabinet). The raids seem to have had some effect on PKI membership, which dropped from the ten to twenty thousand of 1951 to just under 8000 full and candidate members in early 1952 47, and the party’s influence in the union movement was significantly undermined.48 The isolation the party suffered in their aftermath—all the major parties, other than the small social-democratic Socialist Party (PSI), supported the raids in parliament49—pushed the PKI leadership towards a more systematic approach to recruiting new members from 1952, an approach that seems to have been immediately successful, with the party apparently expanding to 100,000 within six months of the 1952 PKI national conference in March. By the end of the year the figure was 126,671. This phenomenal growth—over 1500% in less than twelve months—meant that by early 1953 well over 90% of members were newly recruited.50 This undoubtedly assisted the Aidit leadership as they consolidated their leadership and developed their “National United Front” politics in the wake of the raids (see below). This initial membership drive also apparently saw the PKI

45Feith (1962, p. 187-192) and Hindley (1964, p. 53-54, 134) cover these raids at some length, although no rigorous scholarly study has as yet been conducted on this important event. 46Feith (1962, p. 189). 47Hindley (1964, p. 70). 48Feith (1962, p. 191). 49Feith (1962, p. 191). 50Membership ﬁgures from Hindley (1964, p. 74). COMMUNIST POLITICS, 1950-55 99 open a number of new branches in regions such as Madura, Sulawesi, Kali- mantan, and Nusa Tenggara.51 By the time of the Fifth National Congress of the PKI in March, 1954, the party was claiming 165,206 members.52 At this congress a second major membership drive was announced. Its results were outstanding, although the prodigious growth rates of 1952 could not be maintained on the much bigger base of membership. In October 1954 Aidit was claiming half a million members and by February of 1956 (that is just after the end of the period covered in this study), the party announced that its membership had passed one million.53

The “National United Front”

In the wake of the August raids, the PKI under the Aidit leadership redoubled its eﬀorts to build a “National United Front” (Front Persatuan Nasional) with other groups with anti-imperialist politics. From the time of the National Revolution, the communists had been arguing for a “united front”54, but following the raids, the PKI reduced the demands it made of its coalition

51Hindley (1964, p. 71). 52Hindley (1964, p. 79). 53Hindley (1964, p. 80). For more on the development of the PKI’s approach to recruitment, see Hindley (1964, Ch. IX). 54The term “united front” is fraught, since it has meant different things at different times and in different places. Here it is referring to what classical Marxists would call a “popular front”, i.e. a coalition of forces representing a variety of class interests, including those of the bourgeois classes. In the 1920s, “united front” was used to refer to a coalition of different tendencies within the working class that aims to achieve particular goals (e.g. fight fascism, win an industrial campaign, etc.). As an articulated idea and a tactic, it was developed and promoted initially by the Communist International (Comintern). See Hallas (2008). For a classical statement from a leading Marxist on the united front tactic see Trotsky (1932), available from the Marxists Internet Archive (http://www.marxists.org/). “Popular front” tactics were developed by Stalinists following the rise of Hitler in Germany, and were first applied in France and Spain during the 1930s. As cross-class alliances including middle and even upper class elements, popular fronts have a strong tendency towards nationalism, and this was explicitly the case with the PKI’s National United Front. Hindley (1964, Ch. XXI) gives an account of how the PKI’s strategy of “National United Front” played out, making it clear that this approach relied strongly on building connections at an elite level (e.g. with President Soekarno and the left-leaning members of the PNI leadership). It also makes it clear that the strategy had a conservatising effect on political activity at the grass roots level (compared to the militancy of 1950-51). 100 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS partners to a minimum.55 The key issue became one of a broad adherence to a self-sufficient form of anti-imperialist nationalism. The pursuit of finding more political space through the National United Front was helped through the growing tension between the two strongest parties in parliament: the modernist Muslim party Masjumi and the National Party (PNI), and to a lesser extent through a split in Masjumi itself. Masjumi was formed during the Japanese occupation as a broad coalition of Islamic groupings. It had already experienced some splintering during the revolution following the party leadership’s support for negotiations with the Dutch. But the biggest blow to the party came in April, 1952, when the Nahdlatul Ulama (Renascence of Islamic Scholars, NU) withdrew from Masjumi. This left the party dominated by modernist Islamic politicians, and greatly undermined its strength in Java and some other areas (e.g. Lombok and South Kalimantan). Not only this but it made it easier to wedge away a substantial portion of organised Islamic politics from Masjumi’s staunchly pro-Western and anti-communist politics.56 From 1952 significant parts of the PNI also became increasingly alienated from Masjumi. In April the first PNI-led government was formed (the two previous cabinets were led by Masjumi 57), under Wilopo. Although this cabinet continued to contain Masjumi ministers and did not take action to immediately release prisoners from the August raids, or show any inclination to show sympathy for the PKI and communist movement organisations in campaigns like the Tandjung Morawa land dispute (see below), the PKI nevertheless eventually announced support for the new government in late July.58 Wilopo’s government proved unstable, as tension between the pro-Western

55On the development of the PKI’s National United Front approach, see Hindley (1964, Ch. XX & XXI). 56Feith (1962, p. 233-237). 57And the only other government following the recognition of sovereignty was formally non-party, but actually shared similar political leanings to the following two and included several Masjumi leaders. 58Hindley (1964, p. 237). For a sympathetic view of the Wilopo government, see Feith (1958). Stoler (1985, Ch. 5) and Pelzer (1957) cover the land disputes in East Sumatra. COMMUNIST POLITICS, 1950-55 101

“administrator” parties (Masjumi and PSI) and the key party of what Feith (1962) called the “solidarity makers” (the PNI) intensified.59 Finally the Wilopo government collapsed in late July 1953, and was replaced at the beginning of August by the first cabinet of the left-wing PNI leader, Ali Sas- troamidjojo. This cabinet contained no Masjumi or PSI figures, and was strongly supported by the PKI as part of its National United Front policy, although the PKI did not receive any ministerial posts in the government. A leader of the communist-aligned peasant union, Barisan Tani Indonesia (BTI—the Indonesian Peasants’ Front), did, however, become minister of agriculture. Another welcome development as far as the PKI was concerned was that the cabinet was supported by NU, which received a number of ministerial posts, including one of two deputy Prime Minister positions. The first Ali cabinet remained in power for almost all of the period from mid 1953 until just before the elections of 1955 making it the longest serving government of the liberal parliamentary period. No Masjumi cabinet lasted more than a year, and the second longest serving cabinet was the PNI-led government of Wilopo (which did include Masjumi as a partner).60 Nevertheless, some in Masjumi (and their PSI allies) seemed to believe that Masjumi would receive a majority, or close to a majority, of votes in the 1955 parliamentary election (and the PSI no doubt also expected a more modest, but still significant return). As it turned out, Masjumi received just under 21% of the vote, coming second overall to the PNI, which received

59Feith used this terminology to distinguish the two broad currents in the growing tension amongst the nationalist political leadership over the basic trajectory that Indonesia should take to develop itself as an emerging nation-state. On the one side stood those who favoured a pro-Western export-driven liberal economy and on the other those who favoured a more state-centred economy that was either neutral or even sympathetic/aligned to the Stalinist powers, like the USSR and China. Feith’s use of these labels clearly reflects his own preference for the pro-Western technocratic approach, since it tends to cloud the extent to which those on the nationalist Left were putting forward ideas alternative to (and in conflict with) the “technocrats”, as well as the extent to which these tensions reflected broader clashes of interests in Indonesian society. In Feith’s eyes on the one side stood those who used expertise and pragmatism to develop policies, but were unable to win enough people to those policies; on the other those who were experts in winning people to their side, but who lacked the ability to develop effective policy. 60On this Ali cabinet, see Feith (1962, Ch. XIII). It is worth noting that Ali also led the doomed final cabinet of the parliamentary period following the elections, but that cabinet included Masjumi (Feith, 1962, Ch. X). 102 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS over 22%. Meanwhile the PSI received only 2% of the vote, reducing its number of seats in parliament from fourteen (6% of seats) to five (1.9%) in the expanded post-election parliament. NU and the PKI were the two major parties that could see the election as a success, coming respectively third and fourth overall and significantly increasing the number of their seats in parliament. NU received over eighteen percent of the vote, and increased its seats from a mere eight (3.4% of seats) to 45 (17.5%). The PKI meanwhile received over sixteen percent of the votes, increasing its seats from seventeen (7.3% of seats) to 39 (15%). These tendencies continued in the Constituent Assembly election at the end of December of the same year.61

The Role of Harian Rakjat

Shortly after the new PKI leadership under D.N. Aidit took effective control of the party in 1951, they began looking for a newspaper that could become a new party organ. In July they bought Siaw Giok Tjhan’s Harian Rakjat. Siaw had been a minister in Amir Sjariffudin’s cabinet during the National Revolution, and Harian Rakjat was sympathetic prior to its purchase, but it was not a party organ.62 Unfortunately almost immediately after the purchase of Harian Rakjat, the party and the movement’s mass organisations were hit by the August Raids, which hamstrung the movement for almost a year. Finally in the second half of 1952, a new editorial group was established under the leadership of Njoto and Naibaho (who moved from Surabaya’s Zaman Baru—“New Era”, later to become the organ of Lekra)—to Jakarta to take up the position), and the newspaper began to publish regularly and build readership.63 Njoto’s leadership, and his hands-on approach to the newspaper, clearly reflect the important role that the new leaders saw for Harian Rakjat in their strategy to rebuild the party.64 Not only this the party organ’s fortunes re-

61For a discussion of the election results and the various “surprises” they contained, see Feith (1957). 62Groves (1983, p. 106-107). 63Groves (1983, p. 107-108). 64For Njoto’s account of the role of the party press, especially Hrian Rakjat, see Njoto COMMUNIST POLITICS, 1950-55 103

flected the ups and down of the movement: banned and marginalised when the party was under pressure (1951-52, 1956, 1957, etc.) and expanding and developing confidently in the good times (1952-1955). It played a pivotal role in key party and movement projects, for example the struggle to develop an alternative, rakjat-focused national culture (as opposed to that being developed by the right-wing national elite), and the push towards the elections of 1955.65 Harian Rakjat built towards the climax of these electoral successes, and reflected upon the movement’s self-image, its ambitions and realities, which is why it is a vital source for any consideration of the movement in the period, all the more since it was by far the most important form of communist movement media during the period.66

A Summary of the Trajectory of Communist Politics, 1950-55

The focus of this thesis is a detailed discussion of the cultural pages of Har- ian Rakjat from September 1952, until the beginning of 1956. It is a period that is immediately preceded by two traumatic events for communists—the Madiun events of late 1948 and the Sukiman raids of late 1951. The former left the PKI small, marginal, fractured, decapitated, and demoralised. But the situation following the compromise end to the National Revolution, provided the party and the movement around it with opportunities. Firstly, the situation for organisational activity was much freer. Secondly, the end of the national revolution left many people with a sense of dissatisfaction at the results, to which communists could relate, especially amongst workers. In addition, the international situation, while it was also deﬁnitely responsible for some of the diﬃculties the movement faced, actually helped

(1958). 65See the discussion above of McVey (1986) in chapter two for a brief discussion of the idea of developing an alternative, “lower class” national culture in opposition to the pre- dominant national culture. For details of the development of Harian Rakjat, in particular the expansion of its circulation, see Groves (1983), chapter four. 66In the late 1950s and early 1960s the communist movement gradually developed a broader range of publications, but HR nevertheless remained central. 104 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS create conditions in which the party and its friends and allies prospered. The international network provided by the significant number of Stalinist states, as well as affiliated parties in non-communist countries, provided a network for the local movement, a source of ideas, inspiration and support. Not only this, but the aggressive encouragement of local anti-communism by the United States in fact provided the conditions in which the movement prospered. Its strong arm tactics alienated many nationalists, especially those around the PNI (including President Soekarno), and exacerbated the emerging split between them and what had been the strongest political force in civil society to that point (and a bulwark against the PKI)—Masjumi. The industrial upsurge that followed the recognition of sovereignty ben- efitted both the party and the trade union federation that it dominated (SOBSI). But this seems to have been largely on a spontaneous basis, rather than as the result of a conscious strategy. As the strike wave was building throughout 1950 and 1951, a new leadership behind D. N. Aidit was still working to gain control of the party and develop a new strategy to lead the party out of adversity. In early 1951 a new Central Committee of the PKI took shape, consisting of D.N. Aidit, M.H. Lukman, Njoto, Sudisman, and the ageing and ailing veteran Alimin. The four former leaders—all aged thirty years or under at the beginning of that year—continued to be the key leaders of the party until it was crushed by the army in the aftermath of the coup and counter-coup of 1965-66. This new leadership placed great importance on the establishment of a stable party organ, an ambition they fulfilled with the purchase of Harian Rakjat in July of the same year. Then the key trauma for early 1950s communism occurred: the Sukiman raids of August, 1951. Thousands of PKI members, union militants, and members of organisations seen to be linked to the party were arrested and detained. Many were held for extended periods without trial. This meant that the PKI had to operate as a semi-underground party throughout 1952, and did not regain relative working freedom until early 1953. It was in the 1952 environment of once again being repressed and marginalised that the new leadership refined its ideas on the “National United Front” and set COMMUNIST POLITICS, 1950-55 105 about the systematic building of the membership of the party and its fellow travelling organisations. From a quantitative point of view these moves were an enormous success—the party grew at astounding speed from just under 8000 members at the beginning of 1952 to to a claimed one million members four years later.67 The flipside of the phenomenal success in expanding the membership of the PKI, was a more compromising approach to politics, with a focus on building relationships with the mainstream secular nationalists in the PNI and other nationalist parties, as well as with President Soekarno, and also with politicians in Islamic parties other than Masjumi.68 Communist politics in the period focused on a number of issues, and this focus was further concentrated by the need to build links with organisations and currents beyond or at the borders of communism, above all with mainstream secular nationalism. This made decolonisation and anti-imperialism central issues. Key demands of the period included that West Irian (present- day West Papua) be handed over to the republic, since it had been part of the territory Dutch East Indies; the cancellation of colonial debts; the nationalisation of remaining colonial economic interests; and an independent (i.e. not pro-US) foreign policy stance. All of these issues created overlap with the PNI and other nationalist parties. Communist movement organisations also sought to counter propaganda from Masjumi and its allies that the PKI and its associates were anti- religious, and especially that they were anti-Islamic. This was clearly de- fensive, but also an attempt to reach out to left-leaning religious leaders and to members of other Islamic parties, like Nahdlatul Ulama and the PSII.69 Beyond this, the movement continued to concern itself with the working and living conditions of ordinary Indonesians. This was reflected in the extensive organising efforts of PKI members and sympathisers in fellow travelling

67See the discussion on pages 98–99. 68Mainly this meant members and leaders of the Nahdlatul Ulama, which split from Masjumi in 1952, and the much smaller PSII (Partai Sarikat Islam Indonesia—the In- donesian Islamic Union Party). On the split with Masjumi see Bush (2009, Ch. 2). 69How this was reflected in the creative writing of the movement published in Kebuda- jaan will be discussed at length in Chapter 7. 106 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS organisations like SOBSI affiliated unions, the mass women’s organisation, Gerwani, and the peasants’ front, BTI, amongst others.70 These efforts covered a wide range of issues, but there were a number that were especially prominent. Wages and industrial conditions for workers had natural prominence because of the PKI’s base in SOBSI. This was especially the case for Indonesia’s biggest union, the Plantation Workers’ Union (Sar- bupri)71—conditions in the sometimes isolated communities of plantation workers, including cultural conditions, were a key concern. Another issue that loomed large was that of the land rights of those squatting on plantation lands. As pro-Western governments sought to return land to foreign firms, conflicts, often violent, arose. Squatters’ crops were often destroyed by tractors, and peasants (particularly women) resisted this by putting themselves in front of the tractors. Some tractor drivers ran over protesters and there were cases of injuries and even deaths—the tractors came to be known as “traktor maut” (“tractors of death”) in the communist press. The most infamous squatter campaign was that on the Tanjung Morawa tobacco estate in North Sumatra, where five people were shot dead. This campaign had a national impact, and was a major contributing factor in the collapse of the Wilopo government, which backed the actions against the squatters.72 Such cases were the topic of what became one of Lekra and the communist movement’s favourite poems, “The Death of a Peasant” (Matinya Seorang Petani) by Agam Wispi.73 These efforts were also consciously reflected in the cultural expression that the movement sought to nurture, develop, and promote. Beyond this, the PKI sought to encourage left-leaning artists in all sectors (including under- valued areas of popular folk art) to organise to improve their own conditions and improve the quality of their work.74 This included campaigning on the issues of artists’ conditions, and running ten artists as “non-party” candidates

70For coverage of the PKI’s eﬀorts in diﬀerent sectors, see Hindley (1964, Pt. 4). The movement’s mass organisations grew alongside the party and were a major source of recruits for the party during the period of massive growth 1952-1956. 71Tejasukmana (1959, p. 43). In 1957 Sarbupri claimed more than 600,000 members. 72For more detail on the squatter movement in this period, see Stoler (1985, p. 153-157). 73Reproduced with translation in Foulcher (1986, p. 67-69). 74See Foulcher (1986), throughout. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 107 on its electoral list in 1955 (three of whom were elected).75

Lekra and The Organisation of Left-Wing Cul- ture

The Aidit-Njoto leadership group that sought to revive and rebuild the PKI from 1950 clearly considered culture important to the development of the sort of politics that they wanted in Indonesia. One of the first things that they did as they endeavoured to gain leadership of the party—following shortly after re-establishing the PKI’s journal (Bintang Merah)—was to take part in the founding of the Institute of People’s Culture (Lekra) on August 17, 1950.76 Lekra quickly developed and was soon claiming more than twenty branches. It included amongst its membership several prominent artists with significant reputations, especially amongst visual artists. This section will not seek to give a comprehensive account of how culture was organised in the communist movement in Indonesia in the early 1950s, but rather will give an outline of that organisation, especially as it was reflected in Kebudajaan.77 In doing so, it will also look briefly at how culture was integrated into organising the movement at a broader level. In the next chapter we will look at the ideas on which these activities were based (or which activists sought to use in their activity—successfully or otherwise; consistently or otherwise). Lekra was the vanguard of the communist movement’s efforts in culture, which the new emerging leadership of the PKI helped to found at the very beginning of their efforts to revive the party followed the Madiun events. This section will, therefore, start with a brief description of the institute’s development in the period, before moving outwards to consider some of the cultural organisations that were close to Lekra (“affiliates and associates”), and then consider broad cultural organisations such as city-wide cultural fronts and

75Foulcher (1986, p. 41-42). 76Foulcher (1986, P. 17). 77Foulcher (1986, Ch. 3) remains the most comprehensive coverage of this period—a book length discussion is long overdue. 108 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Lekra’s role in the National Consultative Council for Culture (BMKN). Fol- lowing this I will look at the movement’s efforts to organise artists to improve their own material interests, before exploring the role that culture and artists played in communist movement organisations. The section will then conclude with an examination of the role of culture and artists in the PKI’s successful election campaign. Lekra was formed early in the process of recovery from Madiun, and seems to have quickly established a significant number of branches across Indonesia, and established a number of fora for its members in a variety of media that expanded as the period progressed.78 A central secretariat was formed, with six “sections”: literature, visual arts, vocal arts, film & theatre, philosophy, and sport.79 By mid-1952, a delegation of Lekra leaders had already been sent to the 1951 World Youth Peace Festival in Berlin, and another much larger delegation (including a broader range of cultural figures) was being prepared.80 In addition to the 21 branches mentioned in Lekra menjambut, Kebuda- jaan mentions a further six branches81, giving a total of 27 branches for which we have evidence in Lekra menjambut or Kebudajaan in the early 1950s.82 It

78Lekra menjambut, p. 1-2 and Foulcher (1986, p. 20-21, 27). 79Lekra menjambut, p. 1. 80Lekra menjambut, p. 1-2, 34-35. 81These branches were: Jepara, Kediri, Makassar, Probolinggo, Singaraja, and Cerme. Articles mentioning these six branches are: “Lekra Tjermee Terbentuk” HR 01/08/53; Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari kecamatan Kras” HR 06/06/53; “Pameran Seni Lukis Lekra Makasar” HR 10/12/55; “Lekra Makasar Adakan Konkurs ‘Krontjong”’ HR 31/12/55; Poerwadi Hardikartono “Surat dari Solo” HR 27/11/54; “Lekra Probolinggo” HR 11/12/54; and “Di Singaradja Lekra Berdiri” HR 31/12/55. It is notable that three of these articles are announcing the establishment of branches (Cerme, Probolinggo, and Singaraja). Given the discussion above and the fact that, for example, Kebudajaan was already publishing a short story by a Lekra Singaraja figure two and a half years before the Singaraja branch was officially established (Made Serinata “Apa sebabnya saya masuk S.G.A.?” HR 06/06/53), it is possible that these inaugurations may have been acts of consolidation, rather than the first moves of a new group. 82There are contradictions between Lekra menjambut and Kebudajaan in terms of the information they put forward concerning Lekra branches. For example, both Surabaya and Bukittinggi branches are given as having been established by 1951 by Lekra menjambut, but are reported to have been established in 1952 and 1954 respectively by Kebudajaan. This may well have to do with the high prerequisites that Lekra seemed to have had for formal, public establishment, which usually involved large public events (see below). THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 109 seems unlikely that this was the complete extent of the organisation, but it does give an idea of its spread. Of these 27 branches, twenty were on Java: nine in Central Java, six in East Java, and five in West Java (including the Jakarta branch).83 In addition three branches from Sumatra were mentioned, two from Sulawesi, and one each from Bali and Kalimantan.84

Lekra in Central Java Yogyakarta and Surakarta (Solo)

In Kebudajaan coverage two branches stand out: Jakarta and Yogyakarta. These two were mentioned far more than other branches, in more than a dozen articles each.85 Both had well established figures in their leadership from the time of the foundation of the institute as a whole. In Yogyakarta’s case, Lekra was built in part from pre-existing cultural organisations in the form of the two most prominent visual arts sanggar 86, SIM (Seniman Indone- sia Merdeka) and the dynamic Pelukis Rakjat led by Hendra and Affandi. The high level of pre-existing organisation was also reflected in the fact that at the beginning of the period they already had a complex structure of “sections” (seksi) for different areas of artistic and cultural endeavour.87 From the beginning of the period, Lekra Yogyakarta was playing a role on the national stage—for example by organising the cultural nights for the national

83The branches were: Surabaya, Tuban, Cerme, Kediri, Malang, Probolinggo (East Java), Semarang, Pekalongan, Comal, Pati, Jepara, Yogyakarta, Klaten, Surakarta, Pur- wokerto (Central Java), Jakarta, Bogor, Bandung, Subang, Cirebon (West Java). 84Sumatra: Medan, Bukittinggi, Palembang; Sulawesi: Makassar, Menado; Bali: Sin- garaja; Kalimantan: Balikpapan. 85Jakarta: fourteen articles; Yogyakarta: thirteen articles. 86A Sanggar is an institution that has been translated by Holt (1967), amongst others, as a “studio”. This does not give a sense of the full meaning of the word, or its wide application. A sanggar is a communal institution, often associated with a particular personality or personalities, that seeks to develop a particular activity or set of activities in an informal and social atmosphere. Such activities can be artistic, political, educational, vocational or religious. 87“Lekra Melebarkan Sayap” HR 13/9/52 reports Lekra Yogyakarta as having the following sections: painting and sculpture, ketoprak and dagelan (folk theatre forms), literature, dance, and group singing (nyanyi-bersama). It also reports that efforts were underway to establish a section focused on folk music. 110 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS conference of the communist-led union federation, SOBSI. As we will see below Lekra Yogya figures were also important in the PKI election campaign. Beyond this, Lekra Yogyakarta also appears to have supported other branches.88 The branch clearly had strong standing in Yogyakarta society. A number of Lekra artists were lecturers at the Indonesian Academy of the Arts (ASRI), which was located there, and public events organised by the branch (such as the commemoration of the death of Ronggowarsito) included the President (Rektor) of Gajah Mada university and the deputy mayor of Yogyakarta.89 The Lekra Yogyakarta support for the Lekra Surakarta Wayang Wong group Eka Budaja and its support for the 1955 mass election rally for the PKI in Solo are examples of the close relationship between these two branches. This area of Central Java was something of a stronghold for the PKI in the 1950s90, and Lekra also had branches in at least Klaten (which lies between Yogyakarta and Surakarta) and Purwokerto (which lies to the West of Yo- gyakarta on the Yogyakarta-Jakarta railway). Lekra Solo was one of a small group of second tier branches that were important to the institute and its network. These branches—Surakarta (Solo), Surabaya, Bandung, and Medan—seem to have been established early in the period, and played important roles in the cultural lives of their regions, as well as contributing leading figures to the national organisation. In the case of Solo, Kebudajaan gives us evidence of the local branch’s engagement with a vibrant youth theatre scene91, as well as in folk theatre (at the very least

88To an extent the support for the Solo PKI mass rally could be put in this category (see K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/3/55). Another example is support from Lekra Yogyakarta for the Solo based Wayang Orang group, Eka Budaja, which took the form (in the very least) of provision of a venue (the then recently established Lekra building), and support in producing a banner (by Pelukis Rakjat painters). The 31/1/53 edition of Kebudajaan includes a photo of Eka Budaja with their banner, with the Lekra building in the background. 89“Siapakah Ronggowarsito” HR 23/1/54. 90In the 1955 general election the PKI received well over two million votes in Central Java, coming second to the PNI. By the 1957 provincial elections, the PKI received over three million votes, making it the largest vote winner in the region—it received signiﬁcantly more votes than Masjumi and NU combined (Lev, 1966, p. 93-96). 91See, for example, Poerwadi Hardikartono “Surat dari Solo” HR 27/11/54 and S. Dharmo “Surat dari Solo” HR 12/3/55. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 111 in Wayang Wong)92, as well as in the visual arts93. As in several other cities, Lekra Solo also played an important role in a city-wide cultural front—the Himpunan Budaja Surakarta (HBS), which I will discuss below. A watershed event for the branch was the massive PKI election rally in March 195594, which is discussed in a number of places below.

Pesisir Central Java

If Lekra Yogyakarta was at the centre of a political-cultural region set around the area of the surviving Javanese kingdoms, Lekra Semarang was the key centre of another region—the north coast of Central Java. This area contained five Lekra branches that were mentioned in Lekra menjambut or Ke- budajaan: Semarang itself, Pekalongan, Comal, Pati, and Jepara. But of all the Javanese regions, this seems to have been the one least reported on by Kebudajaan. We learn that these branches existed (in name, at least), that Semarang and Jepara (at least) sent delegates to the 1954 Cultural Congress in Surakarta, and that Lekra Semarang began publishing a branch magazine from mid-1954.95 Nevertheless, it seems unlikely that this reflected the extent of Lekra activity in the region, especially in the case of Semarang. Poems and short stories datelined Semarang are common, as are critical essays.96 In addition, it seems that a Lekra Semarang figure was involved in Pencak (Indonesian martial arts), and wrote on that topic in Kebudajaan,

92The above-mentioned Eka Budaja Wayang Wong group, which was explicitly aﬃliated to Lekra. 93Lekra Surakarta held an apparently very successful exhibition to celebrate May Day 1955. See K. Sunarjo “Surat dari Solo: Seteling seni lukis Rakjat” HR 14/5/55. 94See K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/3/55. 95“Lekra Semarang Terbitkan Madjalah” HR 12/6/54; Poerwadi Hardikartono “Surat dari Solo” HR 27/11/54. 96There are at least nine such works in Kebudajaan in the period. The short stories are all by one writer, however—Isnandar Prawirohardjo. See Pipiek “Perkuat barisanmu!” HR 20/9/52; S. .W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudayaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52; S. .W. Kuntjahjo ‘Diskusi tentang “Manusia Baru”’ HR 8/11/52; S. Harya “Tari Muda-Mudi” HR 11/4/53; Kuswanthi R. “Saksi dan Penuntut Schmidt” HR 25/9/54; Isnandar P. “Surat kepada Ju Tuty” HR 25/9/54; Isnandar “Itu bukan saja Majoor. . . ” HR 20/11/54; Isnandar P. “aku pulang” HR 4/12/54. 112 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS and another writer had a radio play published.97

Lekra in West Java

Five branches from the West Javanese region are mentioned in Lekra menjambut, but only Lekra Jakarta and Bandung are mentioned in Kebudajaan. Lekra Jakarta was one of the two “tier one” branches (alongside Lekra Yo- gyakarta), both of which were mentioned in more than a dozen pieces in Kebudajaan. In the case of Lekra Jakarta, Kebudajaan provides insight into the branch’s activity in developing programmes for cultural nights that were organised as part of conferences, congresses, commemorations, or celebrations, some of which will be discussed below.98 It also sheds some light on the development of the sub- and affiliate organisations of the institute, like the Musjawarat Musik Indonesia (MMI—the Indonesian Music Council), spearheaded by the leading Lekraist, Amir Pasaribu. Other Lekra sub- and affiliate organisations in Jakarta that are mentioned include the massive “Song and Dance Ensemble” (Ansambel Njanji dan Tari”), Gembira (“Joy”), and a literary circle established by the branch late in the period (see below for some further discussion of these affiliates).99 As with Lekra Solo, a key area of activity during the period was the city-wide cultural front Masjarakat Seniman Djakarta Raja (MSDR—The Greater Jakarta Artists’ Society), which will be discussed below. Another branch that put significant effort into a city-wide cultural front was Lekra

97See Soemardi “Pentjak dan Pekan Kebudajaan Nasional” HR 30/10/54 and Isnandar Prawirohardjo “Kesehatan” HR 4/12/54. 98Perhaps the most prominent examples of these come early in the period with the cultural nights that were organised as part of the SOBSI National Conference of late 1952. See, amongst others, Iramani [Njoto] “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” HR 11/10/52 and S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52. 99On “Gembira”, see Joebaar Ajoeb ‘Surat Minggu Ini: Seni Paduan Suara “Gembira”’ HR 14/3/53; Joebaar Ajoeb “P 5 S sibuk: Malam Kesenian Pemuda” HR 6/6/53; ‘Foto “Gembira”’ HR 18/9/54; ‘Akordeon & Gitar untuk “Gembira”’ HR 4/12/54; Iramani [Njoto] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/1/55, amongst others. On the literary circle, see A. S. Dharta “Selamat tinggal kepada kedangkalan” HR 3/12/55. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 113

Bandung, with the Masjarakat Seniman Bandung (MSB).100 The feature of that branch’s activity that caught Kebudajaan’s attention, however, was the Balai Kebudajaan Rakjat Desa (BKRD—Village People’s Cultural Hall) system. The BKRDs were sub-branch institutions that organised cultural activity on a kampung 101 level across the city of Bandung and its surrounding region. This structure seems to have helped the branch to recruit significant numbers of members active in a whole series of folk arts—including folk dance, folk theatre, Wayang Golek.102, Pencak (Martial Arts), and various kinds of folk orchestras103 Kebudajaan also makes it clear that Lekra Ban- dung was involved in sporting activities and had links to schools, as well as having a “section” structure like other branches104, which ran parallel to the BKRD structure. By mid 1954, local member Imam Sudjono was claiming that Lekra had become a “pioneer” (perintis) and “model” (tauladan) for other cultural organisations.105 As a result of the branch’s success, it was able to provide significant support to the local movement. According to Sudjono “Almost every congress, commemoration, or other meeting” included performances by cultural groups from the BKRDs. By 1955 Lekra clearly had significant standing in Bandung. When the branch organised a welcome for Pelukis Rakjat painter Affandi, attendees included a who’s who of prominent residents of the city.106

100See “Pameran lukisan Affandi-Hendra” HR 17/12/55. 101An identified community, either rural or suburban, located in a specific, limited location. In a rural context it can be translated as “village”; in an urban context there is no direct English equivalent. The Spanish Barrio is a relative equivalent. Kampung is the source of “compound” in English (in the sense of an enclosed group of buildings). 102A form of wayang that uses wooden puppets and is most prominent in the Sundanese cultural areas of West Java. 103For example, based on kecapi (a zither-like instrument), angklung (a bamboo instrument) orchestras as well as other “bamboo” orchestras. 104Sections mentioned include a sculpture section (seksi seni bentuk) and a literary section. 105Imam Sudjono “Mentjari djalan kemadjuan di lapangan kebudajaan” 14/8/54. 106“Pameran lukisan Affandi-Hendra” HR 24/12/55. On the BKRDs see the Sudjojono article above, as well as Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Lekra Bandung” HR 17/1/53; Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Balai Kebudayaan Rakyat Desa” HR 24/1/53; Joebaar Ajoeb “Apakah persoalan Lekra sebenarnya” HR 4/4/53. 114 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Lekra in East Java

In 1951 Lekra menjambut mentioned three East Javanese branches: Surabaya, Malang, and Tuban on the North Coast. However, of these three, only Surabaya is mentioned in the selection of Kebudajaan studied here. Al- though Lekra Surabaya did appear in Lekra menjambut, the branch itself considered its “birthday” to be in mid-1952.107 This may well have reflected the fact that it took some time for Lekra to develop a full system of sections and office bearers. These high standards for what constituted a fully functioning branch are also reflected in the December 1954 report in Kebudajaan that “preparations for a Lekra branch” had been instituted in Probolinggo to Surabaya’s southeast. These preparations included the establishment of an executive with no less than sixteen office bearers, as well as eight sections, a level of organisation that many groups would have developed after announcing their establishment.108 As in the above article, many reports in Kebudajaan from branches emphasised the range of sections established and their activities, and this is also the case with some reports that mention Surabaya.109 Articles report activity in literature, painting, dance, singing, and drama. Work included staging plays like Multatuli’s “Saidja and Adinda”, and Surabaya writer Hadi’s “In- testines and Meat” (Usus dan Daging), Ludruk (an East Javanese form of folk theatre), mass choirs, exhibitions of paintings and publications, as well as publishing collections of work by Lekra writers.110 Not all formations of branches seem to have been on the basis of the demanding prerequisites required of branches like Probolinggo, and (apparently) Surabaya. When a Lekra branch was formed in Cerme (just to the northwest of Surabaya) in 1953, it was formed on the basis of a local union

107In mid 1955 the branch was holding an exhibition to celebrate its third anniversary. See “Exposisi Ulang Tahun Lekra” HR 1/8/55. 108“Lekra Probolinggo” HR 11/12/54. 109See Hassan “Kegiatan LEKRA Tjabang Surabaja” HR 8/1/55. 110See “Sedjarah perdamaian sama tuanja dengan sedjarah peradaban: Surabaja menjambut Konf. Perdamaian” HR 27/9/52; Klara Akustia [A. S Dharta] “Jang djatuh dan jang tumbuh” HR 18/12/54; Hassan “Kegiatan LEKRA Tjabang Surabaja” HR 8/1/55; “Exposisi Ulang Tahun Lekra” HR 1/8/55; “Aneka Warta” HR 10/12/55. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 115 of ludruk groups—the POST (Persatuan Organisasi Sandiwara Tjermee)— underlining the importance of theatre and speciﬁcally East Javanese folk theatre (Ludruk) for the development of Lekra in the region. Its initial meeting included kebora units (union-based culture and sports groups—see below), modern theatre, pencak (martial arts), as well as Ludruk.111 Other than Surabaya, Probolinggo and Cerme, the only other East Ja- vanese Lekra branch discussed in this study’s selection of Kebudajaan is Lekra Kediri. In that instance, Kebudajaan provides us with an insightful and detailed description of a cultural evening in the village of Mojosari that was staged by Lekra Kediri for a celebration of the 33rd anniversary of the founding of the PKI—a description we will return to in the section on cultural evenings in Chapter 6.112

Lekra in Sumatra

Kebudajaan and Lekra menjambut mention only three branches in Sumatra: Medan, Bukittinggi, and Palembang. Of these, there is no doubt Medan was the most important. Medan stood at the centre of a region that—due to the extensiveness of the plantation economy, as well as the labour and land disputes that ﬂowed from that fact—was important for the communist movement. Medan produced a number of key leaders for Lekra at the national level, including Bakri Siregar, Bachtiar Siagian, H. R. Bandaharo (Banda Harahap), Agam Wispi, and F.L. Risakota, amongst others. In Kebudajaan a series of “News From Medan” articles appear from the beginning of the selection, but only give an introductory idea of the branch’s organisation and activity.113 Medan writers were common contributors to Ke- budajaan. Prominent among those published were Agam Wispy, Azis Akbar,

111“Lekra Tjermee Terbentuk” HR 1/8/53. 112Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari kecamatan Kras” HR 6/6/53. 113Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 22/11/52; Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 20/12/52; Siswa Patria “Surat dari Medan” HR 25/9/54; Siswa Patria “Tjerita dari Medan: Jang bebas, jang bersumpah-sumpah, dan jang kualat2. . . ” HR 30/10/54. See also “ Jahja Jacoeb: Semboyan Amerika ‘perang adalah perdamaian, ‘kemerdekaan adalah perbudakan”’ HR 3/10/52. 116 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

F. L. Risakota, Saibun, “Siswa Patria”, and Dharmawaty.114 Unlike many reports from other major centres, no indication is given of the organisational structure or extent of Lekra; there is no mention of sections or affiliate groups or sub-organisations. The key element of these reports is the accounts of cultural evenings organised by Lekra Medan, which will be further discussed below. The reports also make it clear that two key areas of activity stand out—modern theatre (sandiwara) and poetry reading (deklamasi). By late 1952 the branch had formed its own theatrical group—“Sandiwara Realis ‘Di- namo”’ (“Dynamo Realist Theatre”)—and members were actively involved in other dramatic groups. Under the leadership of Lily Suheiri, Lekra was also apparently recruiting local musicians.115 From the beginning of 1953, reports from Medan ceased for a period, but contributions in the form of short stories, poems, reports, and critical essays continued. Similarly from October to December of the same year, Kebudajaan began publishing Joebaar Ajoeb’s massive political travelogue “From Aceh via Tanjung Morawa to Minangkabau” as a serial on a weekly basis, focusing significant attention on the politics, culture and history of Sumatra, with substantial attention paid to North Sumatra before moving on to West Sumatra. In the latter region, Bukittinggi is the only Sumatran branch other than Medan mentioned in Kebudajaan during the period, on the occasion of its official formation in 1954.116 Lekra Bukittinggi was already mentioned as a branch in the 1951 booklet Lekra menjambut, but this branch was considered either insufficiently developed or collapsed and re-formed in the meantime. According to this report an initial meeting was held in early September of some twenty people, and a follow-up meeting was held a week later of around seventy-five people, at the conclusion of which the branch was formed with more than eighty members.

114Evidence of activity also includes references in Kebudajaan’s “From the Editors” or “Editors’ Notes” sections of the supplement, which included notes for contributors and prominent Lekra ﬁgures—including those who had their work rejected. See, for example, “Dari Redaksi” HR 23/1/54, which includes notes for Medan writers whose work has not been accepted for publication. 115Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 20/12/52 116Joebaar Ajoeb “Menjambut berdirinja: Lekra Bukittinggi” HR 9/10/54. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 117

Lekra in Other Areas

The only branches outside of Java and Sumatra mentioned in Lekra menjambut are Menado in North Sulawesi and Balikpapan in East Kalimantan. Neither of these branches is mentioned in Kebudajaan. In the latter the only non-Java/Sumatra branches mentioned are Makassar in South Sulawesi, and Singaraja in Bali on the occasion of its formal establishment. Two reports in Kebudajaan refer to a number of activities of the Lekra Makassar branch. A late 1954 exhibition of paintings attracted a claimed 100 visitors a day in its ﬁrst week, and the branch also organised a “Dramatic Arts Week” (Pekan Seni Drama).117 Later in the same month the branch organised a Kroncong (singing) competition that was contested by twenty groups, and included a compulsory element of folk songs. Associated with the competition, the branch was also planning to publish a song book comprising folk songs from Makassar and Sulawesi more generally.118 These brief reports give an impression of a developed and active branch, which had standing in the community (expressed, for example, in the attendance of government oﬃcials at Lekra events, and in the number of participants in activities). But these two reports are the only mention we have of the branch in our selection of Kebudajaan. The only other branch written about in the supplement is that of the North Balinese city, Singaraja. This occurred in the same issue as the second of the articles on Lekra Makassar (31/12/55), and announced the formation of the Singaraja branch.119 Darma Putra (2003, 2011) argues that Lekra-like activity predates the formation of the Singaraja branch, and the much later establishment of Lekra Bali to coordinate activity across the island in 1961.120 He argues that this activity centred on the Singaraja-based left-leaning journal Bhakti, which was established in 1952, and the Lekra-sounding group “The People’s Artists” (Seniman Rakjat), which was formed almost two years prior

117“Pameran Seni Lukis Lekra Makasar” HR 10/12/55. 118“Pameran Seni Lukis Lekra Makasar” HR 31/12/55. 119“Di Singaradja Lekra Berdiri” HR 31/12/55. 120Darma Putra (2003, p. 55). 118 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS to the official formation of Lekra Singaraja, at the beginning of 1954.121 This is supported by the fact that three figures—Putu Shanty, Njoman Wisade, and Made Serinata—who were later important Lekra leaders in Singaraja, were featured many times in Kebudajaan prior to the official establishment of the branch.122

Aﬃliates and Associates

This short survey makes it clear that even though Lekra was endeavouring to establish well developed organisational structures based on numerous sections and substantial branch executives, there was variation from branch to branch, region to region. Bandung had its Balai Kebudajaan Rakjat Desa, and different branches had a different composition in terms of their sections (or lack thereof) based on local culture and activity. This was supplemented by differing “ecologies” of sub-organisations and affiliates around Lekra. Some of these organisations were essential to the formation of the institute nation- ally or in a particular region and continued to play significant roles in its development; others were formed by or around it during Lekra’s later development. In this section we will survey some of the more prominent of these “affiliates and associates”.

Pelukis Rakjat and SIM

Pelukis Rakjat (“The People’s Painters”) was probably the most important of Lekra’s aﬃliates, and was a key reason why Yogyakarta (the city in which Pelukis Rakjat was centred) was Lekra’s strongest branch. Pelukis Rakjat

121Darma Putra (2003, p. 55-58) and Darma Putra (2011, p. 42-44). 122This material includes short stories by Made Serinata “Apa sebabnja saja masuk S.G.A.?” HR 6/6/53; “Semalam dalam tahanan” HR 7/5/55 and HR 14/5/55; paintings by Njoman Wisade (chair of Seniman Rakjat) “Pura Dalem Bakung” HR 11/6/55 and “Lorong Pura Taman” HR 2/7/55; and poems, short stories, and travel essays by Putu Shanty (later chair of Lekra Bali): “Pesta Rakjat”, “Fadjar Merah”, “Lahirnja seorang nabi” HR 11/6/55; “Sebuah fragmen dari: Datang angin, Datanglah petir” HR 2/7/55; “Festi- val Warsawa” HR 25/10/55, HR 27/10/55, HR 29/10/55, HR 31/10/55; “Bertemu Sartre dihotel Peking” HR 3/12/55. The 11 June 1955 edition of Kebudajaan was something of a Singaraja special, with two poems, a short story, and a painting. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 119 was organised as a sanggar.123 Holt (1967) describes the scene at the Sanggar Pelukis Rakjat in the mid-1950s:

The asrama124 consisted of a large main house and several smaller structures nearby. In the main house, Hendra, his wife, and little son occupied one of the bedrooms which also served as his private studio. A spacious, high-ceilinged front room served as the community’s gathering place, lounge and art gallery. At a large round table in the hall consultations were held and projects discussed. . . Many a visitor, always cordially received, has spent time in the hall of the Pelukis Rakjat where he might have found Hendra at work on some project, looked at the latest paintings displayed on the walls, and chatted with some of the artists drift- ing in and out. . . Evidence of their activity was everywhere, in the hall, in their rooms, and outside in the courtyard strewn with more or less successful attempts at sculpture in stone and cement.125

The organisation was at its height at the time, attracting “many young as- piring artists from diﬀerent parts of the country”126. The sanggar was clearly a model for the movement127, and is mentioned many times in Kebudajaan. Many times it is presented as being synonymous with Lekra.128 Pelukis Rakjat provided Kebudajaan with a model of “People’s Art” in action from the beginning of the period. Hendra, the key leader of the group, and Aﬀandi had been founding members of Lekra in 1950. In Jan- uary, 1953, Kebudajaan proudly included two photographs of Pelukis Rakjat statues outside the provincial parliament building in Yogyakarta, under the

123See the footnote above on page 109. 124A cognate of Ashram, meaning dormitory. 125Holt (1967, p. 218). 126Holt (1967, p. 218). 127A key example of this is Njoto’s “Pelukis Rakjat” HR 14/08/54 (written under the nom de plume “Iramani”) 128Although it also seems to be the case that Pelukis Rakjat did maintain formal independence of both Lekra and the PKI. S.I.M. (see below on page 125) was even closer to Lekra and the PKI, and was treated as close to identical in several cases—e.g. Sumaryoko “Sampai dimana senirupa Indonesia?” HR 17/07/54 (which is discussed below). 120 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS title “Collectivism in Creation”. The writer of the accompanying article en- thuses:

Gambar di atas, adalah patung jang ditjiptakan setjara kolektif oleh kawan2 Lekra Jogjakarta jang bergabung di dalam ‘Pelukis Rakjat’. Patung ini dihamparkan di muka Gedung Dewan Per- wakilan Rakjat Jogjakarta dan mengelilingi Patung Djenderal ‘Sudirman’ [sic] jang djuga dipahat oleh Pelukis Rakjat dengan pimpinan Hen- dra Pelukis [sic] rakjat dan pemahat patung Indonesia jang kena- maan itu. Seni Patung di Indonesia djika dibandingkan dengan luar negeri, ia menduduki tempat jang tertinggi djuga. Hendra dengan Pelukis Rakjatnja jang berdjumlah kira2 20 orang lebih pada hakekatnja sudah merupakan suatu akademi Seni Rupa [sic] jang mempunjai kekuatan2 tersendiri dalam perkembangan seni patung. . .

The above picture is of statues that were created collectively by comrades from Lekra Yogyakarta who are members of the “Peo- ple’s Painters”. These statues are in front of the Yogyakarta Par- liament building, spread around the statue of General Sudirman, which was also sculpted by the People’s Painters under the leadership of the renowned Indonesian people’s painter and sculptor, Hendra. Sculpture in Indonesia compared to overseas is of high quality. Hendra and the People’s Painters is made up of over twenty artists and constitutes a kind of Academy of the Arts that has an especial strength in the development of sculpture. . . .129

This combination of Hendra/Pelukis Rakjat’s collective approach to production and education, alongside their pioneering of modern Indonesian sculpture was also impressive to Sumaryoko’s long appraisal of the visual arts in the middle of the following year:

Senirupa Indonesia diperkaja dengan berkembangnja senipatung/senipahat setelah clash kedua. Perkembangan ini dipelopori oleh Hendra

129“Kolektivisme dalam Pentjiptaan” HR 24/01/53. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 121

dan dengan pondok-systeemnja ia menghimpun dan mendidik sen- iman2 muda didalam Pelukis Rakjat.

The visual arts in Indonesia have been enriched by the development of sculpture following the second clash.130 This development was pioneered by Hendra who, with his pondok 131 system, gathered together and educated young artists in the “People’s Painters”.132

The key statement of esteem of Kebudajaan and the communist movement more widely for Pelukis Rakjat comes in Njoto’s substantial essay on the group, which was published in mid-1954.133 It opens on a panegyric note, introducing the group as:

Serombongan seniman, jang pada umumnja sekaligus pematung dan pelukis, dan jang di-saat2 kerdjanja menggembirakan dirinja dengan musik; serombongan seniman, jang kolektivitetnja dise- men oleh rasa persahabatan jang mengharukan; serombongan seniman, jang menjatukan hidup dan kegiatan-tjiptanja dengan tjita2 dan perdjuangan Rakjatnja; serombongan seniman, jang dipimpin oleh salah seorang pelukis kita jang masjhur, Hendra,—inilah Pelukis Rakjat.

A group of artists, who are generally both sculptors and painters, who amuse themselves with music as they work; a group of artists whose collectivity is cemented by a moving feeling of friendship; a group of artists that integrate their lives and creative activity with the aspirations and struggles of their People; a group of artists

130That is, the second of the so-called “Police Actions” (politionele acties) launched by the Netherlands against the Republic of Indonesia from late 1948 in an endeavour to crush the nascent state. Despite formally gaining control over virtually the entire area of Indonesia (excepting Aceh), the operation ultimately failed in the face of guerilla activity and on-going popular support for Indonesian independence. A year later, the Netherlands ﬁnally formally recognised the sovereignty of Indonesia. See Kahin (1952, Ch. XI). 131Pondok means “cottage” and is another word associated with sanggar structures (see above on page 109). 132Sumaryoko “Sampai dimana senirupa Indonesia?” HR 17/07/54. 133Iramani [Njoto] “Pelukis Rakjat” HR 14/08/55. 122 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

that is led by one of our most famous artists, Hendra—that is the People’s Painters. Here Njoto emphasises key elements that appear commonly in references to Pelukis Rakjat in Kebudajaan—their work in both painting and sculpture; their collective and communal approach to their lives and work; and the leadership of Hendra. Later in the same essay he also highlights another common theme in Kebudajaan discussions of all Indonesian art forms—the material conditions of artists: Djika kita berkenalan dengan mereka, melihat bagaimana mereka hidup dan bekerdja ber-sama2 disebuah sanggar jang tidak besar dan tidak dapat dikatakan baik di Sentoolredjo, Djokjakarta, atau djika kita lihat bagaimana mereka tidur menggeletak sadja di- lantai dingin atau kita lihat makan mereka, timbullah—mau tak mau—pertanjaan pada kita beginikah harusnja nasib seniman2 Indonesia? If we meet them and see how they live and work together in a small and somewhat dilapidated studio [sanggar] in Sentulrejo, Yogyakarta, or we see how they sleep simply sprawled out on the cold floor, or we see them eat, of course the question arises—do Indonesia’s artists have to live like this? The article itself was inpired by the fact that at the time of its writing Pelukis Rakjat was working on a relief for the PKI Central Committee office in Jakarta, one of a number of the group’s projects to be discussed in Ke- budajaan at several points in the period.134 These include their earlier work on the Railways Union (SBKA) office, the Youth Monument (Tugu Muda) in Semarang, the above-mentioned statues outside the Regional Parliament building in Yogyakarta, the statue of Airlangga135 in Surabaya, as well as 134Sketches of the group at work on the relief also appear in Kebudajaan in the same edition of Harian Rakjat as the Njoto article (14/08/54) and the 31/10/55 edition. 135Photographs of this project appear in HR 19/02/55. Airlangga (991-1046) was an important King of Bali, and East and Central Java. He re-established and developed a kingdom in the Surabaya region following a devastating attack from the Sumatra-based Srivijaya empire. He is also said to have encouraged and developed Javanised (as opposed to Indianised) court culture. Cribb (1992, p. 8-9). THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 123 their unsuccessful bid for the national monument project.136 While the public projects in east and central Java reflect the standing that the group had in those regions, the work for the PKI Central Committee and the Railways union reflected the group’s engagement with the communist movement and the wider people’s movement around it.137 This engagement also found other forms. For example, Pelukis Rakjat artists were involved in the massive election rally held by the PKI at the end of February, 1955.138 The group’s painters held a painting demonstration at the rally, and sang as part of the entertainment, under the leadership of the multi-talented Djoni Trisno139 and Rachmat.140 In addition to this sort of active engagement in the movement, work by Pelukis Rakjat artists also played an important role in Kebudajaan. Repro- ductions of Pelukis Rakjat paintings and sketches provided welcome variety in the supplement’s pages.141 Sketches included depictions of the group’s

136It is interesting to note that their only successful bids for public projects appear to have occurred in central and east Java. This may well reflect stronger standing in those areas than in the capital. This relative weakness in the capital seems to have also been reflected in the apparent lack of adequate support for the 1955 exhibition of Pelukis Rakjat work mentioned below. 137The SBKA project is mentioned in the Njoto [Iramani] “Pelukis Rakjat” HR 14/08/55, as is the Tugu Muda monument in the same, as well as in Sumaryoko “Sampai dimana senirupa Indonesia?” HR 17/07/54; the Regional Parliament statues in Yogyakarta are mentioned in “Kolektivisme dalam Penciptaan” HR 24/01/53, Sumaryoko, and the Njoto article cited above; the Airlangga statue is discussed in “HENDRA [sic] mulai mengerdjakan patung Erlangga” HR 09/10/54 and there are photos of this work and associated work in the 19/02/55 edition of Kebudajaan; the 14/08/54 and 31/10/55 editions have sketches of Pelukis Rakjat artists working on the reliefs for the PKI Central Committee building, and the Tugu Nasional competition (to build what was later known as Monas— the National Monument) is discussed in Henk Ngantung “Beras sadja perlu, tetapi batupun bernilai” HR 10/09/55. 138For a report on the rally, including details of the contributions of artists, see K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/03/55. The PKI claimed an attendance of one million people, an astounding figure that would have required participation by large numbers of people from surrounding regions. Whatever the actual attendance, it is clear that the rally was massive and was considered by activists in the communist movement to have been a key tour de force for the party. 139Trisno was also a talented dancer and actor, see Surjono “Surat Perjalanan: diskusi dan Kritik tentang Reok” HR 10/10/53 and Holt (1967, p.221-222). 140See below in Chapter 6 for more detail on this rally. 141Examples of reproductions of paintings: Sudarso “Ibu” HR 31/12/54 and Trubus “Gadis” in the same edition of Kebudajaan; Affandi “Gambar Sendiri” HR 27/08/55; Hen- dra “Menangkap Tjapung” HR 05/11/55; Djoni Trisno “Potret Diri” HR 26/11/55. 124 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS activities (e.g. the artists at work on the relief for the PKI Central Com- mittee office; the 1955 Pelukis Rakjat exhibition in Jakarta), events in the movement (the 1954 Cultural Congress, election rallies), and scenes from the everyday life of ordinary Indonesians (e.g. people sleeping rough, an ox-drawn cart).142 These illustrations, along with some stock material from the international communist movement, served to break up the text of Ke- budajaan and give it a more vibrant appearance, and sometimes informed the content of particular articles. The reproductions, in particular, were an expensive addition to the supplement, so their inclusion reflected Harian Rakjat’s interest in and commitment to Pelukis Rakjat. This commitment also extended to significant coverage of the group’s exhibition in Jakarta, which seems to have been ignored by key elements of the art elite. Kebudajaan published three articles on the exhibition, as well as publishing the above-mentioned sketch and two reproductions of exhibited paintings to illustrate discussions.143 Leading Lekra figure Henk Ngantung (later Jakarta governor) reviewed the exhibition, which was held in the Balai Bu- daja building from October 28, 1955.144 In this substantial essay Ngantung works hard to emphasise the significance of Pelukis Rakjat in the history of Indonesian visual arts since the time of the revolution. He compares their present exhibition to an exhibition held in the late 1940s, which helped counter the image portrayed by the Dutch language press of Republican youth being mere robbers and murderers. He also compares the modest opening of the Pelukis Rakjat exhibition to the glittering recent opening of

142Rachmat appears to have been the most prolific source of such sketches for Kebudajaan and Harian Rakjat. All but one of the examples cited above were his work. The sketch of the group’s artists at work on the relief for the PKI Central Committee office appears under the title “Seniman2 Pelukis Rakjat mempersiapkan relief untuk gedung CC-PKI” in HR 14/08/54. Another sketch of them at work appears under the title “Hendra cs asjik mengerdjakan relief gedung CC PKI” in HR 31/10/55. A sketch of the Pelukis Rakjat exhibition appears in HR 05/11/55 alongside Henk Ngantung’s review of the exhibition. The sketch of the Cultural congress is Rachmat “Pemandangan dalam Kongres Kebudajaan di Solo” HR 02/10/54; Rachmat is also responsible for a sketch of an election rally in Pekalongan that appears in HR 26/02/55, as well as the ox and cart sketch (“Grobag” HR 18/07/53) and “Beginilah mereka tidur” (“This is how they sleep”) HR 14/08/54. 143These paintings were Hendra “Menangkap Tjapung” HR 05/11/55 and Djoni Trisno “Potret Diri” HR 26/11/55. 144Henk Ngantung “Pameran Lukisan2 ‘Pelukis Rakjat’ ” HR 05/11/55. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 125 an exhibition of the work of Soekarno’s favourite painter, Basuki Abdullah, who was also more conservative, both politically and artistically. Ngantung notes that while the Abdullah exhibition had two ministers giving speeches at the opening, Pelukis Rakjat appeared to have no significant support from the authorities. There are a number of reasons why the exhibition may have not received much official attention. One possible reason is the continuing marginality of cultural groups and individuals with ties to the communist party. Although the movement, both politically and culturally had made significant inroads since the low-point at the beginning of the decade, it remained a long way from power, and the national elite remained wary of it. Also, precisely because the movement was on the rise, it was younger, and this also might have distanced it somewhat from power, as well as encouraging a group attitude that was somewhat dismissive of established authority. Pelukis Rakjat pre- dated Lekra (and Harian Rakjat) and had a clear and recognised prominent place in the society of Indonesian visual arts. Two of the great “triumvi- rate” of painters in the period (i.e. Hendra, Affandi, and Sudjojono) were associated with the sanggar, and the third was a communist party member. Visual arts was an area where the ideas and attitudes around the communist movement clearly held great weight. But the members of Pelukis Rakjat were overwhelmingly young, and the culture of the group was clearly “alternative”. The long hair (rambut gondrong) of many of the members of the group being just one visual sign of this. There was also a general attitude of the importance of simplicity and modesty. The low-key quality of the exhibition opening might thus have reflected the continuing marginality of even a prominent part of the communist movement in art, or it might have reflected the “alternative” culture of Pelukis Rakjat, or, most likely, a combination of both these elements. Leading members of Pelukis Rakjat, including Hendra, Affandi, Sudarso and Trubus, had all been members of another important sanggar, Seniman Indonesia Merdeka (SIM) during the 1940s, and SIM continued to exist in the early 1950s, although it had by then passed its glory days. Like Pelukis Rakjat, it had a close relationship with Lekra, all the more so since its key 126 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS leading member, Sudjojono, was an open PKI member (he also ran for parliament in the 1955 elections as a PKI candidate, while other artists who ran on the PKI supported ticket were “non-party”). While it is clear that SIM existed during this period, and had direct links to both Lekra and the PKI, its lower level of activity and prominence in the movement (than Pelukis Rakjat, that is) meant that it is only ever mentioned as an important part of Indonesia’s art history or in passing, and then usually by association with two of its leading members (Sudjojono and Suromo).145

Gembira Song and Dance Ensemble

Besides SIM and Pelukis Rakjat, there were other artists’ sanggar associated with Lekra and the communist movement (for example Henk Ngantung’s Sanggar Gotong Rojong), but Pelukis Rakjat was the only one that attracted significant and serious attention from the editors and writers of Kebudajaan. However, it was certainly not the only “affiliate” group that drew the supplement’s attention. Another “star” of Kebudajaan’s pages was the singing and dancing ensemble, Gembira (“Joy”). The choral side of the group’s work was led by Subronto K. Atmodjo and Sudharnoto, while the dance was led by Bambang Sukowati Dewantara, son of the nationalist pioneer and founder of the Taman Siswa education movement, Ki Hadjar Dewantara. The group was founded at the beginning of March, 1952, and Kebuda- jaan reported on celebrations of its first anniversary in March of the following year.146 The celebrations took the form of a cultural night at which the dancing of Dewantara was a great hit (more on this below). Ajoeb also gave the Gembira choir some critical praise (on the negative side contend- ing that they lacked feeling in some places and were under-prepared), but directed more of his attention to an appeal for government support for the group, in particular to the provision of a piano and a rehearsal space. In this context he delivers a broadside at the Jakarta cultural elite: “I think if

145Sumaryoko “Sampai dimana senirupa Indonesia?” HR 17/07/54 does both: he describes SIM’s historical role and then later mentions SIM in a contemporary context, but only in association with Sudjojono. 146Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Seni Paduan Suara ‘Gembira’ ” HR 14/03/53. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 127 a venture is undertaken by people other than the ladies of the elite, it still has a right to government support”.147 It is unclear whether Gembira was able to garner any formal government support in the period, but Kebudajaan does report eventual donations through communist channels—e.g. an accordion from the World Federation of Democratic Youth, and a guitar from the Czechoslovakian consulate.148 Gembira featured in Kebudajaan regularly as performers at cultural evenings for various organisations within or around the movement—at a Youth Cul- tural Night in June 1953, an evening commemorating the eighth anniversary of the death of the nationalist composer Cornel Simandjuntak the following year, and a SOBSI cultural evening in early 1955, amongst others.149 The group was clearly a Lekra Jakarta success story and by 1955 was performing with 150 singers, and a series of quality soloists, including the radio star, Gordon Tobing. At the time of the SOBSI cultural evening, Njoto gave the group a strong imprimatur, commenting that the group was now “imposing”, a far cry from the limp critical praise of early 1953.150

Theatre Groups

While Pelukis Rakjat and Gembira were stars of culture in and around the communist movement, the movement existed in a complex and diverse cultural ecology that included a large number of local and specialist organisations. To a certain extent this comes through in the pages of the supplement in a series of references to such organisations, sometimes in passing, at other times with signiﬁcant attention paid to them. A survey of these references during the period gives an impression of the importance of theatre, especially

147. . . aku kira djika sesuatu usaha jang bukan dimulai oleh kalangan njonja2 pembesar djuga mempunjai hak untuk dapat dibantu oleh pemerintah. 148“Akordeon & Gitar untuk ‘Gembira’ ” HR 04/12/54. 149Joebaar Ajoeb “P 5 S sibuk: Malam Kesenian Pemuda” HR 06/06/53; Sudharnoto “Cornel Simandjuntak” HR 18/09/54 (this was the speech given at the evening; accompanying it is a photograph of the Gembira choir performing at the evening under the conductorship of Subronto); Iramani [Njoto] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/01/55. 150See Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/01/55. The dance element under Bambang Sukowati Dewantara also continued to get strong praise. 128 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS popular or folk theatre (e.g. Ludruk, Ketoprak, Wayang Orang)151, both during the period and to Lekra—around half of all such references relate to theatre groups, and the majority of these references are to groups involved in folk or classical theatre. The largest number of those that appear to have been focused on modern/Western-style theatre are student/youth theatre groups that involved Lekraists—for example the “Committee of Youth Theatre En- thusiasts” (Panitia Penggemar Sandiwara in Medan, and the “Surakarta As- sociation of Dramatic Youth” (Ikatan Pemuda Drama Surakarta).152. These groups appear to have had a variety of levels of Lekra involvement, and when it came to performances for cultural nights associated with key communist movement organisations (e.g. SOBSI events), modern theatre was normally organised by Lekra itself, rather than theatre groups close to Lekra. This was not the case with folk and classical theatre, where groups were generally professional (as opposed to the amateur student groups). These groups were also more likely to be mentioned in direct reference to the organisational development of Lekra. For example in early 1953, in a long article discussing Lekra Bandung’s “Village People’s Cultural Halls” (Balai Kebudajaan Rakjat Desa)153, Joebaar Ajoeb mentions three groups that appear to have had links to Lekra—“Sinar Kamuljan”, “Panghegarmariah”, and the Wayang Golek 154 group led by Dalang 155 Akrib. Ajoeb ﬁnishes the article pointedly emphasising the need for Lekra to organise popular or folk artists. The following week’s edition of Kebudajaan shows a photo of the Surakarta-based Wayang Orang group, Eka Budaja, in front of a banner produced by Lekra artists that was emblazoned with the name of the group, “Lekra”, and the Lekra slogan “Art for the People” (Seni untuk Rakjat) ahead of a performance at the

151Ludruk is a form of folk theatre originating in East Java, which focuses on the every day life of ordinary people for its story lines; Ketoprak is a central Javanese folk theatre form that often uses Javanese legends and history for its plots; Wayang Orang is a more classical theatre form that most often takes stories from the classical Hindu epics Mahabharata and Ramayana. 152See Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 20/12/52; Poerwadi Hardikartono “Surat dari Solo” HR 27/11/54. 153Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Balai Kebudajaan Rakjat Desa” HR 24/01/53 154Wayang Golek is a wayang form that uses wooden puppets. It is most prominent in West Java, and is associated with Sundanese culture. 155Dalang is the title given to a wayang puppet master. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 129 then recently inaugurated Lekra building in Yogyakarta.156 A similar close relationship is apparent in the fact that an association of Ludruk groups in Cerme, East Java, took the initiative in forming a new branch of Lekra later in the same year.157 What relationships may have existed between the communist movement and the prominent Semarang-based Wayang Orang group, Ngesti Pandowo, are unclear, but the enthusiastic discussion of their performances in Jakarta early the following year suggests at least communication.158 The standing of the Dagelan group, Dagelan Mataram159, is clearer since it is reported as formally representing Lekra Yogyakarta and providing key performances during the 1952 SOBSI National Conference and in the lead-up to the 1955 SOBSI National Congress. In reports of these events the group attracted sig- niﬁcant attention, and was seen as being at something of a cultural vanguard in progressive Indonesian popular culture.160 Another folk theatre group that appears to have relatively close connections with Lekra and the communist movement was Sandiwara Rakjat

156HR 31/01/53. The performance was held under the auspices of the the “Committee for the Lekra Yogyakarta Building”, possibly to raise money for the development of the building, which had recently been donated to the group by the mayor of Yogyakarta. 157The name of the association was Persatuan Organisasi Sandiwara Tjermee (P.O.S.T.—The Cerme Union of Theatre Organisations). See “Lekra Tjermee Terbentuk” HR 01/08/53. 158“Sedikit Tentang: Ngesti Pandowo” HR 06/03/54. This article is unsigned, but most probably the work of Joebaar Ajoeb, or Njoto. 159Dagelan (lit. “clowning around”; “a joke”) is a form of comedy associated with Ke- toprak. Initially it was part of Ketoprak performances, where its popularity led to its expansion in Ketoprak groups’ repertoires and eventually the development of independent Dagelan practitioners and groups. A number of groups have used the title “Dagelan Mataram”. This group was the most famous of these, sometimes also known as Dage- lan Mataram Kuping Hitam (“Black Ear Dagelan Mataram”), which was associated with popular radio shows, ﬁrst on the colonial era MAVRO station, then on Radio Republik Indonesia (RRI) Yogyakarta. “Black Ear” possibly refers to Jamur Kuping Hitam, a type of fungus often used in East Asian cooking. It appears to be playing with the fact that the fungus is a common food known to ordinary people; a type of food that could be considered ugly; that its name refers back to humans (“ear”), and that ordinary people who work out in the sun tend to be darker skinned (“black”) and are also often considered more ugly for it. Basically the name appears to be playing with ugliness and ordinariness. 160See Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” HR 11/10/52; S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52; Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/01/55. More on the reception and appraisal of these performances below. 130 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Marhaen, a Surabaya-based Ludruk group. Like Dagelan Mataram and Ngesti Pandowo, Marhaen was the subject of the enthusiastic attention of Njoto, and was held up as a model for others, and as a cultural vanguard for progressive politics.161 As stated above, around half of all references to localised and specialised groups that were around Lekra and the communist movement refer to theatrical groups, particularly those working in popular or folk theatre. It is perhaps worthwhile considering why this might be the case. The first reason is that theatre was an obvious candidate for performance at cultural evenings in and around the movement. This in turn meant that they were likely to be reported on and discussed in the pages of Kebudajaan. A second is that theatre, and folk theatre in particular, was a key cultural form during the period. James Peacock’s classic study of Ludruk in the early 1960s stated that there were almost 600 troupes in the Surabaya region alone, and that on holidays upwards of 12,000 people could be watching one performance or another on the same day.162 This made folk theatre both likely to be reported and discussed because of its ubiquity, and of interest because of its didactic potential—something which Njoto, amongst others in the pages of Kebudajaan, makes perfectly explicit.163 Beyond this, theatre requires the collective organisation of a wide variety of different matters, from bringing together and managing the actors and technical personnel involved in production, to finances, marketing, etc. The PKI, Lekra , and other organisations of the communist movement could definitely assist on this front. The PKI and Lekra also enthusiastically and proactively embraced popular theatre, which may have been ignored by other political tendencies because of its perceived vulgarity and association with

161See Njoto [Iramani] “Tjak Bowo & ‘Marhaen’nja” HR 07/01/55; Iramani [Njoto] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/01/55; also Hassan “Malam peringatan ke X hari wafatnja Pak Durasim” HR 14/08/54. The leader of this group also appears to have published short stories in Kebudajaan (see below). 162Peacock (1968, p. 4). Hatley (2008, p. 20) makes similar claims for the popularity of Ketoprak in Central Java for the same period. 163E.g. Iramani “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” HR 11/10/52; Ira- mani “Tjak Bowo & ‘Marhaen’nja” HR 07/01/55; Iramani “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/01/55. For more on the movement’s relationship to folk theatre, see Chapter 6 below. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 131 the poor and uneducated. The communist movement had ideas and a network that could give groups the edge in the ever evolving market for popular theatre. It also offered some international contact, and the strongly idiosyncratic and local quality of folk theatre meant that the negative impacts, such as the imposition of bureaucratic foreign models (e.g. grey “socialist realism”) was much less likely. The communist network offered contact with organisations which could employ and promote groups, and offered contact with artists in other fields who could offer both inspiration (e.g. from cognate forms like dance) and material assistance (e.g. with props and decor a la Basuki Resobowo in Jakarta, or the promotional poster made by Lekra Yogyakarta painters for Eka Budaja cited above164). It also gave contact with multi-talented artists focused in other areas (like Djoni Trisno, the painter who could also dance, sing, and act). Finally, a key issue for theatre, as with other art forms, was that of material conditions for both production and the livelihoods of artists. As in other areas, Lekra and PKI activists were keen lobbyists and propagandists for better conditions for the production of folk theatre and better reward for contributing artists.165

164See above on page 129. 165For example, in his review of Marhaen’s performance to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the death of the nationalist ludruk figure, Tjak Durasim, Lekra Surabaya writer Hassan excuses the technical short-comings of the performance, saying they “are caused by financial difficulties and [the fact that work still needs to be done] to encourage the government to pay attention to people’s art” (. . . disebabkan sukarnja finansil serta perhatian pemerintah terhadap kesenian rakjat jang rupanja masih perlu harus didorong). In Kebudajaan’s special article on Ngesti Pandowo, however, the difference in the class character of Wayang Orang as a more “classic” form (i.e. a local form with support from the local elite) compared to forms like Ludruk as a “folk” form (a local form without widespread support from the middle and upper classes) becomes clearer. While discussion of Ludruk might turn quickly to financial issues and lack of government support, as well as emphasising the kerakyatan (popular, “salt of the earth”) character of the form, the key economic complaint of the reviewer of Ngesti Pandowo’s Jakarta performance in early 1954 (most probably Njoto) is that the cost of tickets was prohibitive (i.e. the group could attract an affluent audience, reflecting its higher social status). See Hassan “Malam peringatan ke X hari wafatnja Pak Durasim” HR 14/08/54 and “Sedikit Tentang: Ngesti Pandowo” HR 06/03/54. 132 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Other “Associates”

Kebudajaan gives us preliminary evidence of a variety of other cultural organisations around Lekra and the communist movement. Many of these are mentioned in passing (for example youth theatre groups), but aside from those discussed above only two have significant prominence166: the Fifteenth Infantry Regiment Staff Association (P.A.S.R. 15) and the Jakarta-based Indonesian Music Society (MMI). P.A.S.R. 15 (Persatuan Anggauta Staf Resimen Infanterie 15 ) is interesting because it is a very different organisation to others considered in this section. Indeed it was difficult to find a section in the chapter where it could be discussed. It is worth discussing, however, since it illustrates how Kebu- dajaan and the communist movement of which it was part could reach out to different parts of Indonesian society through culture. P.A.S.R. 15 was the social organisation of an army regiment in a city (Surakarta) in which the PKI was relatively strong. It was formed in April 1955, and organised a wide range of activities, from a cooperative shop and credit, to sport and cultural activity. Its wide-ranging artistic activity included traditional music (kerawitan), dance, theatre, painting, a choir, and martial arts (pencak).167 The edition of Kebudajaan that included a special article reporting the official establishment of P.A.S.R. 15 and its various activities (including a review of a P.A.S.R. 15 play) also included a fragment of a long poem by the “Cultural and Artistic Secretary” of the group, a Sergeant Soejono. This clearly reflected a high level of engagement with a small regional group. The other “associate” group yet to be discussed is the Indonesian Mu- sic Society (Masjarakat Musik Indonesia), led by prominent Lekraist and composer, Amir Pasaribu. Its establishment was welcomed in the pages of Kebudajaan by no less than Njoto (unusually writing under his own name), and appears to have been part of an on-going battle between Amir and Radio Republic of Indonesia (RRI). Njoto argues that RRI is “making itself a Hol-

166E.g. repeated mentions; discussion of activity; articles focused on the group’s activity. 167“Berita Kegiatan: P.A.S.R. 15” HR 07/05/55 THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 133 lywood propaganda tool”168 and echoes Amir’s arguments about the need to fund proper music education in Indonesia, as well as calls for more research into folk music in Indonesia.169 Beyond statements of intent of this type we do not have much evidence of MMI activity—excepting an evening to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the death of Tschaikovsky.170 Other than this we only have a report that Amir had been chosen to represent the group within the International Music Council (IMC), in which the MMI was the sole recognised representative of Indonesia.171 It is therefore possible that the MMI functioned mainly (at least in this period) as a conduit to this and other international bodies.172

Friendship Societies

As in most other Stalinist movements, friendship societies, that is organisations that sought to develop cultural and other social links with particular communist countries, played a role in the cultural life of the Indonesian movement. This is unsurprising, but what is unexpected, on the evidence of Kebudajaan is the fact that, on the one hand, there is no mention of a pro-Soviet friendship society, and on the other that the ﬁrst such society mentioned is the Indonesia-Czechoslovakia Friendship Society (Lembaga Persahabatan Indonesia-Tjekoslowakia). From mid-1953 large numbers of articles and works from or about Czechoslo- vakia began appearing. This included a long-running series of articles entitled “Introducing Czechoslovakian literature” which ran from June until October of that year. No less than thirteen articles on Czechoslovakian literary history appeared, as well as at least seven poems and eleven works of short ﬁction. Alongside these works, numerous reports relating to Czechoslovakia were published. Moreover, PKI politburo member Njoto seems to have been

168RRI. . . mendjadikan dirinja alat propaganda Hollywood! 169Njoto “Menjambut ‘Musjarawat Musik Indonesia’ ” HR 12/09/53. See also Amir Pasaribu “Emansipasi Musikal, Djalan satu-satunja: Pengadjaran Musik” HR 28/2/53. 170This event was a joint MMI Lekra Jakarta event. See “Musik” HR 09/01/54. 171The IMC is a UNESCO backed organisation headquartered in Paris that was established in 1949. See http://www.imc-cim.org/ , accessed 21 February 2012. 172For the report on Amir’s selection see “Amir Pasaribu Wakil I.M.C.” HR 09/10/54. 134 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS at the centre of eﬀorts to promote Czechoslovakian culture, especially literature, writing the above series on literary history, and translating several of the works appearing in Kebudajaan (probably from English).173

173Below is an extensive, but not exhaustive, list of works relating to Czechoslovakia. The length of this list gives some sense of the prominence given to Czechoslovakia and Czechoslovakian culture in the pages of Kebudajaan, especially in 1953 and 1954. Liter- ary history/criticism: Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusasteraan Tjekoslowakia (1): Sekedar Pengantar” HR 6/6/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusasteraan Tjekoslowakia (II): Petr Besruc” HR 13/6/53; Njoto “Alois Jirasek” HR 20/6/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Ke- susasteraan Tjekoslowakia (IV): Jaroslav Hasek” HR 11/7/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusasteraan Tjekoslowakia (VII): Jaroslav Seifert” HR 1/8/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusastraan Tjekoslowakia (VIII): Karel Capek” HR 8/8/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Ke- susteraan Tjekoslowakia (X): Josef Svatopluk Machar” HR 29/8/53; “Julius Fucik: Hero Nasional Tjekoslowakia” HR 5/9/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusastraan Tjekoslowakia (XII): S.K. Neumann” HR 19/9/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusasteraan Tjekoslowakia (XIII): Jiri Wolker” HR 26/9/53; Njoto “Memperkenalkan Kesusasteraan Tjekoslowakia (XIV): Josef Hora” HR 17/10/53; A. S. Dharta “Memperkenalkan Sastera Tjeko-slowakia” HR 22/5/54. A. S. Dharta “Manusia Julius Fucik sebagai pengarang” HR 10/9/55. Po- ems: Petr Besruc “Ostrawa” HR 13/6/53; Alois Jirasek “Diatas Reruntuk” HR 20/6/53 (also re-published in the HR 22/5/54) ; Jaroslav Seifert “Njanjian Paris” 1/8/53; Josef Svatopluk Machar “Dalam Keretaapi Florence Roma” HR 29/8/53; S. K. Neumann “Se- tiap Orang Sajang Akan Djiwaraganja” HR 19/9/53; Jiri Wolker “Pemusik2 Buta” HR 26/9/53; Josef Bora “Jan Pemain Biola” HR 17/10/53. Fictional prose: Julius Fucik “Kolonel Babunov dan gerhana bulan” HR 29/11/52; Jaroslav Hasek “Svejk, serdadu jang baik, serta [sic] dalam perang jang besar” HR 11/7/53; Jaroslav Hasek “Svejk, serdadu jang gagah, serta dalam perang jang besar (II)” HR 18/7/53; Jaroslav Hasek “Svejk, Serdadu jang Gagah, Serta Dalam Perang jang Besar III (Habis)” HR 25/7/53; Karel Capek “Pem- bunuhan Biasa” HR 8/8/53; Karel Capek “Memperkenalkan Kesusasteraan Tjekoslowakia (IX): Pembunuhan Biasa (Sambungan – Habis)” HR 21/8/53; Julius Fucik “Sekelumit Sedjarah” HR 5/9/53; Jiri Hronek “Musim Panas Jang Njaman” HR 11/12/54; Jaroslav Hasek “Diantara sahabat2 kesusasteraan” 9/7/55. Travelogues: Njoto “Ke Daerah Dimana Seni Sudah Djadi Milik Rakjat: Tjatatan Sebuah Perdjalanan” HR 25/7/53; Pen. “Manu- sia tetapi: Tjatatan Perdjalanan (IV, Habis)” HR 16/4/55; Other Czechoslovakia-related articles: M. R. Dajoh ‘Ada apa “di belakang Tirai besi (Praha)”’ HR 28.2.53; Josef Lada “Nj. Mueller dan Tn. Svejk” HR 11/7/53; “Delegasi Film Tjeko di London” HR 7/11/53; “Medali perdamaian untuk Sasterawan Nasional” HR 2/1/54; “Bakat Seni anak2 Tjeko” HR 9/1/54; “Prokoﬁev Premiere” HR 9/1/54; J. [Joebaar Ajoeb?] “Bagaimana jurnalis Tjekoslowakia hidup & bekerja” HR 6/2/54; Sudharnoto “B. Smetana: pendiri musik nasional tjeko” HR 17/4/54; “Klement Gottwald” HR 15/5/54; “Kedudukan sosial pengarang di Tjekoslowakia” HR 15/5/54; Joebaar Ajoeb ‘Menjambut lahirnja Lembaga Per- sahabatan Indonesia-Tjekoslowakia: “Sasterawan Tjekoslowakia dalam Masyarakat Baru”’ HR 15/5/54 & HR 22/4/54; “Antonin Zapotecky” HR 15/4/54; Julius Fucik “dari tanah ketjil ke komunisme” HR 15/5/54; “Festival musik Praha musimsemi” HR 15/5/54; Klara Akustia [A. S. Dharta] “Praha” Hr 15/4/54; Klement Gottwald “Gottwald tentang Ilmu” HR 22/4/54; Sudharnoto “Musimsemi Di Praha” HR 24/7/54; Antara “Kritik2 thd. ﬁlm PFN ‘Pulang’ di Tjekoslowakia” HR 31/7/54; Dr. Jiri Valek “Pekerdjaan penjelidikan Leos Janacek” HR 28/8/54; “David Oistrakh” HR 20/11/54; ‘Akordeon & Gitar un- THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 135

The formation of the Indonesia-Czechoslovakia Friendship Society was greeted in the pages of Kebudajaan by an extensive essay by Joebaar Ajoeb174, the first instalment of which was part of a special issue celebrating Czechoslo- vakian culture and which ran under a large banner reading “Long Live the Friendship Between Indonesia and Czechoslovakia!”.175 This special issue was followed by an edition where four out of the five pieces published focused on Czechoslovakia and appeared in the context of a succession of articles and other pieces on Czechoslovakian culture, especially Czechoslovakian literature. Activities of the group included a “Month of Indonesia-Czechoslovakia Friendship”, which was held in March 1955. This involved, amongst other things, a Czechoslovakian music evening, a Czechoslovakian art exhibition, and a showing of children’s films.176 The enthusiasm for Czechoslovakian culture is probably, alongside the enthusiasm for Italian cinema (see below), the most surprising aspect of how communist cultural activists in Kebudajaan looked to other countries for inspiration and models, at least on first observation. But it is noteworthy that in the early 1950s significant numbers of Lekraists and other artists travelled to Eastern Europe, especially following the 1951 World Youth Festival in Berlin.177 tuk “Gembira”’ HR 4/12/54; “Antonin Zapotocky” HR 18/12/54; Trubus “Gadis” HR 31/12/54; Jan Smetana “Pidato dari Jan Smetana” HR 26/3/55; “Tjekoslowakia dalam seni grafika, fotografi, gambar dan lukisan” HR 26/3/55 (advertisement for an exhibition); Njoto “Persuaan muka dan hati” HR 2/4/55; Sudharnoto “Pidato Pengantar Malam Musik Tjekoslowakia” HR 2/4/55; Sesangka “Pameran Kesenian Rakjat Tjekoslowakia” HR 9/4/55. 174Joebaar Ajoeb “Menyambut lahirnya Lembaga Persahabatan Indonesia- Tjekoslowakia” HR 13/05/54 and HR 22/05/54. 175Hidup Persahabatan Indonesia-Tjekoslowakia! 176Sudharnoto “Pidato Pengantar Malam Musik Tjekoslowakia” HR 02/04/55; Sesangka “Pameran Kesenian Rakjat Tjekoslowakia” HR 09/04/55; B. Rusmini “Masalah rekreasi bagi kanak-kanak” HR 04/06/55. 177This event seems to have created quite an impression, especially on the Lekra painter, Sudjojono. See Sudjojono (1951); Holt (1967, p. 216); Njoto [Iramani] “Immer Bereit” HR 06/09/52. A whole series of artists and activists visited Czechoslovakia during this time, including Sudharnoto, Njoto, Achdiat Kartamihardja, Henk Ngantung, Asrul Sani, Anas Ma’ruf, M.R. Dajoh, Utuy Tatang Sontani, Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Basuki Re- sobowo, M.R. Dajoh, Basuki Effendy, Kotot Sukardi, Des Alwi, Trubus, Kas Widjaja, and S. Djien. See Njoto “Selamat Tinggal” HR 15/11/52; M. R. Dajoh “Ada apa ‘di belakang Tirai besi (Praha)’ ” HR 28/02/53; Sudharnoto “Musimsemi Di Praha” HR 24/07/54; 136 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Perhaps less surprisingly, Kebudajaan also reports on the establishment of an Indonesia-PRC (People’s Republic of China) Friendship Society. This organisation seems to have been formed following a three month long visit to the PRC by an oﬃcial Indonesian government cultural mission in late 1954.178 It was formed in the immediate lead up to the 1955 Asian-African Conference (also known as the “Bandung Conference”),179 and within three months of its formation the People’s Republic sent a large cultural delegation of some 78 members to Indonesia to put on a series of performances.180 The delegation’s tour and their performances seem to have created quite a stir, and accounts of their exploits (as well as photographs of action from the performances) appear in Kebudajaan in late June and July.181 Kebudajaan gleefully reported strong popular and media reaction to the performances, including apparently eager support from leading nationalist Ki Hadjar De- wantoro, one of the nationalist movement’s founding fathers and a widely respected ﬁgure.182 Sudharnoto also takes the opportunity to enthusiastically analyse innovations that musicians and composers in the group had made in traditional music. Both he and Dewantoro appear to have seen the delegation as providing a model for the development of a strong and dynamic

Antara “Kritik2 thd. ﬁlm PFN ‘Pulang’ di Tjekoslowakia” HR 31/07/54; Trubus “Gadis” HR 31/12/54; Njoto “Persuaan muka dan hati” HR 02/04/55; Sudharnoto “Pidato Pen- gantar Malam Musik Tjekoslowakia” HR 02/04/55; S. Djien “Aku melihat dunia baru” HR 22/10/55. Czechoslovakia, and Prague in particular, represented one of the most advanced and Western (both geographically and cultural-historically) areas of Stalinist Eastern Europe, which might account for some of its appeal for Indonesian artists. 178For accounts of the cultural mission, see DH “Missi kesenian berhasil memperkokoh persahabatan antara Rakjat Indonesia dan RRT” HR 23/10/54; Kuswanda Sutjandy “Tjerita tentang keindahan” HR 06/08/55 and HR 27/08/55. 179Prof. Prijana “Hidup persahabatan Indonesia-RRT!” HR 16/04/55. The Bandung Conference was a watershed meeting of representatives of largely post-colonial and developing countries in the context of the Cold War. It is usually seen as being a key step towards the establishment on the non-aligned movement. See Finnane and McDougall (2010), Mackie (2005), Arnold (2006). 180Joebaar Ajoeb “Menjambut: Delegasi Kebudajaan Republik Rakjat Tiongkok” HR 25/06/55. 181Joebaar Ajoeb “Menjambut: Delegasi Kebudajaan Republik Rakjat Tiongkok”; HR 25/06/55; Sudharnoto “Malam terang bulan disungai Tsuntjiang” HR 02/07/55; “‘R.R.T.’ di Djokja” HR 23/07/55. Photographs of the performances focus understandably (given the strong visual quality of dance) on dancers and appear in the 02/07/55, 09/07/55 and 23/07/55 editions of Kebudajaan. 182“‘R.R.T.’ di Djokja” HR 23/07/55. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 137 national culture based on existing indigenous forms.183 Following the high of the delegation’s visit, the group’s activities seem to have subsequently been more subdued. In October we hear of an “Indonesia- China Friendship Week”, but are given little detail of the nature of the week’s activities, other than that there was an exhibition that focused on children in China, and a cultural evening was held at the end of the week (of which no signiﬁcant details are given).184 Other than this, we only read that in December the society sponsored an exhibition of paintings by the Chinese- Indonesian artist, Lee Siang Yun.185

City-Wide Cultural Fronts

Another important element of Lekra’s cultural environment and the wider cultural ecology of the communist movement consisted of city-wide cultural front organisations that were formed in a number of cities, especially in Java. These organisations brought together artists from a variety of diﬀerent backgrounds and tendencies, both artistic and political, and served as relatively neutral ground from which Lekra (and the broad communist movement beyond it) could interact with government and other bodies, as well as the public at large. The formation of such broad front organisations fell in perfectly with the PKI’s more general calls for a “National United Front” (Front Persatuan Nasional), especially after the shock of the Sukiman Raids and the new leadership decisively consolidated its control over the party in early 1952.

The Greater Jakarta Artists’ Society (MSDR)

The most prominent of these organisations, at least in Kebudajaan, is the Greater Jakarta Artists’ Society (Masjarakat Seniman Djakarta Raya: MSDR),

183Sudharnoto “Malam terang bulan disungai Tsuntjiang” HR 02/07/55; “‘R.R.T.’ di Djokja” HR 23/07/55. 184Mz. “Malam Persahabatan Indonesia-Tiongkok” HR 15/10/55. 185C.M. Hsu “Pameran Senilukis: Lee Siang Yun” HR 17/12/55. Apparently some photos of this exhibition are available in the Claire Holt papers at Cornell University library. See http://photographyindonesia.wordpress.com/tag/lee-siang-yun/ (accessed 22/02/2012). 138 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS which was formed at the beginning of 1954. The leadership of this front makes it clear that Lekraists had a hold over the organisation, with Lekra leader Joebaar Ajoeb holding the Secretary’s position and key Lekra figures also among MSDR leaders: A.S. Dharta, Amir Pasaribu, Basuki Resobowo, Henk Ngantung, alongside figures considered to be sympathetic to Lekra: Pramoedya Ananta Toer and Rivai Apin (who were Lekra leadership figures from 1959).186 Dharta makes it clear that the Society is a model for the movement as a whole in an extended piece written in the lead up to the 1954 Cultural Congress. He cites it as a key example of how “. . . the community and the government realise more and more the the importance of the function of culture in national life”.187 The MSDR appears to have had widespread support among artists, with Ros Achmadi reporting that the group’s first general meeting “could be said to be the largest meeting of artists in Jakarta”.188 Its initial meetings were closely tied to developing close links to the municipal government of Jakarta under the in-coming mayor Sudiro, and a significant aspect of the society’s work involved lobbying the local government—for funding, for new facilities, support for performances and exhibitions, as well as the integration of MSDR-backed activity with government institutions and culturally-oriented grand plans for the development of Jakarta.189

186See Joebaar Ajoeb “Walikota dengan Masjarakat Seniman Djakarta-Raya” HR06/03/54. The “Little Commission” (komisi ketjil) of the organisation is given as: Amir Pasaribu, Asrul Sani, A.S. Dharta, Anas Makruf, Basuki Resobowo, Henk Ngan- tung, J.A. Dungga, Joebaar Ajoeb (secretary), Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Rivai Apin, Trisno Sumardjo. 187. . . masjarakat dan pemerintah makin menjadari tentang pentingnja funksi kebudajaan dalam kehidupan bangsa (A.S. Dharta “Apa jang diharapkan dari Kongres Kebudajaan” HR 18/09/54). 188“. . . dapat dikatakan pertemuan seniman jang terbesar di Djakarta” (Ros Achmadi “Seniman dan Pemerintah” HR 13/03/54). 189The report of the first official meeting between the group and Sudiro also included a copy of the Society’s Mukadimah (the same term that Lekra used for its manifesto). The latter included an imposing wish list of demands of the local government, including substantial expansion of facilities—plans which eventually were to lead to the establishment of Taman Ismail Marzuki (TIM—Ismail Marzuki “Park”) under the mayorship of Ali Sadikin in the late 1960s. The other two MSDR official documents published in Kebudajaan in the period were open letters: the first concerning the need for a “grand vision” for Jakarta (Masjarakat Seniman Djakarta Raya “Fungsi keindahan kota Djakarta” HR 14/08/54). Enthusiasm for a nationalisation of urban planning was broad, with President Soekarno as THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 139

Soon after these initial meetings, the MSDR began working in conjunction with the Jakarta government to organise Hiburan Rakjat (“People’s Enter- tainments”).190 By mid-1954, the first of the events under this banner were being held.191 There were two ideas behind this MSDR initiative: Firstly, it was observed that the demand for public entertainment in the capital was high, but that there was a paucity of affordable quality entertainment to meet this need. This meant that such demand was being met by inexpen- sive, but “unhealthy” entertainment, which undermined the “psychological development of our society”.192 Secondly, the Hiburan Rakjat were seen as a means of supporting and developing folk art forms. These elements both motivated writers in Kebudajaan to enthusiastically explore and support folk art forms, but also sometimes put them in opposition to folk art forms as they actually existed. The society’s relationship with the municipal authorities also put the group into a sometimes conflicted position towards folk arts. This was perhaps illustrated most strongly by the its work with street musicians. At the beginning of 1955 the Society organised a competition for street musicians in response to efforts by the Jakarta municipal government to its most prominent proponent—see Silver (2008, Ch. 3) and Abeyasekere (1987, Ch. 5). A third MSDR document, “The Situation has to be Clarified” (Situasi harus diperdjelas) was published in HR 22/01/55. This was an open letter from the MSDR concerning frictions in the film industry. 190Sometimes also referred to as Tontonan Rakjat. 191“Hiburan Rakjat Djakarta dimulai” HR 03/07/54 192“Hiburan Rakjat Djakarta dimulai” HR 03/07/54:

Hasrat jang besar untuk mendapatkan hiburan, sedang hiburan jang sehat amat kurang didapati, tidak djarang membawa akibat orang mentjari hiburan dengan djalan mempergunakan djalan jang salah atau kurang baik sehingga juga membawa akibat kepada pertumbuhan djiwa masjarakat kita.

The fact that there is great demand for entertainment, but healthy entertainment is hard to come by, often means that people look for entertainment through avenues that are wrong or low quality, which also has consequences for the psychological development of our society.

This seems to be a quote from a speech at the opening of the first Hiburan Rakjat performance given by the head of the Department of Information of the municipal government, but is put forward in such a way as to suggest that it is also the position of the Kebudajaan writer. 140 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS regulate the large number of street musicians playing in public places.193 The class character of these efforts cannot have escaped at least some of the communist movement activists involved in the MSDR: poor street musicians were going to be restricted and regulated to create an order more pleasing to the bourgeois and petty bourgeois elements that ran and patronised the restaurants and other public spaces where street musicians plied their trade. Perhaps seeing regulation as inevitable, perhaps seeing a need for regulation, the MSDR and Kebudajaan sought to use the opportunity to organise street musicians through events like the competition mentioned above, which included street artists amongst its organisers and on the judging committee. The competition also appears to have attracted the attention of mainstream artists, especially those who were left-leaning.194 Ajoeb’s description of the street musicians’ performances is affectionate and sensitive to the political meaning and potential of the performances.195

193See Joebaar Ajoeb “Sebuah tjatatan Masjarakat Seniman Djakarta” HR 29/01/55/. See also Abeyasekere (1987, p. 198-200). 194An interesting aspect of Ajoeb’s article on the competition performance is his description of the mainstream artists in attendance, for example: Diantara seniman kelihatan Rivai Apin, Sutiksna, Zaini, Sobron, Gordon Tobing, Dharnoto dan achirnja bung Dharta serta beberapa pemusik RRI. Resobowo belum datang rupanja, karena belum ada kelihatan djenggot dan kumis jang rimbun. Amongst the artists [attending] there was Rivai Apin, Zaini, Sobron [Aidit], Gordon Tobing, Dharnoto [Sudharnoto] and lastly comrade Dharta [A. S. Dharta] along with some musicians from Radio Republic of Indonesia. [Basuki] Resobowo had not yet come apparently, since his bushy moustache and beard were nowhere to be seen.

195For example: Lagu pertama “Dewi Murni”. Seorang wanita berkebaja keluar . . . sebuah krontjong dinjanjikannja dengan merdu walaupun disana-sini kita dapati ke- salahan2 tehnis. Begitu berturut-turut dan diantaranja Lintrik, penjanji wanita jang setjara improvisasi menjanjikan nasibnja, nasib mereka: “beginilah nasib penjanji, bermatjam hinaan kami alami”. Ia menjanji dengan perasaan dalam dan sedih. Achirnja djuri jang terdiri dari Sudharnoto, Dungga dan Gordon To- bing mengumumkan . . . Hadiah pertama djatuh pada Lintrik sebagai penjanji wanita. The ﬁrst song was “Dewi Murni”. A woman in a kebaya came out . . . and sang this kroncong song sweetly, even if there were technical mistakes here THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 141

The evening finished with a short speech from a representative of the street musicians who said the musicians looked forward to direction and support from the MSDR and the municipal authorities—highlighting that there was a strong element of top-down reform at work. Nevertheless, there clearly was some grass roots organisation, and street musicians who were involved had something to gain. The MSDR brought them into contact with professional musicians and intellectuals from whom they could learn skills and gain perspectives that might improve their performance. A key part of the project was to regulate the performance of street music, and while this would definitely create difficulties for some musicians, those who successfully gained municipal imprimatur would presumably do better because there would be less competition and they might be more accepted by the public. Not only this, the project sought to organise the street artists for Hibu- ran Rakjat/Tontonan Rakjat events, which provided more opportunities for performance and income. A committee was formed to oversee these developments, comprising two street musicians, two representatives of the MSDR, and one representative of the municipal Department of Information. In his speech on the evening, Mayor Sudiro also mentioned that the municipal authorities were planning to develop Tanjidor 196 groups in the city. The timing of this endeavour was clearly aimed at changing practices around Chinese New Year celebrations, especially Cap Go Meh197, a period that

and there. And that is how it went on from there, with one musician following another, among them Lintrik, a woman singer who improvisationally sang about her fate, the fate of all of them: “this is the lot of singers, the indignities we face”. She sang passionately and sadly. In the end the judges, comprising Sudharnoto, Dungga and Gordon Tobing, announced that . . . the ﬁrst prize for female singer fell to Lintrik.

196Tanjidor is a Jakarta music form, based on a band that most often has several brass instruments like trumpets, trombones, tubas and other horns, alongisde woodwinds like saxophones and clarinets, as well as drums, and singers. It appears to have originated in the eighteenth century amongst the Europeanised freed slave society of Portuguese creole speaking Mardijkers and the “black Dutch” (zwarte Hollanders) who were descendants of Africans and Indians brought to Indonesia by the Dutch colonial government to form an important part of the colonial military. See Mijarto (2009); On the Mardijkers and associated groups, see Bosma and Raben (2008) and Taylor (2009). 197The fifteenth day of the first month of the Chinese calendar, and the end of the period 142 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS was associated with a flurry of boisterous (and noisy) tanjidor activity. The efforts to restrict the bands were obviously controversial, and a week after Ajoeb’s article on the street musicians’ competition and meeting, the Ke- budajaan editor felt compelled to write an article defending the municipal banning of Tanjidor for Chinese New Year.198 According to Kebudajaan the MSDR backed the ban, which saw virtually no Tanjidor bands busking during their normal peak time of Chinese New Year. The reason given for the ban by Mayor Sudiro was that the bands’ repertoire was “no longer appropriate to the environment of [Indonesian] independence”.199 Apparently bands were still commonly playing Dutch nationalist songs, such as the former Dutch nationl anthem, Wien Neêrlands Bloed.200 Ajoeb is careful to argue that the MSDR and the municipal authorities still wanted to foster the development of Tanjidor, arguing that “We are thinking about how Tanji music can be put in a place that is socially and culturally appropriate”.201 A group of MSDR artists was to be formed that would study Tandjidor music, “so that the situation and possibilities of Tan- jidor music and musicians can be understood”.202 But it is clear that this is top-down development, and is a sharp illustration of a central problem for the communist movement when faced with the popular culture of the period: internationalised art forms were dominated by the influence of imperialist powers, above all the US in the 1950s; and locally based forms were steeped in the colonial and “feudal” (pre-capitalist agrarian) history of Indonesia. Another problem with the Hiburan Rakjat was that they were criticised of the celebration of the New Year. While this day is celebrated throughout the Chinese world and diaspora, in several places in Southeast Asia it has developed particular local idiosyncracies. 198Joebaar Ajoeb “Arti pelarangan Tandji dor” HR 05/02/55 199. . . tidak lagi sesuai dengan alam kemerdekaan 200“Those in whom Dutch blood flows”, which was the Dutch national anthem between 1815 and 1932, and continued to be the military anthem until 1939. Abeyasekere (1987, p. 199) argues that the campaign against tanjidor performance as it existed had “unpleas- antly anti-Chinese overtones” because tanjidor performance was associated especially with Chinese New Year. 201Kita memikirkan bagaimana menempatkan musik Tandji pada suatu tempatnja jang wadjar, setjara sosial dan kulturil. 202. . . supaja setjara tepat mengetahui keadaan dan kemungkinan jang dimiliki oleh musik Tandjidor dan pemusik2 Tandji. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 143 as not being child-friendly. In mid-1955, B. Rusmini urged the MSDR to organise something for children203, as performances like lenong and doger 204 (which were apparently part of the “People’s Entertainments”) were inappropriate because “some of the dancers’ movements are not nice”.205 This entreaty may well have grown out of the fact that the MSDR was already making significant efforts to promote painting and drawing amongst children.206 These efforts were centred around the staging of an exhibition of children’s art, starting in late 1954. The efforts were coming to fruition in early 1955, with the supplement excitedly reporting that six hundred pictures would be part of the exhibition.207 As the exhibition began in mid February, 1955, Kebudajaan editor and leading Lekraist Joebaar Ajoeb was reporting that around 7000 pictures had been entered for the exhibition.208 While there was some criticism of the event (amongst other things of problems with the space chosen for the exhibition and the selection of pictures), Susanto writes at the end of the exhibition that “this is a pioneering effort to stimulate our whole society to be more systematic and methodical in our work to guide the development of our children in the direction of the full development of their personalities”.209 On the whole the MSDR seems to have been considered a success by both Kebudajaan and the Sudiro administration. This is clear from both comments in the supplement and the fact that Lekra general-secretary A. S. Dharta was invited by Sudiro to give a keynote address on the idea of “People’s En- tertainments” and the work of the MSDR at the All-Indonesia Conference of

203B. Rusmini “Masalah rekreasi bagi kanak-kanak” HR 04/06/55. 204Lenong is a form of Batavian (Jakartan) folk theatre. Doger is a form of female street dance sometimes associated with sexual impropriety. 205. . . beberapa gerak penarinja kurang baik . . . 206“Pameran gambar kanak2” HR 04/12/54; “Pameran2” HR 05/02/55; Joebaar Ajoeb “Pameran gambar kanak-kanak” HR 19/02/55; Susanto “Pameran Gambar2 Anak2 Djakarta” HR 12/03/55. 207“Pameran2” HR 05/02/55. 208Joebaar Ajoeb “Pameran gambar kanak-kanak” HR 19/02/55. 209. . . usaha ini merupakan usaha pelopor didalam menggugah masarakat kita seluruhnja untuk lebih sistematis dan metodis dalam pekerdjaan2 kita membimbing perkembangan anak2 kita kearah pembentukan keperibadian jang sepenuhnja. Susanto “Pameran Gambar2 Anak2 Djakarta” HR 12/03/55. 144 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Mayors in 1955.210

Other City-Wide/Regional Cultural Fronts

While the MSDR was by far the most prominent city-wide/regional cultural front covered in the pages of Kebudajaan, it was not the only one. Indeed it seems likely that several such groups existed throughout Indonesia in the period. Such organisations are mentioned in Kebudajaan in relation to Surakarta, Bandung, Makassar, and Bali. In relation to the latter three regions, “Cultural Centres” (Pusat Kebudajaan) are mentioned211, but there is little indication in the pages of the supplement of Lekraists’ relationships with them. Kebudajaan appears to have sided with the Pusat Kebudajaan Bali in the John Coast aﬀair212, and certainly does not present these organisations in a negative light, but beyond this little can be said (in contrast to the clear enthusiasm in the supplement for the MSDR). By late 1955, Ban- dung also had a “Bandung Art Society” (Masjarakat Seni Bandung), which appears to have had a clearer relationship with Lekra, as well as support from the governor of West Java.213 However, the only regional front organisation other than the MSDR to get signiﬁcant coverage was the Himpunan Budaja Surakarta (HBS214–Surakarta

210“Pameran gambar kanak2” HR 19/2/55. This significant article also contains an assessment of the first year and a half of the society’s work—in an encouraging, but still somewhat critical, vein. 211“Lekra gugat J. Coast” HR 29/10/52 mentions the Pusat Kebudajaan Bali, complaining that it was not consulted by John Coast when the Englishman organised a troupe of Balinese dancers to tour Europe and North America. John Coast’s version of events is contained in Coast (2004). The Pusat Kebudajaan Bandung is mentioned in “Pam- eran Lukisan Affandi-Hendra” HR 24/12/55. Both the Pusat Kebudajaan Bandung and the Pusat Kebudajaan Makassar are mentioned in Joebaar Ajoeb “Kongres kebudajaan Indonesia” HR 21/08/54. 212“Lekra gugat J. Coast” HR 29/10/52. 213“Pameran lukisan Hendra-Affandi” HR 24/12/55. This group appears to have been modelled on the MSDR and the article reports that the group’s executive included members of Lekra and other communist sympathetic organisations, and that the group was working towards an exhibition by Hendra, Affandi, Pelukis Rakjat leader Sudarso, and Affandi’s son-in-law Saptohudjo. 214Himpunan is a common word, but is probably used here for some tongue-in-cheek effect. It creates the abbreviation HBS, which is the same as the abbreviation for Hogere- Burgerschool, which was a type of high school in the Dutch colonial education system THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 145

Cultural Association). This association was formed in 1953, and had a prominent dance section.215 In a 1954 edition of the supplement we find that it is contributing to the National Cultural Congress in Solo216, and in early 1955 Kebudajaan gave the location of the association’s offices and mentioned the prominent role of Lekra leader Mohammad Hadi. But it apparently was not plain sailing for the HBS, as Surakarta Lekraist Poerwadi Hardikartono complained in late 1954 that nothing had been organised in Surakarta along the lines of the MSDR-backed Hiburan Rakjat.217 The combination of the relatively strong coverage of the MSDR and the passing mentions of other city-wide/regional cultural fronts presents problems for those endeavouring to assess the significance of these fronts for culture in the communist movement using evidence from Kebudajaan. What was the nature of these fronts? How did those in and around the communist movement (including artists) relate to them? The fact that several fronts are mentioned proves their existence, and hints at the presence of other such groups. But the contrast in the treatment of the MSDR and other similar groups needs explanation. Of course, part of the problem is the limits of this study—a study of Kebudajaan in the early 1950s. Detailed study of regional newspapers, and further study of Kebudajaan and other communist movement publications from 1956 onwards would no doubt provide a clearer picture of the nature of regional cultural fronts in the 1950s. But it might also leave a key question unanswered: why did Kebudajaan give so much more attention to the MSDR in this period? One explanation immediately presents itself: Harian Rakjat is a Jakarta- based newspaper, Kebudajaan was therefore Jakarta-centric. While there is certainly some truth in this, it is not a satisfying answer. As we will see (for example in the chapter on creative prose and the sections below that was highly prestigious, and only accessible to a small number of non-Europeans in the racially divided colonial era. In the early 1950s HBS schools were still functional in a number of cities, servicing the still significant urban Dutch-speaking population. 215Surjadi “Sedikit tentang Seni Tari” HR 16/05/53 and K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/03/55. 216Joebaar Ajoeb “Kongres kebudajaan Indonesia” HR 21/08/54 217See Poerwadi Hardikartono “Surat dari Solo” HR 27/11/54. See above on the MSDR- backed Hiburan Rakjat/Tontonan Rakjat. 146 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS on Lekra activity), Kebudajaan put significant efforts into publishing non- Jakarta material. Kebudajaan, naturally, was more communist movement- centric than it was Jakarta-centric. It tended to cover and publish material from areas where the PKI and the movement around it were strong—Java, some parts of Sumatra, and later Bali. Areas where the party was weak (e.g. cities in the outer islands, like Samarinda or Ambon) were virtually invisible. The fact is that the supplement had plenty of coverage of Yogyakarta, Surabaya, Medan, and West Sumatra. Yet no coverage was given to regional cultural fronts in those areas. This could mean that no such organisations existed, but it is more likely that it reflects the same phenomenon behind the fact that the MSDR got so much more attention than other regional fronts that are mentioned in Kebudajaan. A more persuasive explanation might be that the creation and apparent success of the MSDR had special meaning for the editors and writers of Kebudajaan beyond the convenience of the organisation’s location. While Jakarta was certainly one of the areas that from the beginning of the period was relatively strong within the communist movement and amongst its cultural sympathisers, nonetheless Lekra, and the communist movement more broadly, were still relatively marginal in 1950-52. This was partly expressed in the pamphlet that was prepared by the institute for the 1951 Lembaga Kebudajaan Indonesia (LKI—Indonesian Institute of Culture) second National Cultural Congress, which was held in 1951. The pamphlet read as an intervention from the outside, or at least from the sidelines—an endeavour to provide “alternative” perspectives, rather than the confident statement of widely held and powerful views.218 Which is not to say that Lekraists did not have some profile and some influence at the congress—just that they did not appear as the mainstream (except in the case of the visual arts). By 1954 the tide had turned, and the MSDR was one expression of this. The fact that Lekraists could lead a broad front organisation that was close to local government in the national capital was one palpable sign of the movement’s return to the centre of the national stage. This was in itself cause

218Lekra (1951). THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 147 for enthusiasm, and in addition opened up opportunities for the sort of work to which the cultural communists of Kebudajaan had declared themselves committed: the organisation and development of art that was in close contact with, and relevant to, ordinary Indonesians.

The LKI/BMKN

1954 was also a turning point for the position of the cultural communists in the National Consultative Council for Culture (BMKN, until 1952 known as the LKI)219. As I have argued above, Lekraists appeared at the 1951 LKI National Cultural Congress as proponents of “alternative” views—on the sidelines, at least in key ﬁelds like literature. But by the next congress, in 1954, things had changed markedly. This congress was remembered by former Lekraists as something of a tour de force for the institute220—but the success of the congress was not simply a matter of retrospective assessments on the part of former Lekraists decades later: it was also clearly and loudly lauded in Kebudajaan’s pages. After Lekra and the PKI, the BMKN/LKI is probably the most referred to organisation in the pages of Kebudajaan during the period.221 Some articles report on key events and activities of the Council222, others focused on the

219Badan Musjawarah Kebudajaan Nasional, which was known as the Indonesian In- stitute of Culture (Lembaga Kebudajaan Indonesia–LKI ) up until 1952. Joebaar Ajoeb outlines the history of the LKI/BMKN and the National Cultural Congresses in a number of articles. In in “Surat Minggu Ini: Badan Musjawarat Kebudajaan Nasional” HR 22/11/52 he describes the transition from the LKI to BMKN, and he repeats this version of events with some updating in “Kongres kebudajaan Indonesia” HR 21/08/54. In “Ali-Wongso dengan Kebudajaan” HR 21/11/53 he traces the history of the Cultural Con- gresses back to the original 1948 congress during the National Revolution. Jones (2005, Ch. 2) gives some details of the development of the LKI/BMKN in this period. 220Several former Lekraists made this argument to me in personal communications during 1997-98, amongst them Oey Hai Djoen and M.S. Ashar, both of whom were members of the Central Leadership (Pimpinan Pusat) in the period. 221At least 26 articles make significant mention of the Council, and there are a number of photographs and sketches of BMKN activity, above all of the 1954 Cultural Congress. 222For example, an exhibition of reproductions of classical paintings organised by the BMKN in conjunction with UNESCO and the establishment of a new BMKN building (apparently on the site of the present-day Sarinah building). See Njoto [Iramani] “Pameran Klasik” HR 24/10/53 for the former and “BMKN Dapat Gedung” HR 02/01/54 for the latter. The supplement also reported at some length on the annual BMKN awards. See, for 148 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS lobbying efforts of the organisation to get more government funding for art223. The most prevalent reasons for the BMKN to be discussed in Kebudajaan, however, were related to the 1954 Cultural Congress. This coverage began a month before the congress was held, and continued afterwards—covering both various details of the proceedings and the fall-out from the apparently strong Lekra presence at the event. Lekra’s two key leaders, Joebaar Ajoeb and A.S. Dharta, prepared the way for the coverage in the weeks immediately leading up to the congress. Ajoeb published an article a fortnight before the congress giving details of the organisation, its history, the congress program, as well as the make- up of the BMKN executive.224 In retrospect this article appears strategic. Ajoeb emphasises the nature of the Council as a consultative body that brings together a variety of cultural organisations from across different sectors and regions. This fits well with the presentation of the congress as a key expression of the National United Front in culture, with its communist wing a valued and valid constituent element (which was important to the later communist defence of the congress). The history of the organisation was also important, because it gave a sense of the Council, and Indonesian culture and politics more broadly, moving in a particular direction (that is more in the direction of clear anti-imperialism and the broad politics of a “people’s democracy”—state intervention in large areas of the economy and society). The listing of the membership of the executive of the group was interesting in that of the nineteen members listed, only two are Lekra leaders (Ajoeb himself as general secretary, and Boejoeng Saleh as a member of the pleno).225 This would seem to give little indication that Lekra was about to “dominate” the congress, other than the fact that Ajoeb was in the strategic position of general secretary. example: Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 10/01/53; “Hadiah Seni Sastra dan Lukis Tahun 1952” HR 10/01/53; “Hadiah Senilukis Indonesia Baru” HR 18/07/53; “Hadiah Penghargaan Senisastera dan Senilukis untuk tahun 1952” HR 22/08/53. 223E.g. “Rentjana kerdja BMKN: Organisasi2 kebudajaan perlu segera subsidi” HR 27/12/52. 224Joebaar Ajoeb “Kongres kebudajaan Indonesia” HR 21/08/54. 225There were apparently twenty members of the executive, but only nineteen names are given. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 149

Dharta’s article226—which, although published during the congress, was written beforehand—gives more indication of what was about to happen. It focuses on the excitement of artists, cultural workers, and movement activists preparing for the congress:

Dengan gembira kita melihat sambutan jg hangat dari masjarakat terhadap terselenggaranja Kongres Kebudajaan. . . Didalam perdjalanan ke beberapa tempat di Djawa dan Bali, misalnja, dimana bisa dilangsungkan pertemuan dengan kalangan2 kebudajaan, ternjata, Kongres Kebudajaan ini berada dalam suatu sorotan perhatian.

It was with pleasure that I saw the warm reception that the holding of the Cultural Congress has received from the community . . . In journeys to several places in Java and Bali, for example, where we could hold meetings with those involved in culture, it turned out that the Cultural Congress was the focus of attention.

Dharta argues that the congress was getting more public attention because there had been real progress in the way artists related to wider society, and this had been been mutually reinforced by a greater consciousness in society and in government circles of “the role of culture in national life”.227 The MSDR was given as a key example of the improved relationship between artists and cultural workers on one side and government and wider society on the other. Likewise, the efforts of those in the film industry to raise money for the victims of the Merapi eruption, cultural missions overseas, as well as the efforts of young people and workers in the arts were also praised. In contrast, while noting the problems of its situation (especially poor funding for both the BMKN and the Department of Information, Educa- tion and Culture), Dharta is critical of the first three years of the BMKN’s existence: 226A.S. Dharta “Apa jang diharapkan dari Kongres Kebudajaan” HR 18/09/54 227“Disatu fihak para pendukung kebudajaan telah berhasil mentjapai taraf untuk lebih mengeratkan kegiatan kebudajaannja dengan masjarakat, dan dilain fihak masjarakat dan pemerintah makin menjadari tentang pentingnja funksi kebudajaan dalam kehidupan bangsa.” 150 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

Sedjak dilahirkannja dalam Kongres Kebudajaan di Bandung pada tgl. 6 s/d 11 Oktober 1951, djadi selama hampir 3 tahun berdiri, sedikit sekali jang telah ditjapai oleh BMKN. . . BMKN hampir2 kehilangan funksi sebagai koordinator dari seluruh kegiatan. . . BMKN hanja dikenal dalam sebutan, sebagai suata nama, tetapi jg sangat kurang terasa bimbingannja dalam perbuatan. Since it was born at the Cultural Congress in Bandung that ran from the sixth until the eleventh of October, 1951 (so, almost three years of existence), very little has been achieved by the BMKN. . . the BMKN has almost lost its function as an overall coordinator of activities. . . the BMKN is only known as a word, as a name, but what is missing is its leadership in action.

Despite the difficult circumstances in which the BMKN found itself, Dharta argues that it had failed to take initiatives where it could have. This was clearly a criticism of those who had predominated in the Council, and cultural life more broadly. As a result throughout the period the BMKN remained “semi-abstract” (setengah abstrak). Dharta’s account makes it clear that the Lekraists are strongly promoting the congress, running banners across the masthead of Harian Rakjat and organising delegations and pre-conference discussions. Dharta finishes his article noting a key achievement of the cultural left in the lead-up to the congress, i.e. a change in the composition of delegations: Melihat kepada komposisi Kongres jang untuk pertama kalinja terdapat wakil2 kaum buruh dan tani, melihat kepada terwakilnja angkatan-muda setjara besar2an, kaum intelegensia dan wakil2 dari kementerian2 dan djawatan2, maka dapat diharapkan, bahwa Kongres tidak akan mengecewakan harapan dari masjarakat. Seeing the composition of the congress, which for the first time includes representatives of workers and peasants, as well as a large number of representatives of youth, the intelligentsia, and government ministries and departments, we now have hope that the congress will not disappoint the community. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 151

As soon as the congress was over, Kebudajaan began publishing material from its proceedings, as well as photos and sketches of its events, with a strong focus on Lekra contributions.228 Dharta lauded the congress as a great success “in terms of the BMKN’s policies in choosing symposia agenda, in the quality of the discussions, the large number and broad composition of the congress participants, in the great attention it received both from the government and the community, and in its decisions, which were both appropriate and relevant”.229 Its success from a Lekra/Kebudajaan point of view is also apparent in the number of references to the resolutions of the congress.230 Furthermore, it seems clear from Kebudajaan that it was not only seen as a success for the communist movement in the pages of Harian Rakjat. In Dharta’s initial article, he makes it apparent that there has already been a reaction from the right-wing press to the congress’ proceedings:

. . . oleh karena itu [berhasilnya kongres] pula dalam mengamuknja ﬁhak reaksi, bukan didalam Kongres!, [sic] tetapi sesudah Kongres lewat suratkabar2, ah kita toh sudah kenal, jaitu “Nieuwsgier”, “Pedoman” dan “Indonesia Raja”!

. . . because of this [the success of the congress] the reactionaries

228The first edition of Kebudajaan for October published a photograph and two sketches of the congress, while the following two editions included photographs. Material from the proceedings include a reproduction of Boejoeng Saleh’s contribution to the discussion on “Cultural Education and Urban Society” (Pendidikan Kebudajaan dan Masjarakat Kota) and Njoto’s speech on “National Co-existence”. See Boejoeng Saleh “Pendidikan kebudajaan untuk masjarakat kota Indonesia” HR 02/10/54 and Njoto “Ko-existensi Nasional” HR 25/09/54. “Cultural Education” was the general theme for the congress, which was divided into three streams: “Cultural Education and Urban Society”; “Cultural Educa- tion and Workers and Peasants”; “Cultural Education and Schools”. See Joebaar Ajoeb “Kongres kebudajaan Indonesia” HR 21/08/54. A number of details of different aspects of the proceedings are also discussed in Siswojo “menindjau hasil2 kongres kebudajaan” HR 27/11/54 and HR 04/12/54. 229Kongres Kebudajaan jbl. mendjulangkan dirinja dari Kongres Kebudajaan tahun 1951 di Bandung dalam kebidjaksanaan pemilihan atjara-simposion oleh BMKN, dalam mutu pembitjaraan, dalam djumlahbesar serta komposisi jang luas para peserta Kongres, dalam perhatian besar fihak pemerintah dan masjarakat, dalam putusan2nja jang tepat dan penting . . . (A.S. Dharta “Beberapa tjatatan dari Kongres Kebudajaan” HR 02/10/54). 230For example, see Sulami “Hasil Kongres Kebudajaan dengan kepentingan wanita” HR 16/10/54; Siswojo “menindjau hasil2 kongres kebudajaan” HR 27/11/54 and HR 04/12/54; and Wiedija HS “Menjongsong diskusi besar masaalah demoralisasi dikalangan peladjar” HR 05/02/55. 152 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS

have gone crazy, of course not in the congress, but afterwards in newspapers we know too well: “Nieuwsgier”, “Pedoman”, and “Indonesia Raja”!231

Dharta notes that writers in these newspapers are claiming that the communists are “playing politics” with culture, and that they are oppressing groups that do not agree with them (assertions that are familiar from later discourse, both before and after 1965).232 This tension with the cultural right did not magically appear in September, 1954, but came out of a series of developments from the appearance of Lekra in late 1950 up until the holding of the congress in Surakarta. Hints of this developing and escalating tension can be gleaned from previous controversies mentioned in the supplement. For example, almost a year and a half earlier, Ajoeb takes up such a controversy as the topic of his “Letter of the Week”.233 He reports that H.B. Jassin was claiming in the Dunia Seniman (“Artist’s World”) section of the journal Mimbar In- donesia that the BMKN did not want to commemorate the death of Chairil Anwar and furthermore did not want to assist with such a commemoration. Ajoeb (by then already playing an important role in the Council) argues that this is “inflammatory” (menghasut) and “libellous” (memfitnah) as it claimed that the Council had rejected a request for support from the commemoration committee, when (according to Ajoeb) the Council had actually resolved to give what support it could. Ajoeb clearly implies that Jassin has a (pro- Western) political agenda to push, as Ajoeb apparently clarified the situation to him and a number of other figures before Jassin published his article. He

231A.S. Dharta “Beberapa tjatatan dari Kongres Kebudajaan” HR 02/10/54. 232This thesis does not set out to dissect every controversy in Indonesian culture in systematic fashion, it merely seeks to describe and analyse the view from the pages of Kebudajaan on a variety of matters. To get a clearer understanding of the nature of the controversy following the 1954 Cultural Congress, a comprehensive survey of a variety of media would be necessary. If a deﬁnitive assessment of the Left-Right tensions at and after the Cultural Congress can be made, this certainly can not be done on the basis of a study of Kebudajaan alone. What is clear just from Kebudajaan is that Lekraists and the communist movement more broadly seem to have been pleased with the congress. Furthermore, they claimed in the pages of Kebudajaan that there was a hostile response to the congress in the weeks following it from the Indonesian right-wing. The latter claim is highly plausible, but requires more study. 233Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 11/04/53 THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 153

ﬁnishes by saying “But I still hope for honesty and a more civilised approach from Jassin. I think playing dirty [main kaju] is not a good look for someone like Jassin who has been given the title ‘critic’.”234 The article presents a picture of Jakartan cultural life in the period that is beset by gossip and division, with a key point of departure being anti-communism and sympathy towards communism. Elements of the proceedings of the congress must have been especially distressing for the anti-communists, however. As the congress proceeded and in its aftermath, the general topic of “cultural education” could have had resonances of the cultural commandism of Stalinist Russia, and calls made by communists and others that cultural education should be extended to the military and the police probably sent chills down a few anti-communist spines, especially those in the leadership of the army (which had largely been purged of its left wing in the late 1940s).235

Artistic Expression in Communist Movement Organisations

The Indonesian communist movement of the early 1950s existed as a rich network of organisations, which—while unified by broad ideas about the best kind of future for Indonesia (i.e. a strong, independent Indonesia, with a state that organised and underwrote key elements of society, including education, health, welfare, and culture)—was nevertheless complex and riven with conflicts and tensions, both significant and trivial in nature. A key element of this organisational web was a series of sectoral “front” organisations that marshalled activists in the labour movement, the women’s movement, the peasant movement, etc. A problem with using the term “front organisation” is that it can conjure up ideas of simple commandism and/or nefarious subterfuge. All of these organisations were legal during the period we are considering, and their con- 234Tapi aku masih harapkan kedjudjuran dan tjara-tjara jang agak lembut dari Jassin. Karena main kaju, menurut pendapatku bukan sifat jang baik dari seseorang jang seperti Jassin jang pernah dapat djulukan kritikus. 235Siswojo reports this call, apparently formally made by the congress, in “menindjau hasil2 kongres kebudajaan” HR 04/12/54. 154 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS nections to the PKI were well known. Not only that, at various times there clearly appear to have been tensions between these organisations and the PKI.236 So, by using the term “front organisation” I do not mean to imply that these organisations were simple tools of the PKI politburo, much less of the Kremlin. But these organisations had links to the PKI that were both extensive and deep, and they constituted key elements of the communist movement, providing the party with an organic political milieu, and channels through which to prosecute its various policies.

The Union Movement

The communist dominated union federation, SOBSI, was by far the largest of the various politically coloured union federations that existed in 1950s Indonesia237 and was at the forefront of a series of strikes and industrial disputes during the ﬁrst half of the decade. This appears to have been especially the case in the early part of the period, when the federation led a wave of strikes, which then led to a reaction of a repressive wave of raids and imprisonments under the Sukiman cabinet from late 1951.238 The immediate fall-out (especially the long term imprisonment of hundreds of activists) did not clear until the fall of the Wilopo cabinet in mid 1953.239 The raids provided the PKI and its leadership with something of an organisational shock. Although thousands of PKI and SOBSI activists were arrested and detained, many for extended periods, the reaction from SOBSI and even the party itself lacked coordination and energy. One conclusion the emerging leadership under Aidit drew from this experience was that the party needed to become a truly mass party, and that the extent of its inﬂu- ence and the discipline of its activists in the unions needed to be radically

236Well known examples of such tensions include those between the PKI and both Ger- wani and Lekra in the early 1960s. See Bodden (2012) and Wieringa (2002, Ch. 4 & Ch. 6). 237Tejasukmana (1959, p. 38). 238See above on pages 96–99. 239Demoralisation, fear, and disturbed organisational structures appear to have impacted on the federation’s ability to act in the aftermath of the raids, but this is also the period when the effects of the Korean War boom began to wind down, which may have also impacted the federation’s bargaining position and ability to prosecute successful campaigns. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 155 expanded.240 From early 1952 the new PKI leadership set about massively expanding party membership.241 By the end of that year, membership had been increased from less than 8000 to over 100,000.242 Although at the same time membership of SOBSI appears to have remained static (or may have even declined)243, it nevertheless seems reasonable to assume that a significant portion of these new members were unionists, based either in major towns and cities, or in one of the major rural mass industries (plantations, forestry, sugar milling or mining), as the party did not set about the systematic recruiting of peasants until mid-1954.244 It should not be surprising, then, if culture in the communist movement might reflect this predominance, especially in the PKI organ, Harian Rakjat—and this is indeed the case. Of all the “front” organisations, SOBSI and the communist dominated unions more broadly are the most touched upon sector of the communist movement mentioned in Kebudajaan during the period of the study.245 The union presence in Kebudajaan took a variety of forms. As we will see in a following chapter, themes of unions and working conditions were

240Hindley (1964, p. 73-75, 134). 241See above on pages 98–99 242Hindley (1964, p. 70, 74). 243Hindley (1964, p. 135-136). 244See Hindley (1964, p. 79-80). At the March, 1954, PKI National Congress, it was claimed that less than half of the party’s members were “peasants” (petani), and Hindley argues that even in the case of these the majority would be from areas where SOBSI was strong (i.e. areas with major estates, sugar milling, or forestry). Given this it seems reasonable to conclude that the PKI recruited heavily from existing members of SOBSI, at least until mid 1954. 245The attention paid to the union movement in Kebudajaan seems relatively consistent throughout the period, although a falling away may have begun in late 1955, possibly as the inﬂux of non-working class members to the PKI began to make itself felt:

Period No. of Works Sep 52 – Dec 52 9 Jan 53 – Jun 53 7 Jul 53 – Dec 53 3 Jan 54 – Jun 54 7 Jul 54 – Dec 54 6 Jan 55 – Jun 55 12 Jul 55 – Dec 55 2 156 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS common in the creative prose published by the supplement. In some cases, this was a way of covering particular campaigns in a different way. But in other cases, the coverage of campaigns was direct and straight-forward. So, for example, in the case of the ferocious land disputes in northern and northeastern Sumatra, the issue was covered in fictional and semi-fictional work, as well as in direct coverage—for instance through the “Letters from Medan” (Surat dari Medan) that were published in the supplement.246 A cause célèbre on this front that was covered in Kebudajaan was that of Nazaruddin, a South Tapanuli Sarbupri (Plantation Workers’ Union) activist and member of the SOBSI national executive, who was arrested and imprisoned for one year in Padang Sidempuan for reading out sections of a PKI journal article on the Madiun rebellion at a local meeting of the union. Coverage included a poem he wrote while incarcerated, and a speech given by his wife at the 1953 SOBSI National Conference, as well as coverage in the “Letters”.247 The union events, especially national conferences and congresses, provided public stages for artists and groups sympathetic to the movement to perform. A number of these performances were given significant coverage in the supplement, and will be discussed in the following chapter. Beyond this, organised artists enriched the movement as a whole, including the union movement—for instance by providing more or less enduring decoration, as Pelukis Rakjat artists did for the offices of Railway Workers’ Union (SBKA) headquarters (see the section above on Pelukis Rakjat).248 In addition, communist and communist-sympathetic labour activists sought

246See, for example, Siswa Patria “Surat dari Medan” HR 25/09/54 and Siswa Patria “Tjerita dari Medan” HR 20/10/54. See the chapter below for coverage in the form of creative prose. 247Nazaruddin “Sorak Maju” and Aspani Ishaya “Kenapa Saja Menangis” HR 13/02/54. Of the letters, see in particular Siswa Patria “Tjerita dari Medan” HR 20/10/54 which covers key details of the case and union preparations for his release in October, 1954. The most prominent campaign involving the union movement during the period was actually the campaign against the film “The Desert Fox”, but this was more a case of the unions supporting a campaign led by Lekra and the PKI. Unions appear as key elements in lists of sectoral organisations and individuals lining up against the film being shown in various locations. This campaign will be covered in the chapter discussing Kebudajaan’s approach to cinema. 248See Njoto [Iramani] “Pelukis Rakjat” HR 14/8/54. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 157 to organise artists industrially and politically in order to obtain better working conditions—most notably in Sarbufis, the SOBSI-affiliated union of film and theatre workers.249 These efforts also included those of other unions that focused on sectors mainly outside of cultural production—for example, also in the film-making sector, the Union of Ministry of Information Workers (SB Kempen) organised some of the workers at the newly established State Film Company (PFN).250 There was overlap between the political and organisational activity of communist-aligned trade unions and communist movement cultural activity. The activities of other organisations in the movement (including the PKI itself) were infused with cultural production, whether by members of those organisations, or by artists who were organised by the movement through vehicles such as Lekra. As we have seen above, Pelukis Rakjat artists were involved in activities such as the decoration of the offices of Railway Workers’ Union (SBKA) headquarters and the PKI Central Committee building, as well in performing for massive PKI election rallies.251 The communist movement’s vision of the national liberation project saw culture as essential. This also extended to the cultural activity of ordinary members of the movement’s organisations, the most important of which initially were the unions. Low educational levels and, more fundamentally, low literacy levels—even in the cities—were seen as obstacles to the achievement of an independent and anti-imperialist Indonesia, and there was also concern over the quality and political content of popular entertainment amongst workers (hence the efforts to develop “people’s entertainment”). These concerns were especially strong when it came to the quality of cultural products and activities available to the mainly rural members of by far the largest union in SOBSI, the massive Plantation Workers’ Union (Sarbupri). Fol- lowing the establishment of a “Sport and Culture” (Kebora) division on a national level by SOBSI, Sarbupri set about establishing local level Kebora

249A dedicated study of this significant organisation is yet to appear, although it is mentioned to greater or lesser degrees in passing in a number of works. See, for example, Tejasukmana (1959, p. 45) and Sen (1994, p. 29). 250See Siswojo “Menggalang Kebudajaan Rakjat” HR 7/2/53 & 14/2/53. 251see the section above on Pelukis Rakjat. 158 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS units to organise the cultural and sporting activity of its membership.252 These efforts were closely tied to the pertinacious endeavours of all the organisations of the communist movement—the PKI included—to promote literacy in Indonesian society, endeavours which themselves were part of a broad push amongst Indonesian nationalists. The link between the fight to eradicate illiteracy and the building of a new national culture is both explicitly and frequently emphasised in Kebudajaan.253

Culture, the PKI, and Other Movement Organisations

The union movement was probably the most important sector for the communist movement in the early 1950s, although from at least late 1954 the majority of party members were non-workers, and the non-union organisations in the movement appear to have experienced faster growth than SOBSI unions, whose membership numbers remained relatively static, or grew slowly. This was particularly marked for the mass women’s organisation,Gerwani, and the peasant union, BTI. Just as Indonesian communism sought to integrate culture and cultural activity with political and industrial work in the unions, they similarly sought to infuse their activity in other movement organisations with cultural content, and these organisations invigorated and informed the cultural activity around the movement, as well as providing sources of talent for cultural activity. The latter phenomenon was especially important in relation to youth groups like Pemuda Rakjat and student unions, as well as the plethora of youth groups with a cultural focus that provided a rich milieu for communist movement cultural activity.

252For a discussion of the beginning of this process, see Boejoeng Saleh “Gerakan-buruh & kebudajaan” HR 10/1/53. 253See Boejoeng Saleh’s article op. cit., as well as Siswojo “Menggalang Kebudajaan Rak- jat” HR 7/2/53 & 14/2/53; SP Lekra “Pada Hari Kemenangan & Perdjuangan Kaum Bu- ruh” HR 30/4/53; Joebaar Ajoeb “dari Aceh lewat Tg. Morawa ke Minangkabau (5)” HR 21/11/53; Sulami “Hasil Kongres Kebudajaan dengan kepentingan wanita” HR 16/10/54, amongst many others. The issue of literacy also appeared in a number of short stories in Kebudajaan—see for example Tisno “Hantu di dalam nasib” HR 9/5/53 and K. Walujo “Pak Karto dan perdamaian” HR 30/10/54, as well as discussion below in the chapter on creative prose. THE ORGANISATION OF CULTURE 159

You would expect that the BTI’s growth and emerging importance for the PKI, and more broadly the party’s increasing focus on rural Indonesia would be reflected in this activity. Because of higher levels of illiteracy in rural areas and poorer communications infrastructure, you might also expect that the extent to which this was reflected in Kebudajaan to be limited. And indeed in terms of direct accounts of performance and other activity in rural areas away from one of the main Lekra centres, this is the case.254 Nevertheless, from 1954, rural issues and accounts of rural life (outside of plantation and mining areas) do become more common—especially in terms of coverage of such issues in creative prose. This is also the case with the coverage of women’s issues (and especially in terms of stories that directly reference Gerwani).255 The fact that the leadership of the PKI, from the beginning of its campaign for leadership, prioritised culture (through, for example, the efforts to establish Lekra) makes it likely that Kebudajaan might provide evidence of the integration of culture with party activity—and this is indeed the case. Kebudajaan itself is a testament to this integration, even if it was the norm of the day to have a cultural section in contemporary newspapers of all hues. Beyond this, for our purposes here, it is enough to point to the several examples mentioned above (some of which will be further discussed in the chapter below on performing arts)—Pelukis Rakjat’s reliefs at the Central Commit- tee offices, contributions by artists like Djoni Trisno to mass party events like the gigantic PKI election rally in Solo in 1955, as well as Lekra coordination of cultural party events like the celebration of the PKI’s thirty-third anniversary in the village of Kras (which was staged by Lekra Kediri).256 As discussed above, the PKI also sought to integrate culture into its political campaigning, including its electoral campaign for the 1955 election, which included demands specific to artists (e.g. “For artists, voting PKI

254The only non-urban cultural night that gets coverage is one held in the village of Kras in East Java to celebrate the thirty-third anniversary of the founding of the PKI in 1953. See Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari kecamatan Kras” HR 6/6/53. 255See the relevant sections in the chapter below on creative prose. 256For more on Pelukis Rakjat, see the section above in this chapter; for more on the performance in Kras, see Chapter 6. 160 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS means freedom to create and an improvement in working conditions”) and ran ten artists as candidates, a number of whom were elected to the Constituent Assembly.257

Conclusion

I have begun my survey by investigating how the communist movement organised and integrated cultural activity with the activity and structures of the movement as a whole. I have consciously done this before examining the ideas that were used to inform, explain, justify, and assess that activity. Ideas do not simply inform activity, they are developed and transformed by that activity. Nor are those ideas merely incidental—they arise in a context of activity and practical problems and should be understood in that context; in that “ecology” of organisation and activity. The PKI from 1950 onwards placed culture in a central role in the movement’s activity. It was not alone in seeing culture as important to the project of building an independent Indonesian nation out of the country inherited from Dutch East Indies colonialism, but was nevertheless well ahead of other groups in terms of its determination to organise and integrate art and artists into its movement. During the period the communist movement, and the PKI at its centre, grew at an outstanding rate. An integral part of this growth was the integration of cultural activity with organisational activity, the organisation of culture, and the organisation of workers involved in cultural production. The growth of the movement, given its state at the beginning of the period—fractured, demoralised, and marginalised—was phenomenal. How- ever, both the national and the international context provided the movement with conditions in which to grow and prosper—despite the substantial set- backs following the Sukiman raids of late 1951. This was true not only in simple political terms, but also in terms of the context of artistic expression and consumption in broader Indonesian society.

257See Foulcher (1986, p. 42-43). CONCLUSION 161

In the following chapter we move from our consideration of the organisation of culture in and around the movement to the ideas that key activists saw as informing and motivating that activity. From there I will proceed to case studies of three key areas of communist movement activity in national culture: cinema, live performing arts, and creative prose. 162 CHAPTER 3. ARTISTS & ACTIVISTS Chapter 4

Cultural Lethargy and The Need to Take Sides

Introduction

Ideas concerning art in the Indonesian communist movement existed within, and grew out of, a particular political environment. Initially this was the somewhat demoralised and disillusioned environment of the period immediately following the formal recognition of Indonesian sovereignty, but as the early 1950s progressed the communists sought to build links with mainstream nationalism and the national government, particularly during the period of the first Ali Sastroamidjojo cabinet (1953-1955). It was also a period of change in terms of the international context. It began with Stalin still in power in the Soviet Union (USSR), and the first major round of the Cold War in full flight. Following Stalin’s death in the middle of the period, however, contenders for the leadership of the Soviet Union competed with each other as reformers—the period of “peaceful co- existence” had begun. These developments also had implications for art within the international communist movement, and combined with domestic factors to influence the development of Indonesian communist approaches to art. In this chapter, the pages of Harian Rakjat’s cultural supplement, Kebu- dajaan, will be studied in detail for what they can reveal about the general ideas that informed communist approaches to art in early 1950s Indonesia,

163 164 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY how these related to their political context and how they evolved during the period. This will include a consideration of Kebudajaan writers’ views on the impact of cultural imperialism and the ways that artists could contribute both to the struggle against imperialism and the establishment of a new national culture for a truly independent post-colonial Indonesia.

The Unﬁnished Revolution and Culture

As I outlined in the previous chapter, the compromise end to the National Revolution created a certain amount of demoralisation and political ennui, especially on the left wing of Indonesian politics. Even those who were more supportive of the outcome of the revolution (for example, the right-wing social democrats of the Indonesian Socialist Party [PSI] and the moderate leadership of the modernist Muslim Masyumi) nevertheless felt something of the feeling of deflation that accompanied the move from the life and death struggle of the revolution to the mundane routine of everyday life and the political cycle of forming cabinets, of faction fighting within and between parties, and so on. Those involved in the Indonesian arts of the time felt this reflected in cultural life, and complained of a “crisis” in the arts, above all in literature. This cry seems to have come initially from those right of centre, but was taken up in Harian Rakjat in a way that reflected the communist take on early 1950s politics—i.e. the revolution had been left unfinished, Indonesia was still “semi-colonial” (as well as “semi-feudal”).1 At the end of 1952, Kebudajaan editor and soon to be Lekra general secretary, Joebaar Ajoeb, attacked the idea advocated by some on the cultural right-wing that Indonesian culture was lesu (listless, lethargic) following the

1For an example of this latter type of analysis, see Aidit (1958a) or Aidit (1958b). This type of approach is based on a loose idea of “feudalism” that relates more to its pejorative use in the West to criticise customs apparently carried over from pre-capitalist social systems, rather than referring to a system similar to Western European vassalage or serfdom. For an overview of the debate around the idea of “crisis” in literature and art in the early 1950s, see Teeuw (1967, p. 139-142) and Toer (1957a). THE UNFINISHED REVOLUTION AND CULTURE 165 end of the National Revolution.2 Ajoeb argued that the reason that some artists and intellectuals were saying that Indonesian culture was listless was that they themselves felt rudderless, partly because they considered the rakjat (common people) as “objects”, rather than “subjects”. He asserted that Indonesian culture was not listless and put forward an explanation as to why some artists were feeling demoralised or disoriented:

Umumnja para seniman. . . mengakui djarak antara mereka dengan rakjat sangat djauh. Hal itu berarti, tjiptaan2 mereka sukar ditangkap atau dimengerti oleh rakjat dan kalau toch ada jang bisa dimengerti oleh rakjat, tjiptaannya itu bikin pusing kepala pembatja sadja. . .

Generally artists. . . recognise that the distance between themselves and ordinary people is large. This means that ordinary people ﬁnd their creations diﬃcult to grasp or understand. Even if people can understand their works, they just make the readers’ heads ache. . . 3

While arguing that there should not be a crisis in the arts, intellectuals in the communist movement (including Ajoeb) were clearly of the opinion that there was a crisis in Indonesian society following the recognition of Indonesian sovereignty at the end of 1949. Ajoeb makes precisely this point in a long essay published in the centre-piece “Letter of the Week” (Surat Minggu Ini) column in June, 1953:

Perundingan2 jang dilakukan oleh para penguasa atas nama rakjat Indonesia, dimulai dengan memberikan konsessi kekuasaan tentara kepada ﬁhak imperialisme sampai2 kepada konsessi ekonomi jang terbesar dalam perundingan KMB. Konsessi demi konsessi merupakan kapitulasi para pemimpin jang sekaligus berarti melutjuti semangat kemerdekaan dan kehendak serta hak hidup makmur dari rakjat Indonesia. Kapitulasi dilapangan ekonomi berarti men-

2Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 13/12/52 3Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 13/12/52 166 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY

tjopoti sumber2 kemadjuan hidup rakjat jang vitaal, sehingga struk- tur ekonomi kembali seperti sebelum repolusi terdjadi. The negotiations that were conducted by those in power in the name of the people of Indonesia began by giving military concessions to the imperialists and went on to give large economic concessions at the Round Table Conference. Concession after concession constituted a capitulation by these leaders that dis- armed the spirit of freedom, as well as the will and right of the people of Indonesia to prosperity. These capitulations in the economy robbed the people of vital resources to develop, and meant that the structure of the economy returned to what it had been before the revolution. 4 He then goes on to argue conﬁdently that: . . . ada suatu hal jang sudah pasti, jang sudah mendjadi penge- tahuan umum, jang sudah diketahui oleh rakjat, oleh setiap in- telek jang djudjur, jaitu, “kehidupan rakjat Indonesia (dalam ar- tian ekonomis dan culutreel) dewasa ini, sangat menjedihkan”. Keruntuhan berlaku lebih tjepat dari pembangunan. Kebobrokan terlihat disegala segi kehidupan bangsa Indonesia. Sementara itu orang berkuasa menghukum masjarakat dengan krisis moril. Keti- dak puasan meradjalela dalam hati rakjat dan manusia yang djudjur dan demokratis. Menurut jang sewadjarnya, kaum seniman lebih padat merasakan kesedihan dan ketidak puasan itu...... one thing is already clear, has already become common knowledge, is known by the people, and is known by every honest intellectual— i.e. “the conditions of the Indonesian people (culturally and economically) are distressing”. Indonesian society is taking two steps backward for every one step forward. You can see decay everywhere in the life of the Indonesian nation. At the same time those in power punish society with a moral crisis. Dissatisfaction is rife in the hearts of ordinary people and 4Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Seniman dan Politik” HR 16/06/53. A SOCIAL AND MORAL CRISIS 167

all other honest and democratic people. Artists should be feeling this distress and dissatisfaction more than most. . . 5

A Social and Moral Crisis

Ajoeb’s position (and that of others in Kebudajaan) is therefore: there is a social crisis, and it does have a cultural element, but this need not lead to an impasse for artists, indeed it should be a call to arms. The cultural element of the crisis is imposed from above by the imperialists and those close to them: “those in power” are “punishing” Indonesian society with a “moral crisis”. The problem of morality and imperialist moral degeneracy is a significant element in articles in Kebudajaan during the period. Writers in the supplement saw Indonesia as being flooded with cultural products that served to distract and demoralise the Indonesian people, so that they would be less able to fight imperialism, and be more likely to identify with the imperialist powers. By late 1955, Lekra secretary general Joebaar Ajoeb was arguing that this proliferation was indeed creating a crisis in Indonesian culture—effectively agreeing with some of the non- and anti-communist views of post-revolutionary cultural life. But his analysis returned to the issue of the continuing impact of imperialism. He noted that “It seems that in the year 1955 not a single proper novel or collection of poems has been published”6; that Indonesian literature had become “a literature of magazines and sections in newspapers”.7 Furthermore a number of arts magazines were finding the going difficult, and several had collapsed, including the magazines Budaja (“Culture”), Seni (“Art”), and Indonesia. At the same time pulp literature flourished:

5Ibid. 6Dalam tahun 1955, boleh dikatakan tak ada novel, roman ataupun kumpulan sadjak jang sewadjarnja bisa diterbitkan. . . . Joebaar Ajoeb “Realisme kita dewasa ini (I)” HR 31/12/55. 7. . . kesusasteraan madjalah dan ruangan2 beberapa surat kabar. Joebaar Ajoeb “Real- isme kita dewasa ini (I)” HR 31/12/55. 168 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY

. . . madjalah2 tjerita-pendek jang berpretensi hiburan jang pada umumnja setjara menjeluruh menghasut dan menolong konsoli- dasi usaha2 untuk mematikan “patriotisme”, tapi menghidup- kan “individualisme”, disamping dengan telaten menggarang- garangkan api “avonturir koboi2an dan bandit” [kaum] muda kita. [original emphasis]. . . . short story magazines that have the pretension of being entertainment [but] that generally encourage and assist the consolidation of eﬀorts to destroy “patriotism”, and give life to “individualism”, whilst also consistently stoking the ﬁres of “gangster and cowboy adventurism” in our youth. [original emphasis]8

According to Ajoeb, this proliferation of Western or Western-style mass culture helped U.S. and Dutch imperialism, “which has investment and capitalist exploitation interests that ride on the back of our land and the life of our nation”.9 He argued that the invasion of such cultural products had weakened local cultural forms and activity. For instance the field of music which had been crippled “by the poison of the dance music of imported records”.10 Indonesian film, dance, and theatre were seen to have suffered similarly. Such arguments had about them a puritanism, which saw communist writers commonly complaining of the immoral (tjabul) character of certain art, especially the products of Western popular culture.11

8Joebaar Ajoeb “Realisme kita dewasa ini (I)” HR 31/12/55. 9. . . jg mempunjai kepentingan riba dan investasi dan eksploitasi kapitaalnja atas pung- gung bumi dan kehidupan bangsa kita (ibid.). 10. . . akibat peratjunan musik2 kaki dari piringan2 hitam import. Ibid. 11Numerous articles take up the issue of the influence of immoral imperialist culture flooding Indonesia, several of which will be discussed in following chapters. These include: T.R. “Telenews 1949” HR 13/09/52; Iramani [Njoto] “Sebuah Tantangan” HR 27/03/54; Imam Sudjono “Mentjari djalan kemadjuan di lapangan kebudajaan” HR 14/08/54; Hassan “Malam peringatan ke X hari wafatnya Pak Durasim” HR 14/08/54; Sulami “Hasil Kongres Kebudajaan dengan kepentingan wanita” HR 16/10/54; Siswojo “menindjau hasil2 kongres kebudajaan” HR 04/12/54; Haryndah “Beberapa diantara matjam sifat2 ‘Tjelaka’ dan ‘Korban’ jang harus diperhatikan” HR 11/12/54; Wiedija HS “Menjongsong diskusi besar masaalah demoralisasi dikalangan peladjar” HR 05/02/55; “Beberapa Kesimpulan Diskusi Besar Masaalah Demoralisasi Peladjar” HR 19/03/55; Zein D. Datu “Gugurnja Tanja” HR 26/03/55; Wiedya HS “Tak ada demoralisasi dikalangan peladjar” HR 02/04/55; B. Rusmini “Masalah rekreasi bagi kanak-kanak” HR 04/06/55; Sunardi “film: The Desert ART FOR MAMMON’S SAKE 169

It was not simply a matter of imperialist culture “poisoning” local minds, however. Just as foreign capitalists had their indigenous supporters who derived benefit from the imperialist exploitation of Indonesia, there were also cultural compradors who sought to exploit the market opened up by immoral popular art from the West. Siswojo noted when discussing the outcome of the 1954 Cultural Congress in Surakarta: Mengenai usaha2 imperialisme utk. meratjuni masjarakat dengan buku2/madjalah2 atau film2 tjabul, jang bersifat avonturisme, ke- tachajulan, pessimisme sudah mulai ada tanda2 mendapat bantuan dari penerbit2 dalam negeri. Tanda2 ini terdapat misalnja kalau kita batja buku2 sematjam Rahasia Perkawinan, Madjalah Terang Bulan, Riang, dsb. On the issue of imperialist endeavours to poison the community with immoral books, magazines and films that are based on adventurism, superstition, pessimism, etc., there are now signs that they are being helped by local publishers. You can see this if you read books like Rahasia Perkawinan [“Marriage/Sex Secrets”], and magazines like Terang Bulan [“Moonlight”] and Riang [“Fun”], etc.

Art for Mammon’s Sake and the Impasse of Individuality

The spread of immoral and sensationalist mass culture from the West was not the only way that communists felt that Indonesian independence and welfare (including cultural independence and welfare) were being undermined by inﬂuence from imperialist countries. Writers in Kebudajaan also felt that high culture forms were being promoted (through institutions such as Sticusa12

Fox” HR 16/07/55; Moh. Isa “Masalah Irian Barat ditindjau dari sudut kebudajaan” HR 13/08/55. 12Stichting voor Culturele Samenwerking (The Foundation for Cultural Cooperation), a body founded in 1948 towards the end of the National Revolution. Sticusa was established 170 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY and in various magazines and journals) that tended to demobilise the people’s movement. A key element of this, according to the communists, was “Art for Art’s Sake” (Seni untuk Seni, sometimes rendered in the French, L’Art pour L’Art) and associated ideologies of art that Communist movement writers felt emphasised individualism and an apolitical stance. The argument in Kebudajaan was simple—no art can be socially neutral under capitalism. Boejoeng Saleh declared in typically strident fashion: Anti tendens? Boleh kalau mau dusta pada dunia dan diri sendiri serta menutup mata terhadap sedjarah sastra dari dulu hingga kini. . . Tidak ada kesusasteraan jang tidak bertendens. . . Kesusasteraan tak bertendens hanja omong kosong kapital monopoli dunia untuk memperalat seniman. “L’art pour l’art” pada achirnja hanja “L’art pour l’argent”! So, you’re anti-Tendency Art13? Well, okay, so long as you’re prepared to lie to yourself, and to close your eyes to the history of literature up until now. . . There is no such thing as literature that has no tendency. . . Non- tendency literature is a myth of international monopoly capital to manipulate artists. L’art pour l’art (“Art for Art’s Sake”) in the end is simply L’art pour l’argent (“Art for Mammon’s Sake”).14 to seek to promote cultural cooperation between the Netherlands and its colonies. On- going cooperative activity after independence to be facilitated by Sticusa was an element of the Round Table Agreement that led to the recognition of sovereignty at the end of 1949. On the Left this was seen as an endeavour to perpetuate colonial culture and reﬂected the broader compromises of the Agreement that had failed to completely liberate Indonesia from colonial ties. Sticusa Indonesia was dissolved in 1956 when the Dutch government cut its funding. See Dolk (2012) on Sticusa and Foulcher (1986, p. 34-35) for a short outline of the relationship between Lekra and Sticusa. 13A term drawn from German discourse for socially/politically engaged art (Tenden- zkunst). It had some degree of traction with both activists in the social democratic and communist movements and amongst opponents of these movements. But it was by no means uncontroversial—for example, the Hungarian communist leader and theoretician Georg Lukàcs objected to it. See Lukàcs (1932)—in this essay Lukacs argued that the term implied a level of arbitrariness and subjectivity that a socialist writer should be seeking to avoid. 14Boejoeng Saleh “Kepada mereka jang pura2 anti tendens” HR 13/09/52. NAVEL GAZING AND SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT 171

Being simply commercial (“Art for Mammon’s Sake”) was one thing, but the key concern was that Seni untuk Seni would lead to art that was kosong (empty, vacuous). For Kebudajaan writers, this had its own political consequences. As one critic put it in a review of a short story:

Toh djuga ini sematjam propaganda untuk sesuatu. Meskipun setjara sembunji. Pengandjuran kekosongan adalah djuga propaganda untuk keksosongan.

It is still a kind of propaganda, even if indirectly. The promotion of vacuousness is propaganda for vacuousness.15

Navel Gazing and Social Engagement: The Tension with Existentialism

For Kebudajaan’s writers, Seni untuk Seni seemed to mean a naïve and alienated individualism that might tend towards commercialism, superficially apolitical individuality or simply vacuousness. Another common worry was that it might encourage a tendency towards pessimism and apathy, a de- mobilisation and demoralisation of the artist as an agent in the struggle for national liberation. Of particular and topical concern during the period was the philosophy of existentialism. Existentialism, at the height of it popularity in the early 1950s, was identified as a key local and international form of “Art for Art’s Sake”, but seems to have presented something of a conundrum for communist culture. On the one hand it was associated to a significant extent with political forces opposed to the communist movement (for example, at the local level, it tended to be identified with intellectuals around the right-wing social democratic PSI). On the other hand, however, a number of left-leaning

15This review appears before a translation of a short story by B. Milac. See B. Milac (trans. A.Z.H.) “Sebuah Interviu” HR 23/01/54. I have not been able to discover anything about the writer of the original story. The review has no assigned author. Possibly it is the same “A.Z.H.” who did the translation of the short story. 172 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY artists in Indonesia were attracted to it, as were prominent leftists around the world, including the most renowned post-war existentialist, Jean-Paul Sartre, who appeared regularly in Kebudajaan. Initially Sartre was something of a poster boy for existentialism and anti- communism16, but as his involvement in the communist-led peace movement developed and he shifted to a more favourable position towards the Soviet Union17, the position of writers in Kebudajaan changed. Towards the beginning of this process they sought to draw a distinction between Sartre the activist and Sartre the author/philosopher.18 Throughout 1954, Sartre became a key name regularly dropped in lists of artists that supported the Stalinist- led peace movement19, and even had a stanza of a propaganda poem by the premier communist poet of the period, Agam Wispi, dedicated to him.20 As the year progressed, the relationship between Sartre and the international Stalinist movement continued to become warmer. In the middle of the year the writer visited the Soviet Union, and made a series of positive remarks about the regime that were widely reported—including claims about freedom of expression and freedom of belief.21 At the beginning of the following year Sartre staged his play, Nekrassov, which implied that claims about oppression in the Soviet Union were eﬀectively the result of plotting by opportunist anti-communists in the bourgeois press.22 As a result, Sartre became quite ﬁrmly associated with international Stalinism, and became a strong model in Kebudajaan throughout 1955. Besides a glowing article on Nekrassov 23, the supplement also published an article by Sartre praising China.24

16See, for instance, “Jean-Paul Sartre dan Perdamaian” HR 29/11/52. 171952-56 marks the high-point of Sartre’s diﬃcult relationship with the French Com- munist Party (PCF). For a sympathetic account of Sartre’s relationship with Stalinism see Birchall (2004). For critical review of Birchall’s approach, see Watson (2005). 18See, for example, Iramani [Njoto] “Dua Sartre” HR28/11/53. 19See, for example, Ros Achmadi “Mereka memihak perdamaian karena tahu dan sadar” HR23/01/54. 20Agam Wispy “Rosenberg” HR20/03/54. 21See “Sartre tentang Kebebasan dan Sovjet Uni” HR18/09/54. 22Sartre (1955). The play was generally lambasted by critics, and has since largely been forgotten amongst Sartre’s more famous earlier works. A sympathetic account of the reaction to the play is given in Oxenhandler (1955). 23S. Parwan “Surat dari Paris” HR17/09/55. 24Jean-Paul Sartre “Kebenaran di Tiongkok adalah: haridepan” HR12/11/55. This NAVEL GAZING AND SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT 173

These changes largely followed the development of attitudes within the international movement as a whole, but of course they did also have local relevance. Early in the period, the attraction of existentialist philosophy for Indonesian intellectuals seems to have been quite strong, including amongst some who might otherwise be sympathetic towards the politics of the PKI and the movement around it. The most prominent of those ﬂirting with existentialism was Sitor Situmorang, who was later to become leader of the National Culture Institute (LKN).25 Sitor returned from a two year trip to the Western Europe in late 1952. Indeed, it was in response to a talk and discussion of Sitor’s experiences that existentialism is ﬁrst mentioned in Ke- budajaan. Soon to be Lekra General Secretary, Joebaar Ajoeb writes that: . . . Sitor sekembalinja dari Eropa Barat jang terkenal dengan segala matjam bentuk dan topeng-topeng idealisme dan petjahannja, baik dalam bitjara maupun dalam tulisan-tulisannja, ternjata pula tidak luput dari nafas-nafas pemikiran Eropa Barat itu. Eropa Barat jang terkenal dengan individualisme, anarchisme, liberalisme, ni- hilisme dan segala matjam bentuk pessimisme dan bunuh-diri. . .

. . . Sitor, since he has come back from Western Europe, with all its different forms of idealism and their spin-offs, both in his speech and his writings, has clearly not escaped the influence of West- ern European thinking. Western Europe, which is famous for its individualism, anarchism, liberalism, nihilism, and all kinds of pessimism and suicidal [culture]. . . 26

While “Art for Art’s Sake” is presented mainly as “vacuous” (kosong) art, existentialism is associated with pessimism and individualism, a form of self- article was published complete with a special introduction by the editors. 25Lembaga Kebudajaan Nasional (LKN), the mass cultural organisation associated with the National Party (PNI). LKN was associated with the left of the PNI, and strongly supported President Soekarno during the “Guided Democracy” period. During this time Sitor was also a member of the People’s Deliberative Assembly (MPRS). After the coup and counter-coup of late 1965, Sitor was jailed until the late 1970s, and lived most of the remainder of the “New Order” period in exile. Situmorang (2004) contains essays by Sitor from the period, as well as an introduction that outlines details of Sitor’s career. 26Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Kesan-kesan dari pertemuan Lekra dengan Sitor Situmorang” HR 16/05/53. 174 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY indulgent bourgeois decadence. It was also kosong in that its focus on the individual was seen to lead to a lack of social content. As we can see from the quote above, existentialism also had clear geographical associations—it was Western European, the home of the old colonial powers. Signiﬁcantly from a Kebudajaan point of view, Sitor’s trip was funded by Sticusa, the Nether- lands government-funded cultural organisation established towards the end of the National Revolution.27 Lekra and the PKI saw Sticusa as the cultural expression of the failure of the Round Table Conference and the continuing presence of Dutch imperialist interests in Indonesia. They viewed existentialism as a key cultural product being peddled by Sticusa and imperialist interests more broadly as part of a campaign to demoralise and disorient movements against imperialism.28 In a review of his ﬁrst works on his return, politburo member Njoto made it clear that he thought Sitor’s time in Western Europe had left him under the existentialist spell: “From beginning to end it was patently obvious what the key issue was that Sitor had brought home from Paris: existentialism”.29 Existentialism was closely associated in communist minds with the idea of “Art for Art’s Sake” (indeed in his article Njoto explicitly associates the two), and was seen as inward-looking, pretentious, and pessimistic (it is often referred to as being “suicidal”).30 While not being able to claim that Sartre was no longer an existentialist, Njoto distances him from this presentation (“While Sartre has put aside the issue of suicide. . . Sitor is still concerned with this issue”31). Likewise in an account of a meeting of Indonesian artists

27See the footnote above on page 169. 28For example, in early 1954 Njoto complains that Sticusa is promoting existentialism, “the philosophy of decay” (filsafat reruntuhan). See Njoto “Buahtangan Joop Wolf Dari Keradjaan Seribu Pulau” HR27/02/54. 29Dari awal sampai achir terasa benar oleh kita permasaalah [sic] jang dibawa Sitor sedjak ia baru datang dari Paris: existensialisme. Iramani [Njoto] “Sitor Situmorang: dari Djalan Mutiara ke Pulo Batu” HR03/07/53. 30This type of presentation was not in any way limited to Indonesian communists, but borrowed from critical (and often antipathetic) interpretations of existentialism, both within the international Stalinist movement and beyond it. Birchall (2004) discusses how various parts of the French and international political spectrum have presented existentialism in the context of Sartre’s career. 31Tetapi sedang Sartre sudah menjisihkan persoalan bunuhdiri. . . Sitor masih terlibat oleh persoalan ini. WAYS FORWARD (1): CRISIS AS OPPORTUNITY 175 with Sartre (and Simone de Beauvoir) in Beijing, leading Lekra Singaraja figure P. Shanty is careful to take advantage of the recent fractures in French existentialism: “Sartre’s existentialist philosophy is not the suicidal philosophy of Camus!”.32 The writers of Kebudajaan never seem to cut themselves off from Sitor and others of similar views (in contrast to their negative attitude to writers such as Mochtar Lubis and Achdiat Karta Mihardja). In his review of Sitor’s collection of poems, Surat Kertas Hidjau (“Letter on Green Paper”), Lekra General Secretary A. S. Dharta is clearly frustrated with what to him seems like unnecessary complexity (or perhaps rather ob- scurity), but nonetheless praises several aspects of the work and finishes on a positive note: “This is a book that is worth studying to get insight into the art of poetry and the personality of Indonesian people”.33

Ways Forward (1): Political Crisis as Artistic Opportunity

The overall problem, as writers in Kebudajaan identiﬁed it, was clear:

- The National Revolution had been left unﬁnished; - This had created a social and political crisis; - The continuing power of imperialism included cultural power; pro- imperialist cultural products remained prevalent and served to demobilise and demoralise both artists and society at large.

32Filsafat existensi Sartre bukan sebagai filsafat bunuhdirinja Camus!. P. Shanty “Bertemu Sartre dihotel Peking” HR 03/12/55. Camus is something of an anti-hero for Kebudajaan, as he was for writers and critics throughout the international Stalinist left. For example, see Njoto’s use of Camus in “Friedrich Engels & kritik kesusasteraan” HR 06/08/55, where he argues that for Camus “the only real question for philosophy is suicide” (bunuhdiri adalah satu2nja masaalah filsafat jang sedjati). “Jean Paul Satre [sic] di Kongres Perdamaian Wina” HR 03/01/53 mentions the conflict between Camus and Sartre, while Joebaar Ajoeb’s account of the meeting with Sitor organised by Lekra on his return (“Surat Minggu Ini: Kesan-kesan dari pertemuan Lekra dengan Sitor Situmorang” HR 16/05/53) also splits up Camus and Sartre, with the latter the hero and the former the villain (Joebaar writes of “Camus’ pessimistic and suicidal thought”). 33Suatu buku jang ada harganja untuk mempeladjari kepenjairan dan meneliti kepriba- dian manusia Indonesia. A.S. Dharta “Pembitjaraan buku: ‘Surat Kertas Hidjau’ Sitor Situmorang” HR 05/11/55. 176 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY

The problem identiﬁed, what was the proposed solution? While writers in Kebudajaan most deﬁnitely saw Indonesian society as being in social and political crisis, they did not see this as necessarily leading to a cultural crisis. Indeed, they accused those who claimed Indonesian art (especially literature) was in crisis of being out of touch. The general attitude was that the social and political crisis provided an environment of opportunity for artists. In such a situation, there was no reason for artists to feel “listless” or apathetic —there was so much to do!34 Typical of this kind of evaluation was an essay by Lekra Chairman, A.S. Dharta, “Avoiding Vulgar Interpretations”35, which was apparently a response to an extended essay by Trisno Sumardjo in the September 1953 edition of the liberal cultural magazine Zenith.36 Although respectful in his response, Dharta nonetheless begins by accusing Trisno of putting forward a “vulgar” representation of Lekra’s ideas, and of indulging in “a kind of creeping cultural McCarthyism”.37 He then goes on to explain why he and others are of the opinion that there is a crisis in Indonesian society (i.e. because the National Revolution was left incomplete), but that there is not a crisis in Indonesian culture:

. . . meskipun kemerdekaan Indonesia belum sempurna, kini terbuka kemungkinan2 jang lebih luas . . . utk pekerdjaan kreatif kaum seniman. Kita selandjutnja ingin pertjaja, bahwa kaum seniman akan mempergunakan keadaan ini sebaik2nja, karena Rak- jat Indonesia membutuhkan kesenian Rakjat sebagaimana mereka membutuhkan makanan dan udara. Lekra berpendapat, bhw Rak- jat Indonesia membutuhkan kesenian jang dengan semangat kebe- narannja jang djudjur dan kwalitet emosinja jang tinggi bisa mempertinggi tingkatan kebudajaan dan tjita2, bisa memperkembang pengabdian dan ketjintaan kepada Rakjat, bisa memperkuat keben-

34See Joebaar Ajoeb’s comments above on page 165. 35A.S. Dharta “Mentjegah pengertian jang vulgar” HR 16/01/54. 36This seems to be Sumardjo (1953), which is a general discussion of the state of the visual arts in Indonesia. A portion of Sumardjo’s discussion is part of an on-going polemic over “realism”, which dates to 1950. See Bogaerts (2012, p. 238-239), Liem (2012, p. 177- 178) & Marakarma (1950a,b). 37. . . sematjam Mac Carthy-ism [sic] jang menjelundup dilapangan kesenian. WAYS FORWARD (1): CRISIS AS OPPORTUNITY 177

tjian terhadap pendjadjahan dan semua musuh2 kemerdekaan lainnja, bisa menghantjurkan segala jang busuk dan mengkorrupsi [sic] kesehatan tubuh nasion, bisa menjebarkan ketjintaan kepada ilmupengetahuan jang sedjati, bisa menggugah kepahlawanan dilapangan perdjuangan perbaikan nasib dan kebudajaan, didalam perdjuangan untuk kemerdekaan nasional jang penuh.

. . . even though Indonesian independence is still incomplete, more opportunities have now opened . . . for the creative work of artists. Furthermore, we would like to think that artists will make the best possible use of this situation, because the People of Indonesia need a People’s art, just as they need food to eat and air to breathe. Lekra is of the opinion that the People of Indone- sia need art that with a spirit of honesty and a high emotional quality can improve the level of culture and ideals [in Indonesian society], can strengthen hatred of colonialism and all other enemies of freedom, can attack everything that is rotten and which corrupts the health of the nation, can spread love for real science, can inspire courage in the struggle for the improvement of living conditions and culture, as well as the struggle for complete national independence.38

38A.S. Dharta “Mentjegah pengertian jang vulgar” HR 16/01/54. Dharta is careful to then go on to cover himself against accusations of wanting to reduce art to politics: . . . kita menganggap kesenian bukan hanja sebagai alat untuk mempertinggi kesenangan manusia. Dengan sendirinja hal ini adalah perlu dan kitapun tidak memperketjil artinja . . . Kita menganggap sangat penting utk mewudjud- kan dalam hasil2 kesenian kepahlawanan2 dari Rakjat kita dalam perdjuangan melawan pendjadjahan. Tetapi ini sama sekali tidak berarti, bahwa kita tidak akan atau tidak boleh melukis pemandangan2 alam ...... we consider that art is not only a tool to improve human happiness. Of course the latter is very necessary and we do not want to belittle its importance . . . We consider it very important to create art works that embody the courage of our People in the struggle against colonialism. But this does not in any way mean that we will not, or are not allowed to, paint landscapes. . . 178 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY Ways Forward (2): Take Sides!

If Seni untuk Seni (“Art for Art’s Sake”) was the slogan writers in Kebu- dajaan associated with imperialist decadence and individualism, Seni untuk Rakjat (“Art for the People”) was the slogan that Lekra and the cultural communists chose as their own. It was emblazoned on the pamphlet that Lekra prepared for the 1951 National Culture Congress, and was the slogan with which Affandi chose to identify himself and the PKI when running in the 1955 elections.39 It was a common refrain in Kebudajaan throughout the period. Much like modern Occupy! protesters, Kebudajaan writers took a broad approach to defining “the People” (Rakjat) of their slogan. In early 1953, for example, leading Lekra critic Boejoeng Saleh asserted that “for me the People are the workers, the peasants, the petty bourgeoisie, and the educated”40, going on to assert that “the People” constituted “more than 90% of the Indonesian population”.41 This figure of “90%” was also used on other occasions, for example in Joebar Ajoeb’s essay “What are the real issues for Lekra?”42, which may suggest it was something of a mantra. So the battle lines were drawn: on the one side the vast majority of In- donesians; on the other the foreign imperialists and their supporters from amongst the local elite (the “10%”). According to Ajoeb and others in Kebu- dajaan, artists needed to decide where they stood in this struggle:

Dewasa ini, tiada djalan lain bagi kaum seniman, selain daripada menentukan dimana kakinja berpidjak. Politik menempel kepada exploitasi ekonomi kapitaal besar asing yang didjalankan oleh kaum politik Indonesia selama ini, ternjata telah makin merusak kemampuan hidup rakjat Indonesia. Hal ini telah lama disadari

39See “Pelukis2 nasional tjalon2 PKI dalam pemilihan konstituante” HR 11/12/55. 40. . . bagiku Rakjat jalah kaum Buruh, kaum Tani, kaum Burdjuis Ketjil dan kaum Ter- peladjar’. Boejoeng Saleh “Djawaban kepada sdr. Aoh Kartahadimadja: Seni Untuk Rakjat Seni Untuk Manusia” HR 13/02/53. This is the second instalment of this essay. The ﬁrst must have appeared in a previous issue of Harian Rakjat, but does not appear in the microﬁlm collection at the National Library of Australia 41Ibid. 42Joebaar Ajoeb “Apakah persoalan Lekra sebenarnja” HR04/04/53 WAYS FORWARD (2): TAKE SIDES! 179

dan diketahui kaum komunis dan buruh . . . Imperialisme pada hakekatnja memang tidak akan membiarkan kesadaran dan kekuatan kaum buruh-tani Indonesia berkembang, karena itu berarti langsung menggagalkan exploitasi. . . Makanja, tidak dapat disangkal lagi, bahwa perdjuangan hidup jang langsung bertentangan dengan kehidupan imperialisme dunia. Soalnja sekarang, bukan berdiri ditengah atau diatas pertentangan itu, tapi memilih pihak jang benar setjara djudjur dan konsekwen. Dan bagi kaum seniman maupun kaum kebudajaan Indonesia tiada djalan lain, selain menentukan sikap, berada [sic] atau memihak perdjuangan kaum buruh dan tani jang merupakan djumlah terbesar dari bangsa Indonesia, atau setjara sadar atau tidak dipergunakan oleh imperialisme. . .

Nowadays, there is no option for artists, other than to decide where they stand. The politics of sticking with the exploitation of large foreign capital, which has been followed by Indonesian politicians up until now, has more and more destroyed the vital powers of the People of Indonesia. This has all long been understood by the communists and the workers. . . Imperialism will not let the consciousness and the strength of Indonesian workers and peasants develop, because that would mean the hindering of exploitation. . . So, it can no longer be doubted that it is a life and death struggle that directly runs up against the existence of world imperialism. The problem now is not one of standing in the middle or above this conﬂict, but of honestly and consistently choosing the right side. And for Indonesian artists and cultural ﬁgures there is no option, other than taking a stand, taking the side of the struggle of the workers and peasants that make up the vast majority of the In- donesian nation, or consciously or unconsciously being used by imperialism. . . 43

43Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Seniman dan Politik” HR 16/06/53. 180 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY Ways Forward (3): Go to the Masses

Artists reading Kebudajaan were encouraged to memihak (take sides), but how were they to do this? Several writers throughout the period emphasised the need to “go to the People”, foreshadowing the turun ke bawah (“go to the grassroots”) slogan of the early 1960s. For example, Aschartono argues in late 1952 that bourgeois culture is incapable of creating something that is new, and that the only way to create a new People’s Culture (Kebudajaan Rakjat) is to “go to the masses” (terdjun ke massa).44 Ajoeb argues a few months later that this does not simply mean being familiar with ordinary people (the Rakjat), but taking part in their struggles.45 In many ways this exhortation still begged the question: how were artists to take part in the struggle? In the ﬁrst place it might require artists to contribute to events that form the day to day expression of the struggle. For example, in the lead up to the ﬁrst Independence Day celebration covered by Harian Rakjat after it was taken over by the PKI, Kebudajaan published a missive from the central secretariat of Lekra stating its commitment to contributing to the celebrations:

‘Menjongsong datangnja hari ulangtahun ke-VII Proklamasi Ke- merdekaan Sekretariat Pusat LEKRA jang dengan tegas telah memilih fihak rakjat banjak sekali lagi menjatakan akan menud- jukan salurannja kepada usaha dan kegiatan kebudajaan bagi kepentingan rakjat banyak. Oleh sebab itulah diandjurkan kepada segenap tjabang dan kawan2 dimana sadja dibumi tanahair kita ini, supaja aktiflah hendaknja merajakan hari gembira-ria 17 Agus- tus ini. . . . Harapan se-penuh2nja ditumpahkan kepada kawan2 dari dunia kebudajaan, kejakinan manapun jang dianutnja, fikiran apapun jang mendjadi pegangannja, agar dapatlah bersatu dalam menghadapi hari jang agung 17 Agustus ini guna memberikan sumbangan kebudajaan jang luhur bagi bangsa kita jang djaja serta

44Aschartono “Tentang Kebudajaan” HR 20/12/52. 45Joebaar Ajoeb “Apakah persoalan Lekra sebenarnja” HR 04/04/53. WAYS FORWARD (3): GO TO THE MASSES 181

umatmanusia disegenap pendjuru dunia

In celebrating the arrival of the seventh anniversary of the Procla- mation of Independence, the Central Secretariat of LEKRA, which has resolutely sided with the mass of the people, again states that it will direct its resources towards cultural endeavours and activities in the interest of the mass of the people. As a consequence, all branches and members wherever they may be in our land should be active in celebrating this happy day on the seventeenth of August. . . . We place all our hopes in the comrades from the world of culture, whatever their beliefs, whatever thinking they may hold to, that they will be able to unite in approaching this great day of the seventeenth of August, in order to make a glorious cultural contribution to our great nation and to humanity in every corner of the globe.

In his extensive essay, “Cultivating People’s culture”46, Siswojo gives examples of the sorts of contributions that artists could make—for instance by making artistic decorations for events, or providing performances that en- liven events. Such performances also provide an opportunity to “modernise” existing myths and stories, extracting elements that encourage “feudalism” and superstition (tachjul). He also argues that artists should be directly involved in political organisation, above all in unions. He sees this not simply as a matter of artists giving cultural “colour” to union meetings and events, but also in terms of the actual organisation of people working in different areas of creative industries (for example in the film industry, in theatre or in music). He cites with approval the fact that the Surakarta SOBSI47 branch includes Wayang Orang actors from the Sriwedari cultural complex, that the union of Ministry of Information workers has a branch at the state film com-

46Siswojo “Menggalang kebudajaan Rakjat” HR 07/02/53 and 14/02/53. 47Sentral Organisasi Buruh Se-Indonesia (The All-Indonesia Federation of Workers’ Organisations), the communist-backed trade union federation. SOBSI was the largest of a number of trade union federations that were associated with a variety of political currents (communist, nationalist, Muslim, etc.). See Tejasukmana (1959, Ch. 3). 182 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY pany (PFN), that the union of Radio Republic of Indonesia (RRI) includes musicians, that ﬁlm workers have organised themselves into a union (Sar- buﬁ) that is a member of SOBSI, and so on. He is also keen to argue that it is not simply a matter of artists moving towards the unions, and organising themselves industrially—he spends much of the article suggesting ways that unions themselves might engage better culturally, and he lauds the then recent innovation of Kebora (Culture and Sport) units in the SOBSI union movement.

Realism: Socialist and Otherwise

The ideas around Seni untuk Rakjat (“Art for the People”), the need to memihak (take sides), and the need to get organised did give artists some general ideas as to how they might engage as artists in the national liberation movement. But did the communists dictate any more than this (at least, did they do so in Kebudajaan)? And what of aesthetics? Did the communists in Kebudajaan believe that the demands of the national liberation movement required particular approaches to the forms Indonesian art might take? Communist (i.e. Stalinist)48 culture in Indonesia (as elsewhere) has been associated with “Socialist Realism”, a cultural ideology that developed with state backing after Joseph Stalin consolidated his power in Russia following the eﬀective ﬁnal defeat of opposition within the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (marked initially by the exile of Leon Trotsky and many other key Bolshevik activists in late 1928).49 Even in Russia, however, researchers

48As outlined in chapter two, a wide variety of political currents have used the terms “communist” and “Marxist”. On the whole I have chosen to use the term “Marxist” with specific theoretical meaning, whereas I have used “communist” simply as a label as it is popularly used (for most people this usually means reference to the various strands of Stalinism). However, in this case it is important to make it clear that we are referring to a phenomenon that is specifically associated with Stalin’s conquest of power, and with the parties and movements that looked to the state he led. 49Although “Socialist Realism” did have some roots in movements like Prolekult in the 1920s, it did not begin to be established as a state cultural ideology until the mid-1930s. For accounts of the development of Socialist Realism, especially in the Soviet Union, see Robin (1992), Gutkin (1999), & James (1973). For brief accounts of socialist realism in REALISM: SOCIALIST AND OTHERWISE 183 have argued that the concept of Socialist Realism remained unclear.50 What of Indonesia in the early 1950s? What did cultural communists make of this ideology emanating from the country they considered to be the foremost model (or at least a model) for the future of Indonesia? Given the attention that socialist realism was given after 1965, and given the fact that it was a state-backed ideology in the Soviet Union, a reader might expect that there would be numerous references to socialist realism in Kebudajaan, and at least some discussion of it as an approach to literature and art more generally. During the whole period of our study, however, not a single Kebudajaan writer publishes an essay specifically on Socialist Real- ism and how it might be applied to Indonesia. Socialist Realism only has prominence in the pages of Kebudajaan in four articles between 1952 and 1955. Three of these focus on the Russian writer and icon of Socialist Real- ism, Maxim Gorky, and one is a reprint of an article from the international communist press written by a Chinese writer about the Chinese context.51 These articles do not provide an explicit Indonesian definition of socialist realism, but they do give something of a sense of the way the term was understood. In the first of the three articles52, which commemorates the seventeenth anniversary of the death of Gorky, Joebaar Ajoeb argues that one of the strengths of Gorky’s writing is that he is not simply realistic, but rather socialist realist because “He gives hope and direction”53. At the end of the following year (1954) Ajoeb returns to Gorky arguing that his writing showed that “literature will be more important and useful if it does

Indonesian, see Karyanto (1997a, Ch. 1) & Kurniawan (2006, Ch. 3). 50See, for example, Gutkin, 1999: 1 51The three former articles are: Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Gorki Bapak ‘Realisme Sosialis’ ” HR 04/04/53; Iramani [Njoto] “Kenangan kepada Maxim Gorki” HR20/06/53; and Joebaar Ajoeb “Pentjipta Realisme Sosialis” HR06/11/54. The latter is Tjau Jang “Realisme Sosialis—Djalan Kemadjuan bagi Kesusasteraan Tionghoa” HR 08/05/54. There is at least one other limited and passing reference to socialist realism, again from Njoto. In a detailed review of a SOBSI cultural evening in early 1955, Njoto finishes by writing: “I am confident that socialist realist art will flourish on Indonesian soil!” (Dan kita jakin, djuga kesenian realisme sosialis pasti terus madju dibumi kita In- donesia!). 52Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Gorki Bapak ‘Realisme Sosialis’ ” HR 04/04/53. 53Ia memberikan harapan dan petundjuk. . . 184 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY not only critique realities, but also shows a way out. . . ”.54 The only other Kebudajaan writer to explicitly discuss socialist realism—also in the context of a celebration of Gorky’s writing—was PKI politburo member Njoto (under the nom de plume “Iramani”). He puts views similar to those of Ajoeb, while extending them somewhat further, writing that: Ia tidak hanja melukiskan keadaan tetapi turut aktif mengubur jang lama dan melahirkan jang baru, ia tidak hanja mengarang, tetapi berdjuang.

He not only depicted a situation, but also actively worked to bury the past and bring about the new, he not only wrote, he also took part in the struggle.55

In this view, “Socialist Realism” was not defined by form, but rather the politics of artists’ approaches to their work and their engagement with Left- wing political activity. Writers (and by extension other artists) should not simply write about conditions in society (offering as they do so “hope” and “direction”), they should also seek to play an active role in struggles to make Indonesian society better. While socialist realism as a concept is definitely presented positively and is seen to relate to some well established themes associated with other slogans of the cultural communists—the need to engage with the lives and conditions of ordinary Indonesians; the need to give hope and direction to those seeking to better those conditions; the need to take part in the struggle to better those conditions—it clearly was not the centre of attention. Early in the period, this position was held by the slogan “Art for the People”. Later in the period another element seems to have become prominent: “realism”. As we will see in the chapter on communist attitudes to cinema, “realist” was more popular than “socialist realism” as a label for work that was well regarded by writers in Kebudajaan. Nevertheless, as with “socialist realism”, throughout the period there is only fragmentary elaboration of what exactly 54kesusasteraan akan mendjadi lebih penting dan berguna djika ia tidak hanja mengeritik kenjataan2, tapi djuga menundjukkan djalan keluar. . . . Joebaar Ajoeb “Pentjipta Realisme Sosialis” HR06/11/54. 55Iramani [Njoto] “Kenangan kepada Maxim Gorki” HR 20/06/53. REALISM: SOCIALIST AND OTHERWISE 185 might be meant by the term—that is, until the very end of our period. In the last issue of Kebudajaan for 195556, Lekra general secretary Joebaar Ajoeb began a series of five substantial articles on realism: “Our contemporary realism”.57 He started the first instalment by revisiting the idea that Indonesian society was in crisis, and that this crisis now extended to a cultural crisis. A key element of this crisis was the proliferation of mass culture from the Western imperialist countries (especially the U.S.A.) and local imitations of this culture. This not only demobilised and disoriented people politically, it also damaged the livelihoods of artists and cultural workers involved in indigenous art forms, or forms (as in the case of the national film industry) in direct competition with slick and well-financed international products.58 Ajoeb then goes on to argue that literature, like other arts, needed to “fend off [this challenge] and take society out of crisis”59, it had to make a contribution to “the formation morality, freedom, and humanity”.60 The approach needed to achieve this is realism, an approach that is contextual and not based on form:

Realisme bukanlah potretisme jang formalistis, realisme, bukanlah naturalisme Zola atau detailisme. Realisme adalah realisme jang dalam esensi pengutjapannja berobah dari zaman kezaman.

Realism is not formalist portraitism, it is not the naturalism of Zola or detailism. Realism is realism [sic] that in the essence of its expression changes from one period to another.

The second instalment (unfortunately not available at the National Li- brary of Australia) apparently elaborated the deﬁnition of realism, while the third discussed how a socialist realist method might be applied. In order to

56This was the ﬁrst edition that constituted the full Sunday edition of Harian Rakjat (as opposed to being a section of the Saturday edition) 57Joebaar Ajoeb “Realisme kita dewasa ini” HR31/12/55, HR07/01/56, HR14/01/56, HR21/01/56, HR28/01/56. The 7 January 1956 edition of Kebudajaan was not available in the Australian National Library collection, and is not analysed here. 58See also above on page 168. 59. . . harus menangkis dan membawa masjarakat keluar dari kekrisisan. Ibid. 60. . . pembentukan kesusilaan, kemerdekaan dan kemanusiaan. Ibid. 186 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY do so, Ajoeb discussed a series of “laws” of realism, being careful to argue that they needed to be adapted to the Indonesian context and the particular period in which Indonesian artists found themselves. His ﬁrst law was that “Composition should be built on a depiction of social and natural reality”.61 Again not wanting to be painted into the corner of formal realism, Ajoeb moved on quickly to emphasise the importance of the understanding of the artist:

[Seniman] diminta untuk mesti mengenal kehidupan dalam segala seginja. Mereka harus mempeladjarinja dari dekat, dari dalam, sehingga memungkinkan mereka untuk mendapatkan pengertian jang tepat, pengertian jang essensiil-benar dari bermatjam proses perkembangan masjarakat.

[Artists] are asked to know life in all its diﬀerent forms. They should study it from close up, from within, so that they can get an understanding that is accurate, an understanding that is essentially correct of the development processes in society.

For the remainder of the essay, Ajoeb spent a signiﬁcant amount of his energies identifying examples of Indonesian and global culture that in one way or another represent “realism”. In order to understand the broad meaning of what he was trying to do, it is necessary to return to the political context in which he was writing.

The National Front in Culture

The PKI saw the key battle for early 1950s Indonesia as being the battle to complete the struggle against imperialism that had been begun by the National Revolution. According to the party and the movement around it, this posed particular challenges and placed particular demands on artists as political participants in Indonesian society. The key tasks of the revolution,

61Gubahan harus terdiri atas pelukisan kembali dari kenjataan2 sosial dan alam. THE NATIONAL FRONT IN CULTURE 187 as they saw it, were to liberate Indonesia from the grasp of European imperialism and to improve the lot of ordinary Indonesians (tasks the party saw as inextricably linked). Both required solidarity across broad sectors of Indonesian society. As I have discussed in the previous chapter, the early 1950s was a period of recovery and building following the trauma of the Madiun events and then the Sukiman raids. As the period progressed the party and its fellow travelling organisations renewed and redoubled calls for a “National United Front”. The party softened its position and worked hard to woo the leaderships of the PNI and other parties, even offering the cabinet support in exchange for nominal demands being met (above all the release of prisoners from the Sukiman raids). It also softened its position to President Soekarno. The rise of the Ali cabinet, which reigned for most of the period of our study of Kebudajaan, opened up new opportunities for the party and movement around it, and seemed to vindicate its new policy. These changes dove-tailed with developments in the international communist movement. Joseph Stalin died in March, 1953, and the subsequent rise of Nikita Khrushchev saw the emergence of the idea of “peaceful co-existence”. According to this emerging political line, there need not be constant antagonism between the Western capitalist powers and the Soviet Union, and communists should work to bring about such peaceful co-existence. This policy effectively encouraged “popular front” politics amongst Stalinist parties in many countries and pushed the party towards a more mainstream nationalist approach. This term was picked up with some enthusiasm by PKI leaders and activists, and “Co-existence” began to be used throughout Harian Rakjat from about the middle of 1954. It was extended to the idea of “cultural co-existence” (Ko-existensi kebudajaan) by no less than politburo member Njoto, and was used to justify further efforts to reach out to other currents of nationalism represented in Indonesian culture.62

62See Njoto “Ko-existensi nasional” HR25/09/54. Also, A. S. Dharta “Beberapa tjatatan dari kongres kebudajaan” HR02/10/54, Hassan “Kegiatan LEKRA Tjabang Surabaja” HR08/01/55, S. Parwan “Surat dari Paris” HR17/09/55, Kuswanda Sucandy “Tjerita tentang keindahan” HR27/08/55, amongst others. 188 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY

In November of that year, Ajoeb sought to draw a link between the new government and the idea of a “National Front in Culture” by talking about the activities of Prime Minister Ali Sastroamidjojo (who had been the Min- ister of Education and Culture in 1948) and the new deputy Prime Minister, Wongsonegoro, by reference to the 1948 Cultural Congress in Magelang.63 Ajoeb quoted Wongsonegoro (who in 1948 had been the governor of Cen- tral Java and the chairman of the congress) as saying that the key reason for holding the congress (other than celebrating the third anniversary of the declaration of independence) was “Our complete commitment to organising and developing our culture, as a contribution to the completion of our struggle and revolution”.64 This statement—tying the development of culture directly to the national liberation project—opened the door for Ajoeb to repeat the sort of “unﬁn- ished revolution” arguments outlined above. He then went on to discuss positively Ali’s contributions at the 1948 congress, before ﬁnishing on a hopeful note:

Kongres kebudajaan itu kini telah berlalu dan ia menghasilkan kesimpulan2. Kesimpulan2 jang walaupun tidak seluruhnja konkreet dan bisa didjalankan, namun ada beberapa kesimpulan jg hingga kini patut dan harus diperhatikan oleh masjarakat, maupun oleh pemerintah Ali-Wongso sekarang dengan Mr. Moh. Yamin-nja sebagai menteri P.P. dan K.

The cultural congress is now past, and it did produce resolutions. Those resolutions, even if they were not all concrete and have not all been able to be implemented, still included some good ideas

63Joebaar Ajoeb “Ali-Wongso dengan Kebudajaan” HR 21/11/53. This was the ﬁrst national Cultural Congress. The second congress was held in Bandung in 1951, and the third, which was to be something of a tour de force for Lekra, was being planned for Solo in the second half of 1954. There was also an important national Cultural Conference held in Jakarta in August 1950, which was something of a catalyst for the formation of Lekra. For some detail on the these congresses and the conference, see Jones (2005, p. 95-107) & Foulcher (1986, p. 17). 64Hasrat jang bernjala-njala untuk menjelenggarakan dan memperkembangkan kebudajaan kita, sebagai sumbangan menjelesaikan perdjuangan dan repolusi kita. Joebaar Ajoeb “Ali-Wongso dengan Kebudajaan” HR 21/11/53. THE NATIONAL FRONT IN CULTURE 189

that should receive attention both from society at large and the present Ali-Wongso government with its Minister of Education and Culture, Mr. Mohammad Yamin.65

These developments were part of a battle for position that continued all the way to the mid-1960s when the PKI, and much of the non-communist nationalist Left, were ﬁnally crushed. On the one hand the PKI sought to detach one part of mainstream nationalism from another—broadly the “right” (Masjumi, the PSI) from the “left” (most of the PNI, some parts of NU). On the other, it sought to integrate communism with these broader currents, and encourage the movement thus created to develop in what it saw as a more consistently anti-imperialist direction.

“Realism” in the Battle for Position

In his series of articles on “realism”, Lekra chair Joebaar Ajoeb began by laying out some broad principles that he felt underlay a realist approach to art. In subsequent instalments of the essay, he proceeded to give numerous examples of local and international art that he felt could be seen as realist. The selection and presentation of these examples are tied to the battle for position that the cultural communists were engaged in with their opponents who were closer to Masjumi and the PSI. Towards the end of the second instalment, Ajoeb argues that any approach to art, any artistic method can be “realist”, arguing that many legends and folk stories are realist66, and that Wayang 67 is realist. He then goes

65The “Mr.” stands for Meester (“Master”), a Dutch title for a Law graduate. It is worth noting that both Ali’s and Wongsonegoro’s roles during the revolution are given detailed treatment, while Yamin is only mentioned at the very end of the article. Yamin was close to the Tan Malaka-ist Murba party, which the PKI considered “Trotskyist”, and therefore anti-communist. 66As he does so, he lists many such stories. For example, legends about how rice came to Java, why earthquakes happen, the Si Kebayan stories, and many other stories from around Indonesia. 67Wayang refers to various kinds of theatre in Indonesia, particularly forms of puppet theatre. These forms are especially popular in Java and Bali and carry strong cultural weight. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayang (accessed 08/01/2012) for an introduc- 190 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY on to argue that H. G. Wells’ Martians (presumably in War of the Worlds, 1898) and Karel Capek’sˆ Salamanders (presumably from his War with the Newts, 1936)68 are realist because they “are a parody of human society”.69 From here, Ajoeb goes on to claim that virtually every well known novel and author in modern Indonesian literature up until the mid-1950s was realist— including in his list well regarded pre-war novels like Salah Asuhan, Siti No- erbaja, and Armijn Pane’s Belenggu, alongside the work of writers who had come to prominence more recently (like Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Idrus, and even prominent anti-communist Mochtar Lubis). In this way Ajoeb identifies communist-aligned culture with the emerging canons of Indonesian literature and other arts—seemingly an endeavour to “mainstream” communist culture, rather than provide a clear and usable definition of realism.70 The following week, Ajoeb begins by asserting that artists cannot help but “start from reality” (bertolak dari kenjataan).71 What differs from artist to artist is that perspectives and attitudes differ, and this is what leads many artists to “slip up”.72 Writers and artists need to be “objective” and “honest” tion to Wayang. For a more detailed introduction to Wayang in some of its classic Javanese forms, see Irvine (1996). 68Wells (1898) & Capekˆ (1937). 69. . . adalah parodi2 dari masjarakat manusia. Here, as is often the case elsewhere in Kebudajaan, Ajoeb quotes the contemporary Russian writer Ilya Ehrenberg as an authority to support his assertion. Ehrenberg was something of a star of the cultural movement around the Stalinist led international peace movement. For more on his life and work, see Rubenstein (1999). 70A significant aspect of the crushing of Indonesian communism after 1965 was the presentation of communism as being alien to Indonesian society. In the case of communist culture this meant suggesting that this culture was forced and motivated by foreign forces; that it stood outside the canon and was ultimately not really worth studying. It is probable that this process began before 1965, as the two sides of the Cold War polarisation opposed each other with presentations of Indonesian culture that placed cultural products that seemed politically favourable to their ideals in the mainstream, and marginalised those of their opponents. The key difference was that after 1965 this process took place in a context where the cultural right had a complete monopoly of power and therefore faced no effective competition from broadly opposed points of view. To properly understand this process, more research is necessary into the development of anti-communist culture before 1965, going back to the period of this study, 1950-55. This study is, however, concerned with the development of Indonesian communist culture in the period. 71Joebaar Ajoeb “Realisme kita dewasa ini (IV)” HR 21/01/56. 72. . . dalam pandangan dan sikap terhadap kenjataan. . . banjak kita tergelintjir. (. . . in our perspectives and attitudes. . . many of us slip up). THE NATIONAL FRONT IN CULTURE 191

(djudjur). Ajoeb argues that the difference between realism and idealism lies in attitude to contradiction and change. Denying contradictions and conflict (pertarungan) in society means “lying to readers, and if you are a Muslim, you would certainly be sinning if you did not deliver truth to people”.73 He then proceeds to provide another list of canonical “realist” works in literature, starting with a list of classical European writers that ends with Gorky, moving on to some Arab poets and religious figures (such as Abu Tammam and Ali bin Abi Talib), then to writers who had established names for themselves in modern Indonesian literature, before finishing with a list of Lekra writers.74 Many of the figures are repeated from the previous week’s instalment, and this seems to underline the endeavour to establish a canon in which Lekra writers are integrated, and which reaches out to a broader international canon. By the fifth instalment in the series, Ajoeb moves on to his second “law” of realism: realism should “portray social and natural realities and conditions that are typical of a complex of those realities and conditions”.75 He then goes on to try to explain his point by comparing various prominent novels published over the previous thirty three years. He singles out two contemporary books by anti-communist writers (Mochtar Lubis’ Djalan Tak Ada Udjung and M. Balfas’ Lingkaran-Lingkaran Retak) with two key novels of the pre-war period that were published by the same publisher, Balai Pustaka (which had been an official publisher of the colonial government): Abdul

73. . . berarti mendustai pembatja, dan djika saudara beragama Islam, tentulah saudara akan berdosa karena saudara tidak menjampaikan kebenaran kepada manusia. 74Those featured include: Cervantes, Gogol, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Chekov, Abu Tam- mam (a ninth century C.E. Arab poet), Muhallil bin Rabyi (a sixth century poet often associated with Sufism), Abu Firas al-Hamdani (a tenth century poet), Ali bin Abi Talib (Muhammad’s son-in-law and cousin, the fourth and final [from a Sunni Islamic perspective] of the Rashidun [rightly guided Caliphs], and the first Imam of Shi’a Islamic belief), Marah Rusli, Abdul Muis, Armijn Pane, Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Idrus, Utuy Tatang Sontani, Idrus, Mohammad Yamin, Chairil Anwar, Asrul Sani, Rivai Apin, HR Bandaharo, Klara Akustia, Mohammad Hadi, Agam Wispi, Anantaguna. 75Menggubah kembali kenjataan2 atau kedjadian2 sosial dan alam jang typis dari sesuatu kompleks kenjataan atau kedjadian2 itu. Joebaar Ajoeb “Realisme kita dewasa ini (V)” HR28/01/56. 192 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY

Muis’ Salah Asuhan and Marah Rusli’s Siti Nurbaja.76 Ajoeb argues that the two novels from the 1920s portray the life of the period, as well as the social environment and the personalities of their characters in a way that is more “typical”. He argues, for example, that: Marah Roesli telah memilih masaalah jang paling typis, bagi masjarakat dan zamannja. . . Tapi “Tak Ada Udjung” [sic] dari Mochtar Lubis, kendatipun tokoh sentralnja ditjabut dari kehidupan repolusi empatlima, tapi malanglah Mochtar Lubis dan novelnja itu, jang [sic] tidak mengungkapkan masaalah repolusi jang pokok, jang typis dan karakteristik. Novel ini pada pokoknja hanja mengungkapkan segi takut dari dalam kehidupan repolusi. Tapi, takut, [sic] bukan masaalah pokok dari repolusi empat lima. Marah Roesli chose the most typical problem for society in his period [arranged marriage]77 . . . While Mochtar Lubis’ “Tak Ada Udjung” [sic], even though the central character is taken from the life of the revolution of ’45, unfortunately for Mochtar and the novel, does not reveal the fundamental problems of the revolution, those that are most typical and characteristic. It only really portrays the fear of the revolution, but fear was not the main issue in the revolution of ’45. [original emphasis] He then goes on to place another key pre-war Indonesian novel, Armijn Pane’s Belenggu (“Chains”)78, on the “realist” side of the ledger, arguing 76Mochtar Lubis, 1952 Djalan Tak Ada Udjung [Road without End]; M. Balfas, 1952 Lingkaran-Lingkaran Retak [Circles of Cracks]; Marah Rusli, 1928 Siti Nurbaja; Abdul Muis, 1928 Salah Asuhan [A Poor Education] (Lubis, 1952; Balfas, 1952; Rusli, 1922; Muis, 1928). These two latter novels are two of three novels that were considered classics of the pre-war period by critics, including the Dutch critic A. Teeuw (Teeuw, 1967, p. 56- 57, 60-64). The third in this set was Armijn Pane’s 1940 novel Belenggu [Chains] (Pane, 1940), which is analysed by Ajoeb immediately after this discussion (Teeuw, 1967, p. 63-64, 80-84, 219). See below. 77Arranged marriage and the tension between established custom and modernity is a central theme of many of the novels published by the colonial government’s publishing house, Balai Pustaka. Undoubtedly it was a theme that struck a chord with middle and upper class readers of the time. Nonetheless, it was also clearly prominent because such a topic was non-threatening to the colonial establishment, and therefore avoided censorship. Arranged marriage was also a theme in Abdul Muis’ Salah Asuhan. 78Pane (1940). THE NATIONAL FRONT IN CULTURE 193 that it was a good realist work because it “satirised. . . the decadence of the bourgeoisie and elite of Indonesia”.79 He ﬁnishes the instalment by writing that:

. . . soal kita sekarang ialah djustru mentjari dan menetapkan apa masalaah masjarakat, rakjat, bangsa, dan dunia jang paling typis, jang paling karakteristik dewasa ini.

. . . our problem now is precisely to work out and establish what currently are the most typical, most characteristic problems of our society, our people, our nation, and the world.

It might seem unfair of Ajoeb to compare recent work by younger, emerging writers with works from the colonial period that were widely recognised as being of high quality. It might also seem inconsistent that work focusing on arranged marriage and tradition more generally (Marah Roesli’s Sitti Noer- baja and Abdoel Moeis’ Salah Asuhan) or domestic tensions in a late colonial home is deemed “typical”, while fear in the context of war and revolution is not (Mochtar Lubis’ Djalan Tak Ada Udjung). If we are to understand what Ajoeb might mean here by “typical”, we cannot take the term at face value. Ajoeb’s ideas of realism and socialist realism in Kebudajaan, as we have seen, included elements of “showing a way forward”. With this in mind the questions at stake become “How does focusing on fear in the National Revolution move people’s ideas forward? How does it help people change society for the better?”. With the novels of Marah Roesli and Abdoel Moeis, an argument can clearly be put that an eﬀort is being made to highlight the impact of the “dead hand” of tradition in Indonesian society, and to encourage readers to think about how society can be modernised and improved. In the case of Armijn Pane’s Belenggu, presumably the argument is that by showing the decadence and vacuity of bourgeois colonial society, Pane counters dominant popular culture presentations that idealise the upper-middle and ruling classes and highlights the need for change. 79. . . pada pokoknja mentjetja gedjala dekadensi dan dekadensi dari bordjuasi dan elite Indonesia kita ini. 194 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY

A problem here may be that Ajoeb is inheriting terminology from the international movement, and so his usage needs to be viewed in the context of other key tendencies in the thought of Indonesian communist cultural politics—above all the idea that the central issue was whether or not artists “took sides” (memihak) or, at least, whether or not their work in one way or another helped people who did (by deepening or enriching their understanding of society or by encouraging them to organise to improve their lot and the lot of others). Indeed, following a discussion of the importance of “national character” (watak nasional)80, Ajoeb ﬁnishes the series on this topic:

Liwat sikap memihak inilah kita dimungkinkan untuk menjusun gubahan kita sehingga ia mempunjai keindahan jang mempunjai vitalitet dan daja sugesti jang besar. . . [kita] membawa pembatja dan rakjat kita kepada penerimaan dan pengertian jang benar terhadap phenomena2 jang baru dari kehidupan dan perdjuangannja.

Through this attitude of taking sides it is possible for us to compose our works so that they have a beauty that has vitality and a strong power of suggestion. . . that carries the reader and the people to an accurate perspective and understanding of new phenomena in their lives and struggles.

The fact that Ajoeb also makes a point of presenting an extremely wide range of domestic and international models of “realism” (from origin myths to science fiction) underlines the importance of political attitude and political effect as being central to his assessment of what constituted realism, rather than aesthetic or other formal considerations. Alongside this, he seems to be reaching out—to pious Muslims, amongst others. He does this through reference to Islam and inclusion of Arabic/Islamic figures in his range of models for “realism”.81 Discussion of these latter is

80This topic also appeared earlier in the series. Ajoeb argues that a “national aesthetic character” (watak estetika nasional) would be essential to the development of an Indone- sian realism. 81For some of the Arabic/Islamic writers included see the footnote above on page 191. CONCLUSION 195 clearly part of an endeavour to re-model a canon for Indonesian literature, a canon which would place Indonesian works in a context more ﬁtting for Indonesian radical nationalism, and which would involve a move away from the focus on Western European culture that resulted from the Dutch colonial education system.

Conclusion

The Communist movement of early 1950s Indonesia developed its cultural ideas against a political background shaped by the search for a form for the newly recognised independent state of Indonesia. For the PKI and its fellow traveller organisations this process began in a situation of disorientation and demoralisation as the communist movement reeled in the aftermath of the Madiun events and the compromise end to the National Revolution. The emerging leadership of the recovering communist movement prioritised and emphasised the need to address cultural issues as part of the national liberation and nation building project. This occurred in a context of a widespread view in artistic circles that there was a crisis in Indonesian culture following the end of the revolution. In Kebudajaan, writers argued that a central element of this cultural crisis was a problem in the approach of some artists to the post-revolutionary situation. In their view the Round Table Agreement had indeed left the revolution unfinished and consequently created a social and political crisis, but this should not lead to a cultural crisis. It actually created opportunities for artists to take part in the movement to complete the revolution—just as the revolution itself had created opportunities in contexts that were at times desperate. As the period progressed, however, writers such as Joebaar Ajoeb, Njoto, and A. S. Dharta began to argue that the unfinished revolution had actually produced a cultural crisis, because it had created a situation in which pro-imperialist culture could infiltrate and prosper in post-revolutionary In- donesia. For them, this constituted a social and moral attack that took the form of international products of imperialist culture such as Western (espe- 196 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY cially American) films, magazines, comic books, music, etc., as well as their local imitations. According to writers in Kebudajaan, this culture—besides distracting and demoralising ordinary Indonesians—also took forms that encouraged artists and intellectuals to form attitudes which assisted the re-establishment of imperialism in a new form in Indonesia. In particular it encouraged artists to take individualistic attitudes that alienated them from ordinary Indonesians and encouraged elitism. A key coverall term that was used for this phenomenon was “Seni untuk Seni” (Art for Art’s Sake), which these writers saw as encouraging an individualism that alienated artists from the anti- imperialist struggle. These writers argued that “Art for Art’s Sake” effectively degenerated into “Art for Mammon’s Sake” and was, in the end, kosong (vacuous). These arguments were clearly directed at those on the Right of Indonesian cultural politics travelling under the banner of “Universal Hu- manism”. But “Universal Humanism” was not the only indvidualistic intellectual current that the cultural communists had in their sights. A major cultural trend internationally in the period was the existentialism emanating from France. In Kebudajaan writers railed against what they saw as existentialism’s introversion and pessimism. But their approach to this intellectual current was more ambivalent than it was towards what they classified as “Art for Art’s Sake”. Both at an international and national level there were artists with strong existentialist leanings who had sympathy for their cause. In France, the most prominent exponent of exististentialism, Jean-Paul Sartre, was going through the phase of his life where he was politically at his closest to the French Communist Party (PCF), and he played a leading role in the Stalinist-backed international peace movement that followed in the wake of the development of ideas of “peaceful co-existence” amongst the elite of the USSR. In domestic Indonesian culture, key left-leaning individuals, above all Sitor Situmorang, were also strongly drawn to existentialism. Against introversion and individualism, Kebudajaan’s writers argued that artists should take the opportunity presented by the social and political situation around them. They should memihak (take sides); terdjun ke massa CONCLUSION 197

(go to the masses); engage with the movement’s organisations; and get organised themselves to defend and promote their own interests. Conversely, mass organisations in and around the communist movement should seek to integrate art into their activities and to “cultivate” their members. These entreaties were, for the most part, not concerned with particular aesthetic forms, or, more speciﬁcally, with the ideology of “socialist realism”— as has sometimes been presented both before and since the fall of the Sukarno regime in 1965. In the few cases where this set of ideas is discussed, it is done with an emphasis on more common, general, and straight-forward ideas about the need in politically engaged art to give “hope and direction”, and the importance of artists engaging directly with political struggles alongside their creative activity. “Realism” is a more common term, but in the few general essays published (above all Joebaar Ajoeb’s series on realism at the end of the period) it functions largely as a tool to build the “National United Front in Culture” through the construction of a canon inclusive of writers close to the communist movement. “Realism” also played a key role in the critical discussion of contemporary cinema and performing arts, which are the topics of the following chapters. 198 CHAPTER 4. CULTURAL LETHARGY Part III

Case Studies

199

Chapter 5

Jakarta, Hollywood & Rome

Introduction

In the next three chapters of the thesis I will look in detail at what light can be shed on the communist movement’s approach to three areas of artistic expression: cinema, the performing arts, and short creative prose.1 Each of these fields poses particular problems and provides particular perspectives on the relationship between early 1950s communism and Indonesian culture. In the early 1950s cinema was still at the cutting edge of global mass culture, despite in-roads beginning to be made by television in the US and other advanced economies. But it was an expensive and complex art form to produce, and the local film industry was small. The main form of discussion of film in Kebudajaan was film reviews. Between September 7, 1952 and December 31, 1955, Kebudajaan mentioned no less than 73 films, mostly in such reviews. These were largely in two phases, the first from September 1952, to February 1953, and the second from November 1953, to July 1954. The films came from 13 different countries. By far the largest group of films came from the USA (usually under the heading “Hollywood” in Ke- budajaan), with 34 titles, followed by Italy with 12 films, Indonesia with 9 films, the Soviet Union with 8 films, Britain with four films, India with two

1The title of this chapter is partly inspired by Stephen Grundle’s Between Hollywood and Moscow: The Italian Communists and the Challenge of Mass Culture, 1943-1991 (Grundle, 2000).

201 202 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

ﬁlms, and one ﬁlm each from Australia, China, Czechoslovakia, the GDR, Hungary, Malaysia, and the Netherlands.2

“Hollywood” Films

Almost half of the ﬁlms discussed by Kebudajaan were US productions (from the “Golden Age” of Hollywood). These ﬁlms were3:

• The Desert Fox (1951)4 • Samson and Delilah (1949) • The Toast of New Orleans (1950) • Bud and Lou meet the Invisible Man5 (1951) • Deadline– USA (1952) • Mr. Imperium (1951) • The Green Handkerchief 6 (1946) • The Magic Carpet*7 (1951) • Les Miserables (1952) • Saturday’s Hero8 (1951)

2This adds up to 75 films, but one film was a joint Soviet-Chinese production, and was counted twice, as was a film that was a joint British-Italian production. So, technically the Soviet Union should be credited with 7.5 films, China with half a film, Britain with 3.5 films, and Italy with 11.5 films. In addition, one of the British films “The True Story of Lilli Marlene” was a British production, but was taken to be an American film by Njoto in Kebudajaan. “Give Us This Day” was produced and directed by an American, with an American lead, but was filmed in London, due to the anti-communist purges going on in the US in the late 1940s. See below on page 219. 3Films are given in order of their appearance in Kebudajaan 4Release dates are original US release dates. Sometimes it took over a year for a film to make it to Indonesia. Other times films were re-released (e.g. Duel in the Sun was originally released in 1946, then re-released in 1954). 5Titles are given as they appear in Kebudajaan. The official title of this film is “Abbott and Costello meet the Invisible Man”. 6This is the title given in Kebudajaan. Most likely this film is “The Killers”. Possibly censorship required a change of title. 7Films listed with asterisks were only mentioned in passing or in the context of reviews of other films. Nevertheless, enough information was given to present a negative or positive impression for the reader. 8Given as “The Saturday Hero” in Kebudajaan. This may have been a working title, or the result of poor English language skills. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 203

• Hans Christian Anderson (1952) • The Desert Rats (1953) • Give Us This Day 9 (1949) • The Man with a Cloak 10 (1951) • I Confess (1953) • The Lady Vanishes (1938) • Son of Paleface (1952) • Angel Face (1953) • Shane (1953) • Duel in the Sun (1946) • Flamingo Road (1949) • The Man Behind the Gun (1953) • The Crimson Pirate (1952) • High Noon* (1952) • Niagara* (1953) • Inferno (1953) • The Stars are Singing (1953) • The Glass Wall* (1953) • Blue Gardenia (1953) • The Juggler (1953) • Marie Antoinette (1938) • Hotel Berlin (1945) • Chopin*11 (1945)

9This film was most definitely not a “Hollywood” film. Both the director (Edward Dmytryk) and the male lead (Sam Wanamaker) were blacklisted by the McCarthyists. Although it was set in New York’s “Little Italy”, it had to be filmed in London. See below for more detail on this case. 10Given as “A Man with A Cloak” in Kebudajaan. 11This was a working title. The official title was “A Song to Remember”. 204 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

General Attacks on Hollywood

Most of these films were feature films from the “Golden Age” of Hollywood. But in Kebudajaan “Hollywood”, on the whole, features as the model of what cinema should not be. This was the case in many articles, including articles that were talking about other films or other forms of art or art generally, often taking the form of a passing comment, before returning to the topic at hand. For example, when assessing the British film, Quartet, “Sas.” comments: “but this film is still better and more refreshing than those extremely superficial Hollywood movies”12. Similarly, the reviewer of another British film complains of “the Hollywood fashion with its sex appeal [English in the original] and all of its excesses and indulgences”13. Politburo member Njoto writes of Hollywood bio-pics being “shallow” (dangkal). To these common criticisms—of shallowness (kedangkalan) and “sex appeal”, we can add sensationalism (sensasi). “Sas.” combines all three as he slams Samson and Delilah, criticising the film for containing “sensationalism, superficiality, and yes, this film is also filled with sex-appeal”.14 The element of “sex appeal” relates to another common objection to Hol- lywood films in general—that they are “immoral” (imoral, tjabul, mesum). For example, “Tina Rosa”15 complains that a Hollywood short film that formed part of the programme with the Italian film “Carmela” (see below on pages 231–232) spoilt her evening because it showed women who “weren’t just half-naked, but around 90% naked!”.16 Furthermore these women “showed

12. . . tetapi film ini toh lebih baik dan lebih segar daripada film2 Hollywood jang sangat dangkal. Sas. “Quartet” HR 13/9/52. 13. . . mode Hollywood dengan sex appeal dan segala-gala jang serba keterlaluan dan berlebih-lebihan. “Film” HR 3/4/54. 14. . . sensasi, kedangkalan, ja, bahkan sex-appeal djuga memenuhi film ini. As above note the “sex appeal” in English. “Sas.” “Samson and Delilah” HR 11/10/52 15“Tina Rosa” is clearly a nom de plume. I am aware of the identity of some writers behind such pen-names (e.g. “Iramani” = Njoto; “Klara Akustia” = A.S. Dharta). Where this is the case, I will refer to the identity of the writer (e.g. Njoto). In references I will place the writer’s identity first, followed by the nom de plume in square brackets (e.g. Njoto [“Iramani”] “Sebuah Tantangan” HR 27/3/54). Where I am unsure of the identity of the writer, I will use their pen-names, and will refer to them according to the apparent gender of their pen-names (so, “she” for “Tina Rosa”, even though the writer may have been male). 16. . . jang bukan lagi setengah telandjang, tetapi kuranglebih 90% telandjang!. “Tina “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 205 off their bodies in a provocative way!”17 A number of writers in Kebudajaan tie the immorality of American mass culture to imperialist interests, arguing that such work serves to distract and demoralise those who might resist imperialism. For example, Aschartono in his long essay “On Culture”:

Kenjataan pada dewasa ini dalam lapangan kebudajaan, kaum imperialis berusaha melemahkan djiwa patriotisme kemerdekaan, melumpuhkan semangat perlawanan anti imperialis dengan bentuk apapun djuga. Dengan diperlengkapi dengan alat2 jang ada padanja, dengan USISnja, dengan buku2 tjabul jang dihiasi dengan gambar2 wanita setengah telandjang, ﬁlm2 jang mesum dan njan- jian2 asmara, ini semua tidak lain hanya untuk melemahkan djiwa perlawanan Rakjat jang anti penindasan dan penghisapan.

It is a reality of our times that, in the area of culture, the imperialists try to weaken the independent spirit of patriotism, to cripple the anti-imperialist will to resist using whatever forms they can. Armed with the weapons at their disposal— their USIS [the United States Information Service], pornographic books dec- orated with pictures of half-naked women, their dirty ﬁlms, and their lustful songs— they do nothing less than try to weaken the People’s will to resist oppression and exploitation.18

In similar vein, Siswojo writes:

Terutama di kota2 kebudajaan tjabul, kebudajaan perang, kebudajaan teror, kebudajaan putus asa, kebudajaan merendah bangsa lain oleh imperialis diobralkan ke seluruh masjarakat dengan alat lagu2, madjalah2, gambar2, buku2, surat2 kabar dan ﬁlm2 mereka

Above all in the cities, the culture of immorality, the culture of terror, the culture of hopelessness, the culture of demeaning other

Rosa” “Telenews 1949” HR 13/9/52. 17. . . mempertontonkan tubuhnja setjara provokatif! Ibid. 18Aschartono “Tentang Kebudajaan” HR 20/12/52 206 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

nations is being sold cheaply by the imperialists to the whole of society using the weapons of their songs, magazines, pictures, books, newspapers, and ﬁlms.19

“Bad” Hollywood Films

Of the US films reviewed in Kebudajaan, 42% (14 out of 33) were “panned” or condemned for various reasons. The most prominent of these targets for communist animosity was The Desert Fox.20 We will return to this film and The Desert Rats below on pages 208–212. Despite all of the rhetoric around how “immoral” or “pornographic” (tjabul) Hollywood was, this does not actually feature strongly in Kebudajaan’s criticisms of individual films. Broadly speaking, actual criticisms can be grouped into two categories: films that lack content (are “kosong”) and films that “get it wrong” from a political or historical point of view. So, for example, Samson and Delilah, The Green Handkerchief, The Man Behind the Gun, The Man with a Cloak, and Chopin are all criticised for being “empty”, and/or sensationalist, and/or superficial (dangkal), and/or simply uncreative.21 While some of the criticisms of Samson and Delilah were discussed above, the reviewer of The Man with a Cloak was disappointed with what s/he mistakenly took to be a bio-pic about Edgar Allen Poe, complaining that it was “too Hollywood”.22 Tina Rosa made a similar mistake, perhaps with more justification, in her assessment of the 1952 musical Hans Christian Andersen. 19Siswojo “Menggalang kebudajaan rakjat” HR 7/2/53. Njoto argues in his review of the Italian film “Tomorrow’s Too Late” that “only a mad people would allow themselves to be sucked in by the poison of all that immoral stuff from America” (Hanja orang gila jang membiarkan dirinja terseret arus ratjun segala jg. tjabul dari Amerika . . . ). Njoto [“Ira- mani”] “Sebuah Tantangan” HR 27/3/54. For other articles with similar sentiments, see also Siswojo “menindjau hasil2 kongres kebudajaan” HR 4/12/54; “Beberapa Kesimpulan Diskusi Besar Masaalah Demoralisasi Peladjar” HR 19/3/55; Wiedija HS “Menjongsong diskusi besar masaalah demoralisasi dikalangan peladjar” HR 5/2/55. 20See Foulcher (1986, p. 44). 21“High Noon” and “Niagara” might also be put in this category based on comments by “SRD. Putera Harapan” in his review of “The Crimson Pirate”. SRD. Putera Harapan “Resensi film: The Crimson Pirate” HR 13/12/54. 22“ke-Hollywood2-an”. “Film Minggu Ini” HR 21/11/53. Actually the film simply fea- “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 207

A light, commercial musical with Danny Kaye in the lead role, it described itself as “not the story of his life, but a fairytale about this great spinner of fairy tales”. In it, the Andersen character interacts with characters from his stories. Rosa calls it “an insult to the great writer”.23 Of course, there were actual bio-pics that were rated poorly in Kebuda- jaan. For instance, Njoto complains that the film Chopin focuses on the composer’s relationships with women.24 He is also deeply disappointed by The Green Handkerchief, based on a short story by Hemingway.25 He writes bitterly that the film is “100% detective” and that its story is “empty”—it is “a story that is barely different. . . to the cheap detectives stories that are flooding the world of ‘literature’ nowadays”26. The second major category of films that were poorly received consisted of films that were held to have “got it wrong”, either politically or historically (which is partly what the writers above were complaining about with Chopin and Hans Christian Andersen). Key films in this group are The Desert Fox, The Desert Rats, Hotel Berlin, Deadline–USA, The Stars are Singing, and Marie Antoinette. Deadline–USA is criticised for championing the capitalist press27, while tured Poe as a character in the story. Throughout the film Poe’s character goes by the name “Dupin” (itself the name of a character from one of his novels), and is only revealed as Poe himself at the very end of the story. The film makes no pretense of historical accuracy, and the character turning out to be Edgar Allen Poe is clearly a plot device—although the reviewer, perhaps not yet used to such techniques, misses this. 23. . . penghinaan bagi pudjangga besar Andersen. “Tina Rosa” “Film Minggu Ini” HR 14/11/53. 24This seems to be the 1944 film A Song to Remember, which Halliwell’s described as a “Hilarious musical bio-pic which was unexpectedly popular and provoked a flood of similar pieces. As a production, not at all bad, but the script . . . ”. It also reports critic James Agee as saying that it was “As infuriating and funny a misrepresentation of an artist’s life and work as I have seen” (Walker, 2006, p. 1081). For Njoto’s comments, see Njoto [Iramani] “Giuseppe Verdi: sebuah film jang berbekas dalam” HR 12/11/55. 25This seems to be an alternative title for the 1946 film noir “The Killers”, based on Hemingway’s short story of the same title and starring Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner. It is a well regarded classic that received four Academy Award nominations for screenplay, direction, score, and editing, as well as a three star rating from Halliwell’s (Walker, 2006, p. 625). 26. . . dia menulis tjerita jang hampir2 tak ada bedanja . . . dengan tjerita2 detektif murah jang membandjiri dunia “kesusasteraan” sekarang. Njoto [N.] “Saputangan Hidjau” HR 29/11/52. 27Sas. “Deadline USA” HR 8/11/52 208 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

The Stars are Singing is condemned for counterposing oppression behind the “Iron Curtain” to the “American Dream”.28 Similarly, Marie Antoinette is criticised for “distorting history” (memutar-balikkan sedjarah), because it presents Marie Antoinette as blameless and presents the leading revolutionaries as cruel (kedjam): “The characters that are shown to represent the revolutionaries are depicted in a way that makes the audience immediately hate them”.29 According to the reviewer, this “is intended to give the audience the impression that revolution is something bad”.30 By far the most prominent “got it wrong” ﬁlm was not, however, about oppressive life on the other side of the Iron Curtain, or of the violence or undesirability of revolution. Rather, it was a World War Two bio-pic.

The Desert Fox Controversy

The Desert Fox constituted the subject of no less than ten articles in the period, making it the most popular topic for Kebudajaan writers.31

28“Film” HR 20/3/54. The reviewer even complains that “It is really regrettable that the Film Censorship Board has let this film, which has tendentious political content, pass”. In the same article “The Glass Wall” is discussed as a film in comparable vein. Similarly, in his 1952 review of the 1950 film Lilli Marlene, Njoto writes that his only criticism of the film was a line from a Nazi officer: “What we learnt from the Russians was useful”. 29Figur2 jang dipertundjukkan untuk mewakili orang2 revolusioner digambarkan sedemikian rupa sehingga penonton segera membentji pada kaum revolusioner itu. “Film: Marie Antoinette” HR 3/7/54. 30. . . bermaksud untuk memberi kesan pada penonton, bahwa revolusi itu adalah satu hal jang buruk. Ibid. 31The articles are: - Njoto [Iramani] “Lili Marlene: sebuah tantangan terhadap ‘The Desert Fox’ ” HR 6/9/52 - Lekra Medan “Protes dan tuntutan Lekra Medan: Tolak Film ‘The Desert Fox’ ” HR 6/9/52 - Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Sekali lagi: ‘The Desert Fox’ ” HR 1/11/52 - “23 Partai dan Organisasi Rakyat Menentang Desert Fox di Kediri” HR 3/1/53 - Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Lagi ‘Desert Fox’ ” HR 3/1/53 - Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 10/1/53 - “Pasuruan Tolak ‘Desert Fox’ ” HR 10/1/53 - Sunardi “film ‘The Desert fox’ ” HR 9/7/55 - Sunardi “film: The Desert Fox” HR 16/7/55 - Sunardi “film: The Desert Fox” HR 23/7/55 “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 209

Originally released in 1951 (in the US), The Desert Fox tells the story of the last year in the life of Nazi General Erwin Rommel. It was based on the book of the same title by Desmond Young, which revealed that Rommel had committed suicide, and consequently did not die of wounds that resulted from battle, as had previously been thought (and reported by the Nazi regime).32 The film was sympathetic to Rommel and was criticised in the US and other Western countries for glossing over Rommel’s initial admiration for Hitler.33 The articles in Kebudajaan were part of a significant campaign led by the PKI and fellow travelling organisations, and a number of articles reported on campaign events.34 This campaign appears to have been at its peak in late 1952 and early 1953, and it was in the midst of this campaign that Njoto and Joebaar Ajoeb made strong arguments that Rommel was indeed a fascist, and that his conflict with Hitler was personal and tactical.35 Towards the end of this study’s period, Lekra leader Sunardi was asked to give the keynote address to a symposium on The Desert Fox. This was testament both to the continuing prominence of the movement’s position, but also that the issue remained unresolved in the public mind. In three issues of Kebudajaan Sunardi’s speech is reproduced, apparently in full.36 These articles represent a relatively definitive presentation of the movement’s position on “The Desert Fox”, with Sunardi elaborating the earlier arguments of Njoto, Joebaar Ajoeb and others in Kebudajaan. He begins by recognising a key element of the presentation of Rommel in the film—i.e. his military prowess: “I recognise Rommel’s greatness as a General”37, and even concedes he may have been a good family man. But is

The September 6, 1952, edition of Kebudajaan includes a photograph ofLekraBandung and unions during a demonstration to boycott The Desert Fox. 32Young (1950). 33For a contemporary account, see Crowther (1951). 34E.g.LekraMedan “Protes dan tuntutan Lekra Medan: Tolak Film ‘The Desert Fox’ ” HR 6/9/52; “23 Partai dan Organisasi Rakyat Menentang Desert Fox di Kediri” HR 3/1/53; “Pasuruan Tolak ‘Desert Fox’ ” HR 10/1/53. 35Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Sekali lagi: ‘The Desert Fox’ ” HR 1/11/52, and Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini: Lagi ‘Desert Fox’ ” HR 3/1/53. 36Sunardi “film ‘The Desert fox’ ” HR 9/7/55; Sunardi “film: The Desert Fox” HR 16/7/55; Sunardi “film: The Desert Fox” HR 23/7/55. 37Saja mengakui kebesaran Rommel sebagai seorang Djendral . . . 210 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME quick to add:

Tetapi disamping itu Rommel djuga. . . anggota Partai Nazi . . . salah seorang pembangun militerisme Djerman. . . orang jang mengagumi dan disajangi Hitler. . . pernah djadi S.S.. . . bisa termasuk pend- jahat perang. . . sebagai commandant harus bertanggung djawab atas praktek2 fascisme, sebagai: pembersihan manusia, penged- jaran/pembunuhan orang2 Jahudi, pembunuhan orang2 penen- tang fascisme, kamar2 gas dsb., dsb.

But besides these things, Rommel was also. . . a member of the Nazi party. . . a builder of German militarism. . . someone who admired Hitler, and was in turn well regarded by Hitler. . . a one time member of the SS. . . someone who could be classed as a war criminal. . . [who] as a commander has to take responsibility for the practices of fascism, like: ethnic cleansing, the persecution and murder of Jews, the murder of opponents of fascism, gas chambers, etc. etc.38

Sunardi argues that some opponents of the campaign against The Desert Fox seem to think that the conflict between Rommel and Hitler was a battle between a fascist and an anti-fascist, giving an example of a review where the writer seems to have done precisely this.39 He goes on to argue that the film is seeking the rehabilitation of a fascist general at precisely the time that Nazi prisoners are being released, Nazi era officers are being reinstated, and the US is seeking the re-armament of West Germany.40 For him The Desert Fox is propaganda for the re-establishment of fascism in Germany,

38Sunardi “film ‘The Desert fox’ ” HR 9/7/55. Some of the claims here are clearly false— e.g. Rommel was never in the Waffen-SS. He does not seem to have played an active role in any ethnic cleansing actions, and on at least some occasions ignored orders to execute Jewish soldiers, civilians, or captured commanders (this according to the favourable, but well researched, biography by Lewin (1968). Nevertheless, even apologetic biographies like the latter cannot deny the basic point—Rommel was a leading figure of the Nazi war machine, and was lauded by Hitler right up until Rommel’s funeral, even after the field marshal had clearly betrayed the Führer. 39Sunardi “film: The Desert Fox” HR 16/7/55 40ibid. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 211 and reflects the fact that the US of McCarthyism is itself becoming close to fascist.41 Sunardi then compares Rommel to the notorious “Turk” Westerling, responsible for the brutal suppression of the independence movement in South Sulawesi in late 1946, which cost the lives of thousands of Indonesians. He asks if Indonesians would be happy with a film that only portrayed the positive side of Westerling? He concludes that The Desert Fox does not improve the audience’s understanding of Rommel, or of Nazism, indeed it is reduced through the film’s one-sidedness.42 Given that audiences could view the film for themselves, and some would have had access to alternative sources of information, it is easy to imagine a number of Sunardi’s attacks missing the mark. Many, though, would have also found resonance—although in part this would have been because the positions taken were not far from mainstream opinion even amongst anti- communists.43 Partly in response to controversy in mainstream America and partly in response to the success of The Desert Fox, Twentieth Century Fox produced something of sequel in 1953—The Desert Rats, which focused on Aus- tralian troops in the North African theatre (and featured Australian stars like Charles Tingwell and Chips Rafferty, who had also starred in the Aus- tralian feature, The Rats of Tobruk). In The Desert Rats, Rommel is again portrayed by James Mason (as in The Desert Fox), but this time Mason puts on a German accent, and his portrayal is less sympathetic.44 When The Desert Rats came to Indonesia, it was presented by regular Kebudajaan film critic, “Tina Rosa”, as being simply another film about Rommel— despite the fact that the film is actually about the Australian troops who fought against Rommel. She is outraged that the Board of Cen- sors has not banned the film, given the campaign over The Desert Fox, asking 41ibid. 42Sunardi “film: The Desert Fox” HR 23/7/55 43Mainstream America was uncomfortable with the apparent lionising of an enemy general only six years after the end of the war. See for example Crowther (1951). 44The Desert Rats is sometimes presented as being a “prequel” or “quasi-sequel” to The Desert Fox, and the two films were released together on the same DVD by Twentieth Century Fox as “War Classics”. 212 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

“Is the Board of Censors opposed to the People, who have suffered so much because of the adventurism of Tojo and Hitler?”.45 Soedjojono’s treatment of another World War Two film that, like The Desert Fox, touches on the 1944 attempt on Hitler’s life paints the film with the same brush, despite clear differences. Hotel Berlin was produced by Warner Brothers in the winter of 1944-45, when it was already clear that Germany would lose the war, but Allied victory was not yet complete. It is suffused with the fear of a Nazi revival, yet Soedjojono reads it as simply part of the campaign to rearm West Germany. He repeats the argument that the plotters were not necessarily anti-Nazi, simply anti-Hitler, and writes that SS commanders are returning to their posts to “again lead the fascist German army”.46 “The United States is openly trying to rebuild German Fascism” 47, he writes, echoing Sunardi’s arguments.48

“Neither/Nor” Hollywood Films

Kebudajaan’s reaction to a number of Hollywood films cannot really be described as either positive or negative. This is either because the discussion is limited, or because a review does not include any evaluation of the film in question (e.g. the reviewer only gives details of the plot, the actors, etc., without passing any judgements on the film). Films that might fall into this category include Hitchcock’s films I Confess (1953) and The Lady Vanishes

45Apakah Panitia Sensor Film menentang kepada Rakjat jang sudah terlalu menderita akibat avontur Tojo dan Hitler ini?. Tina Rosa “Film Minggu Ini” HR 14/11/53. 46untuk memimpin kembali tentara Fasis Djerman 47Amerika Serikat. . . dengan terang2an hendak membangun kembali Fasisme Djerman 48Soedjojono “Film dan sedjarah: ‘Hotel Berlin’ dan persendjataan kembali Djerman” HR 9/7/55. Soedjojono also takes the opportunity to promote the USSR: Hanja ada satu negara besar jang dengan konsekwen menentang Fasisme. Negara itu adalah Sovjet Uni, jang dengan gigih menentang Remiliterisasi Djerman. There is only one country that consistently opposed Fascism. That country is the Soviet Union, which is also the country that is adamantly opposing the remilitarisation of Germany. How Soedjojono might have accounted for the Hitler-Stalin pact in this presentation of history is unclear. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 213

(1938), both of which were reviewed in late 1953,49 as well as High Noon and Niagara, both of which are only mentioned in passing.50 The Juggler (1953), however, is a film that is also difficult to categorise for other reasons. This is not because too little is written about it, or that no judgement was passed on it, but rather that too wide a variety of responses was given to it. Its reviewer begins by arguing that the film falls far short of the apparent hype surrounding it:

Dalam advertensi2 dinjatakan bahwa Kirk Douglas dalam film ini memainkan rolnja jang paling besar selama ini (suatu hal jang harus disangsikan). . . Apa jang baru dalam film ini hanjalah perkenalan bintang baru dari Italia jang “diimport” oleh Columbia ke Amerika, jaitu Milly Vitale, jang oleh karena “sexappealnja” digembar-gemborkan sebagai penemuan jang terbesar sesudah Garbo. In the advertising it says that this Kirk Douglas plays his greatest role to this point (something that has to be doubted). . . What is new in this film is only the introduction of a new star from Italy, who has been imported by Columbia to America—Milly Vitale, who, because of her “sexappeal” [orig. in English], has been trumpeted as the greatest discovery since Garbo.51 49“Film Minggu Ini” HR 21/11/53. 50High Noon and Niagara are mentioned in passing in a review of The Crimson Pirate (1952). See SRD. Putera Harapan “Resensi Film: ‘The Crimson Pirate”’ HR 13/2/54. The mention of the films makes it quite clear that the films are not viewed well, however: Ini semua menundjukkan kepada kita, bagaimana alam fikiran manusia2 disana untuk mentjari keuntungan golongannja saja. Banjak djalan telah mereka tempuh, dari film2 HIGH NOON dng. Carry Cooper-nja [sic], NIA- GARA dengan Monroe-nja, dan masih banjak lagi film Cowboys, Gangster, Tjabul dll. This all shows us what the thinking of people over there is, people who only look to their own profit. They have done it in various ways, from films like HIGH NOON with Carry Cooper [sic], to NIAGARA with Monroe, and many more Cowboy, Gangster, or Pornographic movies. Consequently, both of these films could easily be put in the “bad” film category. High Noon is also mentioned in the review of The Juggler, as it was also produced by Stanley Kramer. “Film” HR 10/4/54. 51“Film” HR 10/4/54 214 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

The review then goes on to praise Douglas’ performance and the cinematography of the film, which “really made one believe that the film was actually shot in Haifa, Nazareth, etc.”.52 The reviewer also takes time, however, to call the direction “imperfect” (kurang sempurna), and the script weak. The reader is left with an impression that is neither clearly positive, negative, nor “neutral”. Another film that gets a decidedly mixed review is the musical Mr. Im- perium, starring South Pacific’s Ezio Pinza. The latter’s voice and charisma get praise: “As usual, Pinza pleases his audience: his funny movements, his Italian accent, his pleasant tenor voice . . . ”53 However, Njoto then follows up with a series of common criticisms: the film is not realistic (sangat irriil); the film is too concerned with romance (implying a certain amount of impropriety)54; and finally the politics. “Hollywood wouldn’t be Hollywood if it didn’t insert reactionary politics”.55 In Mr. Imperium this is:

penjesalan terhadap hilangnja keradjaan2 oleh revolusi2 Rakjat. . . kita mendengar perdana menteri radja “Imperium” ini menjatakan se- akan2 Rakjat sudah djemu akan revolusi dan me-nanti2 kembal- inja radja!

lamenting the loss of monarchies through People’s revolutions . . . we hear the Prime Minister of the kingdom of “Imperium” talk as if the People are already sick of revolution and are hoping for the return of the king!56

But Njoto finishes by asking “What is right in all of this? Nothing. Noth- ing, except the joy that Pinza, that funny tenor, gives us”.57 52menjebabkan kita pertjaja bahwa film itu dibuat sungguh2 di Haifa, Nazareth dll. Ibid. 53Sebagaimana biasa Pinza selalu menggembirakan penontonnja: gerak-geriknja jang lutju, aksen Italianja, suara tenornja jang empuk. Njoto [N.] “Mr. Imperium” HR 8/11/52. 54“Pinza and Turner. . . are making out from the beginning to the end [of the film]” (Pinza dan Turner. . . dari awal sampai keachirnja terus ber-tjumbu2an). Ibid.. See also the comments on page 216 concerning The Toast of New Orleans, Saturday’s Hero, and The Crimson Pirate. 55Hollywood bukan Hollywood djika tidak memasukkan tendens jang reaksioner (ibid.). 56ibid. 57Apa jang benar dari semua ini? Tidak ada, tidak ada selain kegembiraan jang bisa ditimbulkan oleh Pinza, tenor jang lutju ini. Ibid. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 215

“Good” Hollywood Films

Of the 34 Hollywood films discussed during our period in the pages of Ke- budajaan, we have seen that just over 42% (14) were seen as “bad”, and six films were “neutral” or perhaps “middling”. Another 39% (13)58 were viewed positively by Kebudajaan reviewers. These films were:

• The Toast of New Orleans • Bud and Lou Meet the Invisible Man59 • Les Misérables • Saturday’s Hero • Give Us This Day • Son of Paleface • Angel Face • Shane • Duel in the Sun • Flamingo Road • The Crimson Pirate • Inferno • Blue Gardenia

Criticisms of “Good” Films

Of these thirteen, writers raised some concerns about 7 (while also recom- mending the same film in some way or another). These concerns should be familiar— the criticisms are similar to those detailed above for the “bad” films. Several of the recommended films were criticised for some form of superficiality. Bud and Lou Meet the Invisible Man was praised for producing a lot of “healthy and refreshing laughter” (tawa jang sehat dan segar), but

58A fourteenth film could be included here, because it was viewed by its reviewer, Njoto, as an American film—the British war propaganda film The True Story of Lili Marlene. See Njoto [Iramani] “Lili Marlene: sebuah tantangan terhadap ‘The Desert Fox’ ” HR 6/9/52. 59Official title: Abbott and Costello Meet the Invisible Man. 216 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

“You do not see jokes of substance, like those of Chaplin, but this film is still much more enjoyable than other American films”.60 Likewise, Son of Pale- face is commended (and partly dismissed): “The plot is thin, but it made the audience laugh a lot”.61 Similarly, “Sas.” is enthusiastic about The Toast of New Orleans, but comments that the film has something of a “show” feel.62 Blue Gardenia is also criticised for being “over the top” (berlebih-lebihan), although the reviewer writes positively about the film.63 As well as having a “show” feel, The Toast of New Orleans is criticised for having “emotional romance” (pertjintaan2 jang emosionil)64, a criticism it shares with Saturday’s Hero and The Crimson Pirate. On the Saturday’s Hero, Soeradi writes:

Maklum kawan suatu kebiasaan dari ﬁlm Hollywood, hampir semua tjeritera selalu diselingi dengan pertjintaan. Engkau tentu mengerti maksudnja, bukan?

You know how it is, comrade, it’s the norm in Hollywood movies that almost every story should have a love interest. You know what that’s about, don’t you?65

“SRD. Putera Harapan” complains that individual concerns, above all romance, obscure the role of ordinary people in The Crimson Pirate. This combines two complaints— that of the prominence of romantic interest, and of films not being social or “realistic” enough. The reviewer of Inferno writes that the film’s plot is “too artificial, it seems distant from the reality of

60Orang tak mendjumpai lelutjon2 berisi seperti lelutjon2 Chaplin misalnja, namun ﬁlm Bud dan Lou selalu lebih menjenangkan daripada ﬁlm2 Amerika lainnja. Sas. “Bud and Lou Meet the Invisible Man” HR 1/11/52. 61Tjerita tidak ada isinja, tetapi membuat para penonton sering tertawa. “Film Minggu Ini”, HR 28/11/53. 62Sas. “The Toast of New Orleans” HR 25/10/52. “Show” is used as a label in the original Indonesian. It also appears as a label in the same reviewer’s negative assessment of Samson and Delilah (Sas. “Samson dan Delilah” HR 11/10/52). 63“Film” HR 3/4/54 64Sas. “The Toast of New Orleans” HR 25/10/52 65Soeradi “American Way of Life” HR 7/2/53. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 217 everyday life”.66

What Made “Good” Hollywood Films “Good”?

There seems to have been two bases on which Kebudajaan writers gave Hol- lywood/US films the “stamp of approval”— “entertainment value”, and social or political content. When the first category is understood to include the technical quality of the film (e.g. acting, directing, cinematography, etc.), of the fourteen “good” films listed above (on page 215), four films seem to have earned positive reviews purely for their “entertainment value”, with one more getting special praise for the performances of the lead actors, amongst other things. While a number of Hollywood films (as we saw above on pages 204–212) were criticised for being superficial, there does seem to be at least some kinds of “lightweight” movies that were acceptable according to the writers of Kebudajaan— those that were funny, those that included some form of art that was valued by reviewers, or those that were simply well made (even if their storyline contained no political or social themes of interest). In all cases, of course, this was on the proviso of not stepping on Kebudajaan’s political toes (i.e. not criticising the communist bloc, not appearing sympathetic to fascism or feudalism, not trumpeting the virtues of Western-style capitalism, etc.). So, for example, The Toast of New Orleans is recommended because it included opera and dance, which “Sas.” argues “fills the film with joy and exhilaration”.67 Bud and Lou Meet the Invisible Man was praised because it made the audience laugh, as was Son of Paleface (see above). Blue Gardenia, on the other hand, was not humorous, but was praised for its acting.68 The only praise given to Roy Ward Baker’s Inferno was technical, but the list of compliments was long: it was well filmed; the colour was good; the story

66terlalu dicari2 sehingga terasa djauh daripada kenjataan penghidupan sehari-hari. “Film” 13/3/54. 67Semua ini mendjadikan film ini sesuatu jang mengandung kegembiraan [dan] kesegaran. Sas. “The Toast of New Orleans” HR 25/10/52 68“Film” HR 3/4/54 218 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME was good; “lots of scenes made the audience hold their breath”69; Robert Ryan, Rhonda Fleming, and William Lundigan all acted well. The overall impression a reader would have formed was clearly positive.70 Most of the films viewed positively by Kebudajaan writers in the period were praised for their social or political content (nine out of the thirteen “good” films). Broadly, these nine can be put in two different groups— the first which highlight some evil of capitalist society (especially in the USA), and those that depict social struggle or tension from the point of view of the downtrodden.

The Bad Ol’ USA

Four of the films are recommended because of how they portray some “evil” of capitalist society.71 These films all deal with some negative aspect or other of capitalist/US society. Saturday’s Hero is “good”, because it portrays how sport and athletes can be bought and sold (and disposed of) as if they were objects, not individual human beings or an integral part of society’s culture.72 Angel Face is interesting because “we are shown how justice can be bought and sold with money in America”.73, while in Blue Gardenia it “becomes clearer and clearer to the audience how much the American media seeks out sensation, and how they get it . . . ”.74 Likewise, according to Kebudajaan’s reviewer, Flamingo Road is a film that: menggambarkan bagaimana kotornja dan kedjinya kaum politikus Amerika mendjalankan taktiknja untuk merebut kedudukan dan kekuasaan. . . Film ini pantas dilihat untuk mengetahui bagaimana tjara2 kaum politik di Amerika bekerdja . . . 69banjak djuga adegan2 jang berhasil membikin penonton menahan napas 70“Film” HR 13/3/54 71In addition, Lilli Marlene, a British production that was taken to be American, was embraced by Njoto as a contrast to The Desert Fox—its Nazis are drawn suitably black, and the heroine (who works for the resistance) suitably heroic. Njoto [Iramani] “Lili Marlene: sebuah tantangan terhadap ‘The Desert Fox”’ HR 6/9/52. 72Soeradi “American Way of Life” HR 7/2/53. 73Dalam film ini digambarkan bagaimana keadilan di Amerika dapat dibeli dengan uang. “Film Minggu Ini” HR 5/12/53. 74dalam film ini makin njatalah bagi penonton betapa dan bagaimana tjaranja djurnal- istik Amerika dalam mentjari sensasi . . . “Film” HR 3/4/54. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 219

shows how dirty and cruel American politicians are in conducting their strategies to get position and power. . . This ﬁlm should be watched to ﬁnd out how American politicians operate . . . 75

Social Tension, Social Struggle, Social Realism

The remainder of the American films that are recommended in Kebuda- jaan all portray some form of social tension, social struggle, or are simply seen to realistically portray the situation of ordinary people. Give Us This Day was a film produced and directed by Edward Dmytryk, who was one of the “Hollywood Ten” that were attacked during the McCarthy period. Dmytryk had to make the film in London (even though it was set in New York’s “Little Italy”) after spending several months in jail for refusing to testify to the House UnAmerican Activities Committee (HUAC). The lead actor, Sam Wanamaker, was blacklisted in 1951 for supporting the Ten and for his earlier brief membership of the US Communist Party. However, “Tina Rosa” was apparently unaware of this background, and simply praises its social realism: “This realistic film about the lives of unemployed workers is one amongst the few good American films”.76 Two different Westerns are praised for portraying social tensions and conflict in the nineteenth century. Shane, a film that was held up as something of a standard against which to measure other Westerns77., is said to be:

. . . ﬁlm jang agak berlainan dari ﬁlm2 lainnja dalam minggu ini. Jaitu mentjeritakan bagaimana penderitaan kaum tani sebagai

75“Film Minggu Ini” HR 16/1/54. 76Film realis tentang penghidupan kaum buruh jang menganggur ini, adalah satu diantara sedikit film2 Amerika jang baik. Tina Rosa “Film Minggu Ini” HR 14/11/53. The film is based on the novel “Christ in Concrete” by Pietro Di Donato (Di Donato, 1937). After returning from the filming of Give Us This Day Dmytryk finally submitted to the HUAC, in what many supporters of the Hollywood Ten saw as a capitulation and betrayal. He gave the committee several names, and many never forgave him. His obituary in The Independent gives a good sense of the controversy and the impact it had on his life, as well as the impact of his testifying (Vallance, 1999). His own account of the period is given in Dmytryk (1996) and Dmytryk (1978). See also Sheen (2007), Ceplair and Englund (1979), and Shaw (2007). 77See “Film: The Man Behind the Gun” HR 13/2/54 220 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

akibat dari ketamakan dan kedjahatan tuan2 tanah jg menjewa tukang2 pukul, jg terdjadi di Amerika dlm abad 19.

. . . a film that is quite different to the others showing this week. It tells the story of the suffering of farmers in America in the nineteenth century as a result of the greed and cruelty of the landlords, who hired armed thugs.78

Duel in the Sun is similarly recommended:

Dalam ﬁlm ini dapat dilihat bagaimana rendahnja pandangan golongan tuantanah kepada kaum pekerdja, terhadap suku Indian dll., dan bagaimana tuantanah2 itu hidup setjara tidak terkenda- likan oleh rasa kemanusiaan maupun kesusilaan

In this ﬁlm you can see how poorly the big land owners looked upon the workers, the Indians, and others, as well as how the landlords lived without being restricted in any way by any feelings of humanity or morality79

Les Miserables is lauded because it is the work of a great author, and because it portrays injustice, as well as “social and psychological struggle”.80 Although clearly a work of fantasy, The Crimson Pirate is also presented positively because it “depicts the struggle of the People of Spanish colonies at the end of the eighteenth century, when Absolute Monarchy was being overthrown and the Bourgeois Republics were emerging”.81

78“Film Minggu Ini” HR 5/12/53. 79“Film Minggu Ini” HR 16/1/54. 80. . . pergulatan sosial dan psikologi. Joebaar Ajoeb “Viktor Hugo: ‘Kaum Sengsara’ atau ‘Les Miserables” HR 24/1/53. 81. . . menggambarkan perdjoangan Rakjat djadjahan Spanjol pada akhir abad ke 18, dimana tumbangnja Absolute Monarchie dan timbulnja Republik2 Bordjuis. SRD. Putera Harapan “Resensi Film: ‘The Crimson Pirate”’ HR 13/2/54. The reviewer does also note, however, that the role of the mass of ordinary people is marginalised in favour of the hero. “HOLLYWOOD” FILMS 221

Indonesian Communism and Hollywood: A Love-Hate Relationship?

If early 1950s Indonesian communism, as it presented itself in Kebudajaan, was to be embodied in a single person, and we were to ask that person: “What do you think of American movies?”, the answer would be clear: Hollywood films are bad. When discussed in general, American films were associated with immorality, sensationalism, and superficiality. Not only this, they were clearly a weapon of US imperial interests. But when we look more closely at how Kebudajaan actually discussed individual American movies, we get a different impression. We do not hear many complaints of films being tjabul (immoral or even pornographic); complaints are more of unnecessary focus on romance, on sensationalism, or superficiality. Just as many films are viewed positively as negatively. Many are recommended to the reader. So, did the writers of Kebudajaan have a “love-hate” relationship with Hollywood? Did they want to hate Hollywood, but found themselves loving some movies despite themselves? Yes, and no. Kebudajaan writers did make sweeping generalisations about American films, but when confronted with actual films, films that were part of a widespread phenomenon of public culture throughout the world (the spread and popularity of cinema), they reserved their judgement and produced assessments that were sophisticated, but consistent with general principles. In a sense, they had no other choice—many people had access to the films they discussed. This is reflected in the infamous The Desert Fox affair. Kebudajaan writers had views on the political meaning of the film, and sought to have it banned. But the fact that many people could see the film, and appreciate its positive qualities, meant that the communist movement was limited in what it could achieve, and probably faced some significant and successful opposition, which is reflected in the fact that the issue seems to have been so drawn out. If we look more closely at what Kebudajaan writers were appreciating 222 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME when they recommended films, we see that their relationship with Hollywood was not one of “love”. Some lightweight films that were entertaining were simply “let through to the keeper” (e.g comedies), so long as they did not seek to propagandise against communism, in favour of the US, or against ideals close to communist hearts. Why not? To do otherwise would be to associate communism with wet blanket-ism, and would probably be dishonest (no doubt communists in a cinema audience enjoyed a laugh as much as the people next to them). Likewise, some films were so well-made a reviewer would have looked a hack if he or she was seen to criticise a film the quality of which was obvious to any ordinary viewer; and, again, no doubt communists liked to be entertained like anyone else. Additionally, while Hollywood films were seen in general as propaganda tools of Western capitalism, a significant number, when seen or presented in a certain way, could be used as counter-propaganda— they showed things that were wrong with capitalism, especially US capitalism, or they showed precisely the sort of inequalities, oppressions, or social tensions that the communist movement sought to highlight, both in Indonesia and elsewhere.

Communist bloc ﬁlms? Of Course They’re Good!

If Hollywood films were (officially, at least) the byword in what films should not be, then films from the Communist Bloc should surely provide positive models for Indonesian cinema. But there was a problem—not many such films made it to Indonesia, and several that did were only shown with English or Dutch sub-titles.82 During the period of our study, eleven films from the Communist Bloc were discussed in Kebudajaan. They were (in order of

82Njoto, for example, complained that the Soviet film Akademikus Pavloff did not have subtitles. Given the fanfare around the Indonesian subtitles for Glinka, it seems likely that most (possibly all) of the other Communist Bloc films listed in this section were screened without Indonesian subtitles. See the footnote on page 224 for references to Kebudajaan articles discussing Glinka. COMMUNIST BLOC FILMS? OF COURSE THEY’RE GOOD! 223 appearance in Harian Rakjat):

• Immer Bereit (East Germany) (1950) [1952]83 • Akademikus Pavloﬀ (USSR) [1952] • On the Circus Arena84(USSR) (1951) [1953] • Partisan*85 (USSR) [1953] • Pembangun Kolchoz* (USSR) (1936?) [1953] 86 • Akrobat2 Tiongkok Baru87 (USSR/China) (1951) [1953] • Tanaman dan Air* (Czechoslovakia) [1953] • Glinka88 (USSR) (1946) [1953] • Valahol Europaban (Hungary) (1947) [1955] • The Golden Antilope* (USSR) (1954) [1955] • Kundjungan Nehru Ke Sovjet Uni* (USSR) (1954) [1955]

Of these eleven, six were discussed positively, and the other ﬁve were only mentioned in passing.89

83Titles are given as they appear in Kebudajaan. This sometimes means a title in the original language, sometimes in Indonesian, and sometimes in English. The years given in round brackets are original US release dates (if known), those in square brackets are the year they were first reviewed/discussed in Kebudajaan 84Na-arene-tsirka, usually given as In the Circus Arena 85Film titles marked with asterisks were only mentioned in passing. 86Partisan and Pembangun Kolchoz are mentioned in passing in the review of On the Circus Arena (“Resensi Film: On the Circus Arena” HR 25/4/53). They were probably actually shown in 1951 or 1952. Pembangun Kolchoz may be the 1936 film Posledniy Tabor. 87Akrobat2 Tiongkok Baru and On the Circus Arena may actually be separate parts of the same film. They were shown together at the only showing discussed in Kebudajaan, and Joebaar Ajoeb made a special point about how the friendliness and solidarity of the two groups of performers (Soviet and Chinese) showed that under socialism different peoples could get along without prejudice. This only makes sense if both appear in the same film. 88Also known as The Great Glinka in the USA. 89Those only mentioned in passing are: - Partisan mentioned in “Resensi Film: On the Circus Arena” HR 25/4/53; - Pembangun Kolchoz mentioned in ibid. - Tanaman dan Air, mentioned in “Delegasi Film Tjeko di London” HR 7/11/53; - The Golden Antilope, mentioned in “Film Sovjet di ‘Podium”’ HR 12/11/55; - Kundjungan Nehru ke Sovjet Uni mentioned in “Film Sovjet di ‘Podium”’ HR 224 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

Of the six discussed positively, only three seem to have been something of a “hit”, being mentioned more than once in Kebudajaan. Two of these three involved filming physical performance: On the Circus Arena90 and Akrobat2 Tiongkok Baru91, and indeed played together, at least initially.92 Kebudajaan is enthusiastic about both films, and endeavours to present the skill and technical mastery displayed in the films as reflecting the superiority of the Stalinist system. Joebaar Ajoeb writes that there is individual freedom in the USSR, otherwise the “skill expertise, and human simplicity” (ketjakapan, keahlian dan kesederhanaan jang humaan) of the performers would not be possible. He is also quick to point out that the USSR is the only country in the world that has established a government sponsored “Circus Academy”.93 Another Communist bloc film that is centred around physical performance is Immer Bereit, an East German film about the 1950 World Youth Festival in Berlin that was shown by IPPI (Ikatan Pemuda Peladjar Indonesia), and which prominently features the sort of mass gymnastics (senam) that so impressed Sudjojono when he attended the festival.94 Perhaps the most celebrated Communist bloc film, however, was the bio- pic Glinka. It featured in four articles, three written by Njoto, and was noted for having Indonesian subtitles.95 It portrays the life of pioneering Russian composer Mikhail Glinka. Njoto lauds Glinka for his interest in folk music,

12/11/55; Both Kundjungan and The Golden Antilope were shown privately by the Soviet ambassador without Indonesian sub-titles.

90On the Circus Arena is mentioned in Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 25/4/53 and and “Resensi Film: On the Circus Arena” in the same issue of Kebudajaan. 91Akrobat2 Tiongkok Baru is mentioned in Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 25/4/53 and “Resensi Film: On the Circus Arena” in the same issue of Kebudajaan, as well as Tina Rosa “Film Minggu Ini” HR 14/11/53, and “Film Minggu Ini” HR 21/11/53. 92See “Resensi Film: On the Circus Arena” HR 25/4/53, and Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 25/4/53. 93Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 25/4/53. 94Njoto [I.] “Immer Bereit” HR 6/9/52. 95The articles were: - Tina Rosa “Film Minggu Ini” HR 14-11-53; - Njoto “Film Baru: Glinka” HR 28/11/53; - Njoto [I.] “Komponis Glinka: Film realis jang tjemerlang” HR 13/2/54; - Njoto [Iramani] “Giuseppe Verde: sebuah film jang berbekas dalam” HR 12/11/55. COMMUNIST BLOC FILMS? OF COURSE THEY’RE GOOD! 225 and his determination to find a Russian idiom for his music. He also uses the film as a counterpoint to Hollywood bio-pics and Hollywood films in general. Another Soviet bio-pic that got Njoto’s stamp of approval was Akademikus Pavloff, which depicted the life of the famous scientist, I.P. Pavlov. Njoto endeavours to promote the film, but makes it sound like a real piece of ha- giography. Njoto informs us that Pavloff is depicted as “a scholar who is unforgiving to his opponents, but is always loving to his family, friends, students and other people”.96 As with Glinka, Njoto compares the Soviet bio-pic to Hollywood equivalents, saying that it “really cannot be compared to the superficial and irresponsible biographical films that we often see from Hollywood”.97 The only fiction-based Communist bloc film to be discussed at any length was the Hungarian classic Valahol Európában (“Somewhere in Europe”), which, using an approach similar to the Italian neo-realists, tells the story of a meeting between a desperate gang of homeless children and a shell-shocked musician in a ruined castle in the aftermath of World War Two. Again, Njoto is the reviewer (under his regular nom de plume “Iramani”).98 Written in the lead up to PKI’s outstanding electoral success in the parliamentary election of September 1955, the review makes no attempt to compare Valahol Eu- ropaban favourably with Hollywood films, nor to put it forward as evidence of freedom in the Communist Bloc. Njoto simply enthusiastically retells the plot and finishes with:

Sungguh sebuah ﬁlm jang harus dilihat. Oleh semua! Djuga, dan terutama oleh seniman2 ﬁlm kita: kita harus banjak menimba peladjaran dari “Valahol Europaban”.

You must see this ﬁlm. Everyone! Especially our ﬁlm artists: we have a lot to learn from “Valahol Europaban”.99

96Kita diperkenalkan dengan Pavloff, sardjana jang tak kenal ampun terhadap musuh2nja, keras, tetapi selalu sajang kepada keluarga, sahabat2, murid2 dan sesamanja. Njoto [“N.”] “Akademikus Pavloff” HR 20/9/52. 97Sungguh “Akademikus Pavloff” ini bukan bandingan bagi film2 biografi jang dangkal dan tidak bertanggungdjawab seperti jang sering kita lihat dari Hollywood. Ibid. 98Njoto [Iramani] “Valahol Europaban” HR 9/4/55 99ibid. 226 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

This apparent low level of interest in “Valahol Europaban” seems surprising for a number of reasons. Firstly there are the obvious parallels with the Italian films of which writers in Kebudajaan (Njoto amongst them) were so enamoured, and then there is the fact that it was not only a film officially commissioned by the Hungarian Communist Party, but was also well regarded in Western Europe (and is now considered a classic of European cinema).100

Communist Bloc Cinema as a Model?

While writers in Kebudajaan were enthusiastic about ﬁlms from the communist bloc, they do not seem to have systematically sought to present them as a model for Indonesia. Indeed they clearly overlooked an obvious opportunity when Valahol Európában came to Indonesia. Of course, pursuing such a strategy would have been diﬃcult, anyway, since so few communist bloc movies made it to Indonesia in this period. And when they did make it to Indonesia, audiences most often had limited access to them, both through language barriers, and through limited distribution.

Hollywood provided Indonesian (and global) audiences with a number and variety of ﬁlms with which the cinema of the Communist bloc could not hope to compete (and with which they did not seek to compete). For all the rhetoric about Hollywood, and the praising of a small group of Communist bloc ﬁlms, Kebudajaan’s engagement with US cinema was clearly deeper and more sophisticated than it was with the cinema of the countries from which its leadership sought political and economic inspiration.

100Indeed it is the only ﬁlm discussed in this section that is still available on DVD under an English title, complete with sub-titles. Portuges (2012, p. 101-102) gives some further information and background on the ﬁlm. ALTERNATIVE FOREIGN MODELS 227 Alternative Foreign Models: Asia, Britain, and Italy

Absent Friends? Asian Cinema in Kebudajaan

During the entire period only three Asian films101 were mentioned in Kebu- dajaan. One film, Raj Kapoor’s classic Awara (1951) is only mentioned in passing102, and the reviewer of the Malayan film Arjuna (1954) was decidedly unimpressed.103 She argued that the film’s plot was “cliché”, the dancing “raped” the traditional dance of the region, and the performances of the actors were “stilted” (kaku). The one Indian film to get significant attention was another Raj Kapoor classic, Boot Polish (1954).104, but even here, the verdict is mixed: Banjak film2 India jang sekarang mentjoba memakai realisme sebagai tjara pengutaraan apa jang sedang terdjadi di India sekarang ini. . . “Boot Polish”. . . adalah salah satu jang termasuk golongan jang gagal, meskipun film ini pantas kita lihat. Many Indian films are now trying to use realism as a way of expressing what is happening in India at the moment. . . “Boot Polish” is amongst those that have failed in this, but is still a film to watch.105 The list of things the reviewer does not like about the film is quite long: the story is developed too slowly; some of the songs are too artificial; the film does not show any mass action; the ending is politically poor and artificial (the two orphans who are the central characters are adopted by a rich phi- lanthropist). But many of the scenes are “funny and interesting”, and many 101Excluding Akrobat2 Tiongkok Baru which was a joint USSR/China production, with the Soviets playing the dominant filming role. 102It is mentioned in the introduction to Raj Kapoor “Film harus mentjerminkan perobahan bentuk sosial dewasa ini” HR 17/9/55. 103“Film” HR 20/3/54. 104“Film: Boot Polish” HR 1/8/55. This Film is also mentioned in the introduction to an essay by Kapoor, “Film harus mentjerminkan perobahan bentuk sosial dewasa ini” HR 17/9/55. Khubchandani (2003) gives an introduction to Kapoor’s life and work, including some detail on both Boot Polish and Awara. 105Ibid. 228 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME of the songs seem to have a theme of socialism (with talk of “a new world”, “a new dawn”, etc.).106

British Cinema: Little Hollywood?

Four British films were reviewed in Kebudajaan, but only three of these were actually recognised by the reviewer as being British (Quartet, 1948, The Man Who Watched Trains Go By 107, 1952, and Romeo and Juliet, 1954)108. As a result of McCarthyism in the US, a fifth film was made in London by an American, based on an American story, with an American lead (Give Us This Day (1949), and was treated as an American film in Kebudajaan. The three remaining films clearly received more attention in the supplement than the Asian films discussed above, although the attitude of the Kebudajaan reviewers was ambivalent. Like US films, British films were the product of a suspect society—a major Western capitalist power and, at the time, still the world’s greatest colonial power. Nevertheless, British films do seem to have been popular, and competed to some extent with Hollywood. At times British cinema is set in opposition to that of Hollywood. The film Quartet, based on four Somerset Maugham short stories, is said to be “still better and more entertaining than those really superficial Hollywood films”.109 Arthur Rank, the major British film-maker, however, is said to be somewhat “infected by Hollywood fashion with its sex appeal [original in English] and all of its excesses and overindulgences”.110 Thus British cinema was presented as an alternative to “Hollywood”. British cinema was infected by Hollywood (i.e. it is not identical to Hol- lywood). When criticising the Hollywood film The Juggler, the reviewer complains that the relationship between the male and female lead “feels too

106ibid. 107Released in the USA in 1953 as The Paris Express 108A fourth, The True Story of Lili Marlene (1944) was treated as an American film. 109toh lebih baik dan lebih segar daripada film2 Hollywood yang sangat dangkal. Sas. “Quartet” HR 13/9/52 110kemasukan mode Hollywood dengan sex appeal dan segala-gala jang serba keterlaluan dan berlebih-lebihan. “Film” HR 3/4/54. ALTERNATIVE FOREIGN MODELS 229 forced” (terasa terlalu geforceerd). She goes on to argue: “this is the difference between British and Italian films, and Hollywood films”.111 Two of the three British films are given mixed reviews, but seem to be recommended, overall. On Quartet, the reviewer comments, “We see the refreshing humour of Maugham, typical of the English”112, but he then goes on to add:

Maugham ini baik, tetapi ia hanja terbatas pada pelukisan2 watak sadja. Pelukisan latarbelakang sosial. . . hampir samasekali tidak ada.

Maugham is good, but he is limited to the portrayal of individual character. There is almost no. . . portrayal of social context at all.113

The Man Who Watched Trains Go By was said to be “not amongst the best films, but not disappointing, either”.114. Claude Rains as the leading man is praised, as is the cinematography, which “included a lot of outdoor filming, which is very successful”115 (the film was in colour, and included many scenes of Paris). The most praise, however, was reserved for Romeo and Juliet (1954).116 This seems almost to be as much because of the nationality of the Direc- tor and screenwriter (the Italian Renato Castellani) as anything else: “even though it has been produced by Arthur Rank, actually it has a style of production and “soul” that is Italian”.117 This brings us to the national cinema

111inilah bedanja film2 Inggris dan Itali dengan film Amerika. “Film” HR 10/4/54. 112Kita merasakan kesegaran humor Maugham yang typis Inggeris ini. Sas. “Quartet” HR 13/9/52 113ibid. 114tidaklah termasuk hasil terlalu baik, tetapi sungguhpun demikian tidaklah begitu mengetjewakan. “Film” HR 3/4/54. 115banyak didalamnja terselipkan pemotretan2 diluar studio jang berhasil baik. Ibid. 116“Romeo dan Julia” HR 9/4/54. 117Dari keseluruhan film itu, dapat dirasakan bahwa meskipun Romeo dan Julia ini dihasilkan oleh Arthur Rank, tetapi sebenarnja tjara mendjadikan dan “djiwanja” adalah Italia. Ibid. normally the film is credited as being a co-production, since it was also filmed in Italy, the screenplay was written by an Italian, the direction was by the same, and the cast was a mix of both nationalities. 230 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME that does seem to have provided critics in Kebudajaan with a model for the development of the Indonesian industry: Italy.

Italian Neo-Realism: The Real Alternative?

Counting Romeo and Juliet (released as Giulietta e Romeo in Italy in 1954), twelve Italian ﬁlms are mentioned in Kebudajaan in our period. The other eleven are:

• Carmela (1942) [1952]118 • Pentjuri Sepeda (Ladri di Biciclette) (1948) [1952] • Rome 11 O’Clock (Roma Ore 11 )119 (1952) [1954] • Our Daily Bread*120 (1950?) [1954] • Bitter Rice (Riso Amaro) (1949) [1954] • The Wolf of Sila (Il Lupo della Sila) (1949) [1954] • Anni Diﬃcili* (1948) [1954] • Esok Sudah Terlambat (Domani è Troppo Tardi) (1950) [1954] • Il Cappotto (1952) [1955] • La Strada* (1954) [1955] • Guiseppe Verdi (1953) [1955]

118UK/US release dates, where known, are given in round brackets, while the year the film was first discussed in Kebudajaan is given in square brackets. UK/US release dates are given since these seem to be the versions that make their way to Indonesia. It seems likely that where there were subtitles, these would have been based on an English language release. In the case of Carmela, the first date here (1942) is the year of the original production. 119Where the title is given in two languages, the first is as presented in Kebudajaan and the second is the original Italian title. 120Films marked with asterisks are mentioned in passing. It is difficult to work out which film “Our Daily Bread” is referring to. There seem to be three possibilities, since it is clearly identified as a de Santis film: Giorni di Gloria (“Days of Glory”) (1945), Caccia Tragica (“Tragic Hunt”) (1947), or Non c’è Pace tra Gli Ulivi (“No Peace among the Olive Trees”) (1950). The last title might be the most likely candidate. It is clearly identified as a de Santis film in “Rome 11 o’clock” HR 13/02/54. It is also possible that this is referring to the American-British film Give Us This Day, which was set in New York’s “Little Italy”. But the reference to de Santis would be difficult to explain in that case. ALTERNATIVE FOREIGN MODELS 231

Like the communist Bloc films, none of the Italian films are presented negatively. Indeed, in all but two cases, whenever an Italian film is mentioned, it is presented as something of a model. In the cases where some criticism is made of a film (Giuseppe Verdi and Carmela), the overall presentation of the film is still positive.121 The latter film produced the first review in Kebudajaan to which this study had access. But the way “Tina Rosa” begins her review is telling: “Another Italian film!”122, she exclaims. She goes on to talk enthusiastically about Vittorio de Sica’s Pentjuri Sepeda (Bicycle Thieves, Ladri di biciclette), claiming that the film “has taken out second place. . . amongst all the films in this half century”123, without making it clear which film has taken out “first place”. She goes on to say that “even though we know that not all films from a particular country will always be good, our admiration for Vit- torio de Sica has made us have unrealistic expectations of every Italian film . . . ”.124 Nevertheless, she does have a criticism of Carmela—that although it is a “good psychological story”, it “almost completely lacks social context”.125 But, at least for Tina Rosa, technical excellence is enough in this case:

Tetapi berbitjara tentang pemotretan, ﬁlm ‘Carmela’ adalah be- nar2 ﬁlm Italia: banjak, bahkan praktis semua opnama dilakukan diluar studio, realis, dan makaitu menjebabkan kita lupa bahwa kita duduk digedung bioskop, dan bukannja dipulau Sisilia ditahun 1893!

But if we talk about cinematography, the film “Carmela” is really an Italian film [note that “Italian film” and “good film” are synonymous!]: there are a lot of scenes, practically all of them, which were filmed outside the studio, they are realistic, and because of

121Tina Rosa “Carmela” HR 6/9/52; Njoto [Iramani] “Giuseppe Verdi: sebuah film jang berbekas dalam” HR 12/11/55. 122Lagi sebuah film Italia! Tina Rosa “Carmela” HR 6/9/52 123merebut tempat kedua. . . diantara semua film dalam setengah abad ini. 124Dan meskipun kita tahu bahwa tidak semua film dari sesuatu negeri selalu baik, tetapi kekaguman kita akan Vitorrio de Sica telah mendjadikan kita menaruh harapan jang ber- lebih2an kepada setiap film Italia. . . (ibid.). 125Sebagai sebuah tjeritera psikologi “Carmela” ini baik, tetapi hampir2 tak tampak sama sekali latarbelakang sosialnja. Ibid. 232 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

that we forget that we are sitting in a cinema, and not on the island of Sicily in the year 1893! 126

While Carmela is the first Italian film reviewed in the period covered by this study, Guiseppe Verdi is the last. Like Carmela, it receives a slightly mixed review. The reviewer, Njoto, compares it to two other bio-pics about famous composers: the Hollywood production Chopin (discussed briefly on page 207), and the Soviet film Glinka. Njoto’s complaint about Giuseppe Verdi is a common one in the pages of Kebudajaan: too much romance. “But, on the other hand, it still covered something of his relationship to society, and even to revolution”.127 Njoto also comments favourably on the music, and ends by sighing: “If only our youth liked films like this one and not show [original in English] films . . . ”128. Vittorio de Sica’s Bicycle Thieves gets several mentions in Kebudajaan during our period129, but the film appears to have been released in Indonesia somewhat earlier. By late 1952, as we saw above (on the preceding page), it seems to have been functioning as something of a role model. Another Italian film that was something of a role model, and was most definitely released in the period is “Rome, 11 O’Clock”. This was written and directed by a second “star” of Kebudajaan, Giuseppe de Santis. By the time of the review of Rome, 11 O’Clock 130 de Santis’ films Our Daily Bread and Bitter Rice also seem to have the status of movies against which others should be judged.131 The review of Rome is substantial, and the film is presented as a great success. The plot is based on an actual event in late 1940s Italy, when the weight of hundreds of women crowding an office to apply for one secretarial position made a staircase collapse, killing one woman and injuring dozens of others. According to the reviewer “Giuseppe de Santis successfully depicts

126ibid. The story actually takes place on a non-existent island in the Sicilian Channel. 127Njoto [Iramani] “Giuseppe Verdi: sebuah film jang berbekas dalam” HR 12/11/55 128Andaikan pemuda2 kita menjukai film jang begini dan bukan film2 show . . . . ibid. 129Tina Rosa “Carmela” HR 6/9/52; “Rome, 11 o’clock” HR 13/2/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Sebuah tantangan” HR 27/3/54. 130Released in the US as Rome 11:00. 131“Rome, 11 o’clock” HR 13/2/54. ALTERNATIVE FOREIGN MODELS 233 these events in a way that is moving and also makes the audience angry at the cruelty of the unemployment and poverty that exists over there”.132 She is also careful to place it in something of an emerging pantheon of Italian neo-realist films that might be used as appropriate models:

Seperti halnja beberapa film Italia jang sudah dikenal di Indonesia (The Wolf of Sila, Pentjuri Sepeda, Our daily bread, Anni difficili), djuga film ini menggambarkan kehidupan sehari-hari dari rakjat Italia, dengan segala kedjelekan2, kekotoran, kemelaratan dan penderitaan2 mereka. Tetapi disamping itu film ini djuga mengandung humor.

Just as in several other Italian films with which we are familiar with in Indonesia (The Wolf of Sica, Bicycle Thieves, Our daily bread, Anni Difficili), this film portrays the everyday life of the people of Italy, with all its ugliness, dirt, poverty, and suffering. But also the film has humour. 133

The reviewer is impressed at the variety of women portrayed:

Diantara gadis2 itu ada jang djadi pelatjur, ada isteri setia jang suaminja tidak punja pekerdjaan, gadis desa, anak pembesar jang mendjadi melarat.

Amongst the young women there is a woman who has become a prostitute, a loyal wife with an unemployed husband, a village girl, the daughter of a big shot who has gone bust. 134

She is also touched by the fact that:

de Santis menggambarkan bagaimana gadis2 ini saling pindjam memindjam sepatu, tas, dan bagaimana kaus kakinja jang robek2 dsb. Djuga dengan halus diselipkannja adegan2 pertjintaan, jang

132Giuseppe de Santis berhasil menggambarkan kedjadian ini dengan amat mengharukan dan djuga membikin marah penonton akan kedjamnja pengangguran dan kemelaratan jang berlaku disana. Ibid. 133ibid. 134ibid. 234 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

semuanja itu membikin ﬁlm ini hidup, dan meninggalkan kesan jang dalam.

de Santis shows how the young women borrow each other’s shoes and handbags, as well as how their stockings are torn, etc. Ro- mantic scenes are even subtly worked in, which all makes this ﬁlm live, and leaves a deep impression.135

This last sentence is especially telling, given how often “romance” (pertjintaan) in ﬁlms is the subject of criticism in Kebudajaan reviews.136 Just over a month later, Njoto reviews Léonide Moguy’s Italian production Esok sudah terlambat 137, which had already had signiﬁcant success in the US.138 Njoto begins by saying:

Bukan baru sekali-dua kita meresensi sesuatu film sampai dua, dan kadang2 tiga kali. Pada umumnja bukan film jang setengah2: [sic] atau film jang djelek sekali, atau film jang baik benar. „The Desert Fox” tergolong pada jang pertama, sedang kebanjakan film2 Sovjet dan Italia misalnja, tergolong pada jang kedua.

It is not just once or twice that I have reviewed a film twice or even three times. Usually it is not a mediocre film, [it is a] film that is really bad, or really good. “The Desert Fox” is in the former category, while Soviet and Italian films, for example, are in the latter category. 139

The article, which is substantial and accompanied by a photograph of Pier Angeli in the film, is clearly holding up the film, and Italian films in general, as a model:

135ibid. 136The reviewer also carefully notes that the ﬁlm has subtitles in Dutch and Indonesian. 137English: Tomorrow is Too Late (1950) 138It apparently had the largest New York opening for an Italian ﬁlm until La Dolcé Vita, according to imdb.com (accessed 30/10/13). 139Njoto [Iramani] “Sebuah tantangan” HR 27/3/54. ALTERNATIVE FOREIGN MODELS 235

Didalam keributan teori, mereka jang menolak realisme selalu mengedjek se-akan2 sesuatu tjiptaan seni jang membitjarakan kehidupan jang kongkrit, kehidupan pahit se-hari2, mesti tidak bernilai. Tetapi “Esok sudah terlambat”, seperti halnja kebanjakan film2 Italia—sebutlah satu persatu: Pentjuri Sepeda, Beras Pahit, Roma djam 11, dll.—melenjapkan otjehan itu seperti tjetusan petasan disiram air. . . “Esok sudah terlambat” adalah film jang sederhana, ja, sederhana sekali, artinja, membitjarakan hal2 jang sesungguhnja hidup dan hangat didalam masjarakat. Dan: bukan sesuatu jang hangat hanja di Italia, tetapi di negeri kapitalis, negeri2 djadjahan dan setengah-djadjahan, dimana infiltrasi “Amer- ican way of life” menjusup.

In theoretical arguments, those who reject realism always ridicule it, as if a work of art that examines concrete experience, the bitter experience of everyday life, cannot be of value. But “Tomorrow is too Late”, as with most Italian films—Bicycle Thieves, Bitter Rice, Rome 11 O’clock, to name a few—extinguishes that chatter like water dousing fire-crackers . . . “Tomorrow is too Late” is a simple film, very simple actually, meaning it examines things that have real life and importance in society, and not just in Italy, but in all capitalist countries, in colonial countries, and in semi-colonial countries, wherever the “American way of life” has infiltrated.”.140

He goes on:

Sungguh bodoh kita djika tidak menarik peladjaran se-banjak2nja dari ﬁlm Italia ini. Maksud kita bukan hanja didalam isi, tetapi djuga dalam pemilihan tema dan dalam pengolahannja serta dalam teknik pemﬁlman.

We would be really foolish if we do not learn as much as we can from this Italian ﬁlm. And I do not mean just its content, but 140ibid. 236 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

also how its themes are chosen, how they are expressed, and in its cinematographic techniques.141

He also reports that Esok sudah terlambat had been playing to full houses in Djakarta for more than three weeks at the time of writing.142 Almost a year later, Kebudajaan, reported that the newly remodelled Zaman Baru (the official organ of Lekra) was running a special report on Italian film.143 A month later it reported that an Italian film festival was being held, and that Il Cappotto (“The Overcoat”, 1952) was being shown as part of the festival.144 Based on a Gogol short story, it follows a low level civil servant who saves to buy a coat that he feels makes him more imposing, and which gives him confidence. But the coat is stolen, and that sends him mad. Like other Italian films it was well received, with the reviewer quoting an audience member as saying “It feels like the whole of this film penetrates deeply, and that we will be thinking back for a long time on the civil servant who lost his coat”.145

Why was Italian Cinema a Model?

It appears, then, that Italian Cinema of the late 1940s and early 1950s, suffused with the neo-realist trend, was something of a model for the Indonesian communist film critics in Kebudajaan in the early 1950s. What was it that these writers saw in the work of film-makers on the other side of the world, in a society that would usually be seen as radically different from their own? We could begin by pointing to some broad social similarities that may not be superficially visible. Both countries were recovering from a war that ravaged the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, often right down to

141ibid. 142ibid. 143“Zaman Baru” HR 5/2/55 144Fellini’s La Strada (“The Road”, 1954) was being shown at the same festival. “Film: Il Cappotto” HR 5/3/55. 145Rasanja, seluruh isi film itu meresap dalam, dan kita kan lama terkenang kepada pegawai kantor kotapradja jang kehilangan badju mantelnja itu. . . Ibid. WHY WAS ITALIAN CINEMA A MODEL? 237 village level. In Indonesia this was followed by further years of a National Revolution. While war in Italy was preceded by the power of one kind of authoritarianism, Italian fascism, in Indonesia it was preceded by the authoritarian rule of Dutch colonialism. Following the war (and in Indonesia’s case, its revolutionary aftermath), both societies experienced a somewhat fragmentary liberal democracy—Italy for the first time in more than two decades, Indonesia for the first time ever. In these emerging democracies, both countries had significant communist parties with a parliamentary focus and substantial weight in society. Neither party was a party of state, and both parties relied on their ability to attract voluntary support to grow. In this situation, it is not unnatural that both movements might seek to have similar relationships to their respective national cultures: an active, but open relationship. Not only this, but both faced similar, although clearly not identical, challenges in relating to their respective national cultures. While the PCI (Italian Communist Party) sought to remodel, reinvent, and modernise Italian national culture in the aftermath of more than two decades of fascist rule and the abolition of the monarchy, the PKI sought to build a new national culture based on national liberation. Both movements also existed in environments suffused with still vibrant forms of folk culture, but also shared the global setting of an advancing international commercial mass culture, at the vanguard of which stood the cultural products of the United States. Once viewed in this context, it is perhaps not as surprising that Indonesian communist movement critics should be attracted to a film industry inspired by a movement with similar politics, which faced similar challenges.146 Moreover, it makes sense that the “organic” culture of Italian cinema ap- pealed more to Indonesian communists (and other Indonesians), rather than the stultified state-approved cinema of the communist bloc countries. Italian neo-realist films were both socio-political interventions and commercial enterprises. They actively sought the approval of mass audiences, rather than an elite based in the party of power and the state bureaucracy. While the

146For an account of how the Italian communist movement sought to address these issues in the 1940s and 1950s see Grundle (2000, Chapter 1-3). 238 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME praise for films like Glinka and On the Circus Arena is clearly sincere, it tellingly lacks the enthusiasm of reactions to Italian cinema. This reflects the independent vitality of the Italian films themselves.147 As we have seen, a key criticism in Kebudajaan of US films, as well as films from other countries (including Indonesia) was that they lacked “reality”.148 Being realistic meant (amongst other things) depicting “everyday life” (kehidupan sehari-hari). Films were either praised for doing this, or criticised for failing to do so.149 It could also mean being “simple” (sederhana), a word that has stronger, more positive overtones in Indonesian than its equivalent has in English.150 The flipside of this was the “show” or sensationalist elements of some films, particularly those from Hollywood.151 A related criticism was that formulaic elements, above all romance, were forced into films.152 A key way of avoiding this artificial feel for a film, according to the reviewer in Kebudajaan, was the shooting of scenes outside the studio,

147Indonesian communists were not the only ones enthusiastic about Italian Neo-Realist cinema—it was an international phenomenon. Martin Scorsese, for example, speaks of the strong influence that this cinema had on him as a young boy and subsequently on his film-making. See Schoonover (2012, p. 109-11) and Wilson and Ruberto (2007, p. 192). For an over view of Italian neo-realism see Haaland (2012) and Bondanella (1983, Ch. 2-4). The essays in Giovacchini and Sklar (2012) and Wilson and Ruberto (2007) give a sense of the global reach of Italian neo-realism—a topic clearly under-researched in the case of Indonesia. 148So, for example, Mr. Imperium (discussed on page 214) is described by Njoto as being “very unrealistic” (sangat irriil). On the flipside, Give Us This Day is praised for being a “realistic film” (film realis) (see the discussion on page 219). See Njoto [Iramani] “Mr. Imperium” HR 8/11/52, Tina Rosa “Film Minggu Ini” HR 14/11/53. 149There has already been significant discussion of this earlier in this chapter. For example Inferno, a film that is otherwise reviewed positively, is criticised for having a plot that is “too artificial, it seems distant from the reality of everyday life” (terlalu dicari2 sehingga terasa djauh daripada kenjataan penghidupan sehari-hari).“Film” HR 13/3/54. 150We might remember that one of the praiseworthy traits of the performers in On the Circus Arena was that they showed “human simplicity” (kesederhanaan yang humaan). See the discussion on page 224 above. Joebaar Ajoeb “Surat Minggu Ini” HR 25/4/53. We might also remember that some of Arthur Rank’s productions were praised for being films that were “sometimes simple, in their content, with this content taken from everyday human life” (kadang2 sederhana, dalam isinja, dan isinja mengambil dari kehidupan manusia sehari-hari). “Film” HR 3/4/54. 151So, The Toast of New Orleans, which got a positive review, is criticised for having too much of a “show” feel. See the comments on page 216. Sas. “The Toast of New Orleans” HR 25/10/52. 152See the discussions above, for example that on page 216. INDONESIAN CINEMA 239 something that always attracted praise.153 In all of these cases, Italian neo-realist cinema provided the film critics of Kebudajaan with a foil to the big budget commercial efforts of Hollywood, which dominated the market in Indonesia and globally.

Indonesian Cinema

Writers in Kebudajaan were doing two things when they reviewed foreign films. Firstly, they were discussing a popular cultural form, an art form that many of Harian Rakjat’s readers, or potential readers, might discuss in the natural course of everyday conversations. They were thereby intervening and seeking to insert their ideas into these conversations. Secondly, they were discussing a modern art form that might be an important part of the emerging national culture. Discussion of foreign films, therefore, could play an important role in shaping the development of a key part of national culture. It is clear that writers in Kebudajaan had ambivalent feelings, at best, about the Hollywood films that flooded the market during the period of our study. They represented a key cultural product of the imperialist power that the communist movement saw as its greatest enemy: the United States of America. The sheer weight of numbers of Hollywood films compared to those of other countries meant, however, that they could not simply be ignored, or just “panned”. Kebudajaan writers engaged with these films critically: often finding fault in them, in one case extending to a boycott of a film, but also praising them when elements could be identified that reinforced or invigorated ideas that the Indonesian communist movement favoured. However, the writers of Kebudajaan’s reviews also sought to find models that might play a more positive and consistent role in shaping Indonesia’s newly emerging national cinema. The limited number of communist bloc films that made their way to Indonesia during this period was insufficient to

153For example, The Man Who Watched Trains Go By is praised for this (see comments on page 229). “Film” HR 3/4/54. 240 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME do this. It seems that the Italian neo-realist films of the late 1940s and early 1950s in the very least went some way towards filling this gap. Now, however, we move on to how Kebudajaan received the limited number of Indonesian films released during the period of our study. By the early 1950s, cinema had become a dominant form of popular entertainment, especially for relatively well-off Indonesians (this might explain why Njoto felt that modern theatre was under threat from cinema, but folk forms, like dagelan and ludruk, were not).154 But Indonesian cinema was not in a healthy state. During the period covered by this study, only nine Indonesian films are mentioned, and three of those are only mentioned in passing in the review of Krisis (1953).155 These were (in order of appearance in Kebudajaan):

• Kafedo (1953) • Kassan (1953) • Machluk Raksasa (1953) • Krisis (1953) • Si Pintjang 156 (1951) • Enam djam di Djokja*157 (1951) • Rentjong dan Surat* (1953) • Antara Tugas dan Tjinta* (195?) • Pulang (1952)

154Sen (1994, Ch. 1) gives some background to this period of Indonesian cinema. Njoto wrote in the article “At the moment, cinema is putting pressure on theatre, but it won’t do so to Dagelan or Ludruk!”(Film buat sementara ini mendesak sandiwara tetapi film tidak akan mendesak Dagelan atau Ludruk!). Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” HR 11/10/52. 155Njoto [Iramani] “Krisis: belum berhasil mengatasi krisis” HR 17/7/54. 156Si Pintjang is mentioned at least twice during the period in Kebudajaan. Firstly in Njoto’s review of the Usmar Ismail/Perfini production Krisis (Njoto [Iramani] “Krisis: belum berhasil mengatasi krisis” HR 17/7/54), then in the Antara bulletin about the reception for the film Pulang in Czechoslovakia (Antara “Kritik2 thd. film PFN „Pulang” di Tjekoslowakia” HR 31/7/54). Nevertheless, all we really learn is that Si Pintjang is part of something of a new wave of cinema, and that it won a “special mention” at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival in Prague. 157Films marked with asterisks are mentioned in passing in the review of Krisis. Njoto [Iramani] “Krisis: belum berhasil mengatasi krisis” HR 17/7/54. INDONESIAN CINEMA 241

Of the five films that got significant attention, two (obviously commercial) films were poorly received by Kebudajaan. In late 1953, the Film Minggu Ini column reports that an Indonesian production, Kassan was showing.158 The film appears to have been a cheap fantasy based on the 1001 Nights. The reviewer comments:

Mudah dimengerti ﬁlm fantasy begini banjak mengalami kegagalan, terutama didalam teknik. Kapan dibuat ﬁlm2 tentang kehidupan se-hari2?

It is easy to see why a fantasy ﬁlm like this one is going to have many failings, especially on the technical side. When will ﬁlms be made about everyday life?159

This sentiment is repeated again the following week when another such film is being shown at the same cinema (the Rivoli). This time commenting on a film entitled “The Giant Creature” (Machluk Raksasa), the reviewer writes, with an almost audible sigh, “Again we ask, when will Indonesian films take their material and plots from the lives on ordinary people?”.160 The other three Indonesian films discussed in Kebudajaan in the period are received with different degrees of critical support (with some emphasis on the “critical” side of this equation). They are all discussed at some length.161 Two of the three films are productions of the “National Film Company”, Perfini 162, and the third of the “Film Artists’ Alliance” (Gabungan Artis Film).

158“Film Minggu Ini” HR 21/11/53. 159ibid. 160Sekali lagi kita bertanja kapan film2 Indonesia mengambil bahan dan cerita2nja dari kehidupan rakjat biasa? “Film Minggu Ini” HR 28/11/53. 161It is indicative that neither Kassan nor Machluk Raksasa appear in the online database of the Indonesian Centre for the Documentation of Art (Pusat Dokumentasi Seni). Antara Tugas dan Tjinta is also missing. The other six films all appear, four being listed as Perfini (National Film Company) films, one (Pulang) as being made by the “Film Artists’ Alliance” (Gabungan Artis Film), of which prominentLekra members Basuki Effendy and Kotot Sukardi were leading figures, and one as being made by the State Film Company (Perusahaan Film Negara)— Si Pintjang. 162Perfini = Perusahaan Film Nasional Indonesia 242 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

The first film discussed, although not the first film released, is the 1953 film, Kafedo, directed and co-written by Usmar Ismail. It is set in the Mentawai islands during the National Revolution. Although the general theme is agreeable, Joebaar Ajoeb, originally a West Sumatran like Usmar, finds the singing and dancing odd:

Terhadap tari dan njanji ini, orang jang pernah mengundjungi kepulauan Mentawai tentu akan betanja, bagaimana tari dan njanji Mentawai bisa membawa ingatan dan perasaan penonton ke Malaja?

Concerning the singing and dancing, a person who has been to the Mentawai islands would, of course, ask why it is that the dances and music of the Mentawais can bring our thoughts and feelings to Malaya? [i.e. they were clearly Malay, and not Mentawai- based]163

Ajoeb also had mixed feelings about the technical aspects of the ﬁlm:

Dalam hubungan teknik, terutama mengenai suara sebenarnja terdapat kemunduran walaupun banjak opname diluar studio jang berhasil mengagumkan perasaan. Dan Perﬁni tentu sadar bahwa dengan propaganda Kafedonja selama ini , masjarakat akan meminta lebih dari apa jang dihasilkan dalam Kafedo, apalagi sesudah Usmar Ismail kembali dari penindjauan luarnegerinja mengenai ﬁlm.

In its technical aspects, especially sound, it was actually worse than previous efforts, even though there was a lot of shooting outside the studio, which successfully amazed the senses. Perfini must, of course, realise that after its recent promotion of Kafedo, people will expect more than what has been offered in Kafedo, even more so since Usmar Ismail has returned from an overseas trip to study film. [Italics added]164

163Joebaar Ajoeb “Kafedo” HR 14/11/53. 164Ibid. INDONESIAN CINEMA 243

But he still ends on a positive note, saying that “Next time Perfini will obviously have more experience and a better knowledge of what it should be properly giving the people of Indonesia to consume”.165 Even the title of the next major review, of another Usmar Ismail/Perfini production, makes the mixed reception of the film clear: “Krisis: Does not overcome the crisis”.166 The reviewer, Njoto, begins by outlining the general features of this crisis:

Bahwa kehidupan film Indonesia terdjerembab didalam krisis, ini tak perlu didjelaskan lagi. Film-film asing, terutama Hollywood, mendesak industri film kita, sedangkan kebanjakan perusahaan film Indonesia sendiri masih sadja memberatkan pertimbangan- pertimbangan komersil dari pada pertimbangan2 kulturil. Dengan begini, kita tak akan keluar2 dari krisis jang melibat kita.

That the life of Indonesian cinema is trapped in a crisis does not need explanation anymore. Foreign films, especially Holly- wood films, threaten our film industry, while most Indonesian film companies still emphasise commercial concerns over cultural concerns. If we go on like this, we will never get out of the crisis that engulfs us.167

Njoto goes on to outline some symptoms of the crisis:

Salah satu penjakit dalam pembuatan ﬁlm Indonesia jalah bahwa dipakai suatu “dalil” jang rendah sekali: ﬁlm adalah sesuatu jang harus mengandung njanjian, lelutjon dan ...... perkelahian.

One of the diseases that afflicts the production of Indonesian films is that a really cheap “formula” is used: a film is something that must have songs, jokes and ...... fighting.168

165Kali yang akan datang Perﬁni tentu akan lebih berpengalaman dan akan lebih mengetahui makanan apa yang sewajarnya perlu diberikan kepada masyarakat Indonesia. Ibid. 166Njoto [Iramani] “Krisis: belum berhasil mengatasi krisis” HR 17/7/54. 167ibid. 168ibid. Dots in the original. 244 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

Krisis is to be welcomed, and its welcome is still clearly more positive than that given to Kafedo:

Kita gembira benar Perﬁni menjelesaikan ﬁlmnja jang baru: Kri- sis. . . Semangat Krisis semangat gembira, nafasnja nafas jg. segar2 ringan.

We are happy that Perfini has finished its new film: Krisis . . . The spirit of Krisis is a spirit of joy, it blows a light and refreshing wind.169

Njoto is pleased that the film makes a strong effort to draw out the social background of the story and characters.170 For this reason alone the film “should be joyfully welcomed”.171 But there are problems. The film is meant to be a satire, but:

Sebagai film jang dimaksudkan sebagai film satire terhadap peri- stiwa2 masjarakat, ia hanja mengemukakan gedjala2 masjarakat — banjak jang setjara tepat— tetapi ia tidak memberikan pemet- jahan. Kepada penontonnja sedikitpun tak digambarkan apa jang menjebabkan peristiwa2 itu. Bahkan film ini mengandung suatu kemungkinan jang membahajakan, jaitu timbulnja kesimpulan jang kontra-revolusioner: itulah gara2 revolusi!

As a ﬁlm that was made as a satire of problems in society, it only presents social manifestations [of the problems]—in many cases accurately—but it does not give any resolution. The audience is given no idea what might cause these problems. The ﬁlm could even imply a possibility that is dangerous, that is a counter-revolutionary conclusion: that’s all because of the revolution!172

Furthermore: 169ibid. 170latarbelakang sosial terasa benar. ibid. 171patut disambut gembira. ibid. 172ibid. INDONESIAN CINEMA 245

ﬁlm ini tidak djuga bebas dari pemaksaan2 jang tidak perlu. Perke- lahian jang terdjadi, rasanja lebih banjak didorong oleh ’dalil’ jang kita sebutkan diatas, daripada oleh keharusan djalannja tjerita. Tetapi jang paling gandjil ialah “parade sarong”, jang rupa2nja memang dipaksakan setjara djanggal sekali—, karena adegan itu ternjata advertensi Gabungan Koperasi Batik Indonesia!

the film is also not free of unnecessarily forced elements. There are fights, but it feels like these are mainly there due to the need to follow the “formula” we mentioned above, rather than the needs of the plot. But the most peculiar thing was the “parade of sarongs”, which it seems was forced on the film in the most awkward way. The scene in which it appears is actually an advertisement for the Indonesian Alliance of Batik Cooperatives!173

Njoto praises the acting, and is generally more impressed with the technical aspects of Krisis than was the case with Kafedo For example he praises improvements in sound and cinematography, while criticising the editing.174 He is also critical of the dialogue, which “still needs to be made more ﬂu- ent”175, but still sees the ﬁlm as progress:

Film ini betapapun, membawa tingkat ﬁlm kita naik setingkat. Tetapi sebagai suatu usaha mengatasi krisis ﬁlm, Krisis ini belum djuga berhasil!

Rupa-rupanja djalan didepan kita masih agak pandjang ......

Regardless, this ﬁlm takes our cinema along another step. But as an eﬀort to overcome the crisis in our cinema, Krisis is not quite there yet!

It seems that the road in front of us is still quite long ...... 176

173ibid. 174Pada montase ﬁlm ini masih bisa dilakukan kritik, tetapi soundnja tjukup baik, djuga pemotretan. Ibid. 175. . . masih harus diperlantjar . . . 176ibid. Dots in original. 246 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME

Pulang was the last Indonesian film written about at length in Kebu- dajaan during the period covered by this study. Like Si Pintjang 177, it was produced at the State Film Company studios at Jatinegara, and was released in 1952 (but apparently prior to the first date in our study of Harian Rakjat). The article about it is a report, written for the Antara state news agency. This means that it does not give direct insight into Indonesian communist criticisms and discussion of the film. However, it is published front-and-centre in Kebudajaan, complete with photograph, and it does report international criticisms of the film. The first thing reported was the fact that Pulang, like Si Pintjang before it, was being shown at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival in Prague, and had won a “special mention”. It then goes on to report on the festival’s showing of the film, followed by criticisms of the film, particularly from the Belgian critic, Francois Bolen. Apparently the film was well received, especially “if it is remembered that film production in Indonesia is still young”. Bolen is reported as saying that the film was “very interesting”, but then a series of his criticisms is listed: it was sometimes too slow, there wasn’t enough action; the lead actor “seemed stiff and his gestures were overdone”. Bolen then apparently stops himself: “his role was very difficult”, and overall his performance was “not disappointing”. He is full of praise, however, for the acting of Marliah Hardy, who plays the mother.178 Interestingly, the report then moves on to explanations of the film’s short- comings from film-maker (and close associate of Basuki Effendy), Kotot Sukardi:

Kotot Sukardi menerangkan bahwa ini terutama disebabkan adanja

177According to the Pusat Dokumentasi Seni it was produced by the Alliance of Film Artists (Gabungan Artis Film), which appears to have been close to Lekra. This could also be true, but without having the opportunity to see the film, for the purposes of this thesis it will be classified as a PFN (Perusahaan Film Negara) film. 178Antara “Kritik2 thd. film PFN ‘Pulang’ di Tjekoslowakia” HR 31/7/54. The quotes above are as follows: “if it is remembered that film production in Indonesia is still young” (kalau diingat masih mudanja produksi film di Indonesia); “very interesting” (sangat menarik); “seemed stiff and his gestures were overdone” (nampak kaku dan dilebih2kan mimiknja); “his role was very difficult”(peranannja sangat sukar); “not disappointing” (tidak mengetjewakan). THE COMMUNIST VISION FOR NATIONAL CINEMA 247

kekurangan2 alat dan kekurangan2 ahli2 dalam soal2 teknis lainnja. Umpamananja dalam mentjutji ﬁlm, kadang2 terpaksa memakai tangan sadja; karena hanja mempunjai sebuah mikrofon, maka kalau sedang ada konversasi mikrofon harus dipindahkan dari pembitjara jang seorang kepada jang lainnja, jang kadang2 menjebabkan adanja “lowongan” antara dialog2. . . Dalam atelier ﬁlm P.F.N. di Polonia terpaksa masih dipergunakan perlengkapan2 tua jang sebagian berasal dari Belgia, atau Perantjis, Australia, atau lainnja, tetapi mudah2an, demikian Kotot Sukardi, dalam studio P.F.N. jang baru jang kini sedang dibangun itu, kekuran- gan2 ini dapat kami atasi.

Kotot Sukardi explained that this is a result of the shortage of equipment and experts in other technical ﬁelds. For example, often ﬁlm has to be developed by hand; and because there is only one microphone, if there is a conversation the microphone has to be moved from one person to the next, so sometimes this leads to “spaces” in the dialogue. . . in the P.F.N. studios at Polonia we have been forced to use old equipment which comes partly from Belgium, partly from France, from Australia, and from other countries. Hopefully, according to Kotot Sukardi, these short- comings will be overcome at the new P.F.N. studios that are being built.179

The Communist Vision for National Cinema

Indonesian cinema was in a perilous state in early 1950s Indonesia. Worse still, from a Indonesian communist/Stalinist point of view, the national film market was flooded with products from the great enemy of the “socialist homeland”, the United States. Indonesian film-makers and actors struggled

179ibid. 248 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME with limited resources: in terms of equipment, in terms of financial backing, and in terms of experience and expertise. Kebudajaan gives us some insight into the practical details of the vision that cultural activists from the communist movement may have had for the development of national cinema in the early 1950s. Above all, it gives us a picture of what film critics in the supplement wanted Indonesian films to be like. This picture can be developed firstly from surveying communist reactions to foreign films. Since the general vision of Indonesia’s future was based on the Stalinist model represented by the Soviet Union, Eastern Europe, and China, it might seem logical that the communist vision of Indonesian cinema’s future would be based on the cinematic efforts of these countries. While films from the communist bloc were earnestly praised, they could not provide a model for such a future. Too few of these films made it to Indonesia, and fewer still seem to have found mass audiences. And they probably lacked the vitality of films coming from other countries, and so were unlikely to inspire substantial enthusiasm from Indonesian film-makers. By far the largest group of foreign films reviewed by Kebudajaan critics were from the United States, reflecting the dominance of Hollywood films in Indonesian cinemas. The reactions to, and discussions of, these films by these reviewers were complex. Despite a general anti-Hollywood ideology, and a lot of rhetoric about the immorality of Hollywood films, almost half of the films reviewed were presented in a relatively positive light, just as many as were presented in a generally negative light. The reasons for viewing Hollywood films badly were relatively straight- forward: films were either shallow and lacked social content; or they contained the wrong social content (i.e. they represented some kind of propaganda for US imperial interests). The reasons for viewing Hollywood films well is perhaps more telling. The first thing to be said is that reviewers were happy to praise a film for simply being well-made or entertaining, even if the film had no relevant social or political content. Of course, this was as long as there was no clear negative socio-political content in the film in question (e.g. the film did not extol the virtues of the “American Way of Life”, etc.). THE COMMUNIST VISION FOR NATIONAL CINEMA 249

Nevertheless, the most important virtue of Hollywood films that were praised by Kebudajaan was that they had appropriate social content. Broadly this meant one of two things: either they showed things that were wrong with Western capitalism (especially US capitalism); or they showed the sort of inequalities, oppressions, or social tensions that the communist movement sought to highlight. But Hollywood could never be the model for a new independent, anti- imperialist (hopefully “socialist”) Indonesian cinema. It was too inextricably linked to the main target of the propaganda of the international Stalinist movement, the United States. Since the cinematic products of the communist bloc were not up to the task, it seems that, at least in our short period, Italian neo-realist cinema seems to have filled the vacuum. Italian cinema was vital and compelling, and so represented an attractive and viable model for the communist cultural movement to promote. It supplied a stylistic, as well as a political model. Moreover, it provided Kebudajaan with a key point of contrast with Hollywood: Italian cinema was “realistic”; and Indonesian cinema should be, too. Kebudajaan writers identified a series of different broad features of the Italian cinema reaching Indonesia as compared to that from the US. Some of these were stylistic features, some were related to story and themes. For example, one thing that always impressed critics in the supplement was when scenes were shot outdoors, which was generally the case with Italian cinema, and often not the case with the big budget studio productions of Hollywood. Another element was that the Italian films depicted the lives of ordinary people, rather than the rich, or the fantastic characters of adventure stories. Italian cinema was said to be “simple” or “modest” (sederhana). It lacked pretensions, and did not seek to force formulaic elements into its plots (e.g. the near obligatory romantic interest of Hollywood films). Close study of Kebudajaan allows us to discover a lost relationship, that between Indonesian communism and Italian cinema, and it poses wider questions about the broader influence of Italian neo-realism in the Indonesian cinema of the pre-Suharto period. tet 250 CHAPTER 5. JAKARTA, HOLLYWOOD & ROME Chapter 6

“A Stimulus that must be Pursued”: Live Performing Arts and Communist Cultural Politics

Introduction

In the globalising mass culture of the 1950s, cinema was a cutting edge art form. Alongside popular music, it played a key role in spreading Western (especially American) mass culture around the world. The fact that Indone- sia was subject to this phenomenon is attested to, amongst other things, by the energetic opposition to this process by writers in Kebudajaan. As we saw in the previous chapter, this did not mean that the supplement’s writers ignored Hollywood films, or that they ignored cinema as a cultural form; quite the contrary—they sought to plot a path for the development of a new national cinema by critically engaging with Hollywood films, looking for alternative models (which they found in Italian neo-realism), organising cultural workers in the sector, and by lobbying for public support for the development of a national cinema. All of these efforts reflected the under-development of cinema in Indonesia— its shallow roots and still limited reach. It was a form that required significant capital investment and the development of new technical skills, hence the appeal to the state for support. Cinema was a form that was, for the most part, limited to cities and larger towns, and hence still had limited cultural reach

251 252 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

(although this was clearly changing). In this sense, the ideas put forward in Kebudajaan were largely aspirational. To a signiﬁcant extent they were concerned with goals in the medium to long term of national cultural development. Film was not a form that could be expected to play an important role in the development of progressive nationalist politics in the here and now. The development of an Indonesian “neo-realist” cinema was still a long way oﬀ. But there were other forms of art that were directly accessible to the movement, which were well established, and had wide and deep reach—forms that could deliver political messages all the way down to village level (which is not to say that writers in Kebudajaan were solely concerned with producing propaganda, but it is clear that they saw art as important in encouraging and developing political engagement amongst ordinary people). These forms came to the fore in the movement’s cultural events, such as cultural nights (which often ran alongside conferences and congresses) and rallies (especially in the lead up to the election). Kebudajaan gives us insight into these events by reporting on the various performances that comprised them, as well as through its writers’ reviews and critiques of such performances. In this chapter we will begin by looking at the structure of key examples of these events, before moving on to an examination of two key forms that were their central pillars: dance and popular theatre.

Where Art Meets Organisation: Cultural Nights

Cultural nights were a key meeting point for artists and activists, both providing opportunities for artists to explore ideas of how to develop politically engaged art and for activists to have their political experience enriched by the works exhibited or performed. The integration of political organisation and cultural production made political events more stimulating and attractive; it built, developed and maintained relationships between activists and artists; and it encouraged activists to enrich their political experience by becoming involved in artistic production—either directly as performers or creators, in support work (for example constructing stages or providing CULTURAL NIGHTS 253 electrical expertise), or simply as the audience for cultural products. There were at least seventeen reports of cultural nights published in Ke- budajaan between September 1952, and January 1955—roughly one for every six to seven issues of the supplement. These evenings were usually tied to organisational events (such as national union events), commemorations or celebrations of anniversaries1, welcoming delegations from overseas, or farewelling Indonesian delegations to international events. Often, especially for conferences, these performances were repeated over two or more nights (so when we speak of a “cultural night”, we may actually be speaking of two or more performances of the same or a similar programme).2 The vast majority of the cultural nights reported were in Jakarta (ten), with Medan the only other place mentioned for more than one event. This makes a detailed study of the reports biased towards the capital, but nevertheless Kebudajaan does provide us with interesting comparisons and contrasts between the Jakartan nights, the Medan events, and the only rural cultural night covered, which was held in the East Javanese village of Mo- josari. Many of the accounts of these nights give us an idea of the relevant evening’s programme. Comparisons across several evenings give us an impression of the general “cultural geography” of artistic expression in and around

1For example, the PKI’s birthday, Heroes’ Day, commemorating Rabinath Tagore, and commemorating the Indonesian composer Cornel Simandjuntak. 2The articles that discuss cultural nights are: Njoto [Iramani] “Immer Bereit” HR 6/9/52; “Jahja Jacoeb: Sembojan Amerika ‘perang adalah perdamaian’, ‘kemerdekaan adalah perbudakan” HR 3/10/52; Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” HR 11/10/52; S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52; S. W. Kuntjahjo “Diskusi tentang ‘Manusia Baru” HR 8/11/52; Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 22/11/52; Hardjakusuma “Lembaga Kesedjahteraan Buruh’ bikin rusak kesedjahteraa buruh: Tari gojang pinggang macam Hawaii adalah tanggung jawab menteri Tedjakusuma” HR 21/2/53; B. S. D. “Dua tarian Indonesia dalam malam kesenian Sin Thjia” HR 21/2/53; Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari ketjamatan Kras” HR 6/6/53; Joebaar Ajoeb “P 5 S sibuk: Malam Kesenian Pemuda” HR 6/6/53; Antara “Malam Memperingati Hari Wafatnja Rabindranath Tgaore” HR 8/8/53; Ros Achmadi “Malam Kesenian IPPI?” HR 5/12/53; J. A. Dungga “Antara Seni dan Bukan Seni: ‘Impressariat Indonesia’ mengalami kegagalan” HR 13/3/54; “Malam Kesenian Kongres PKI” HR 20/3/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Stimulans jang wadjib diteruskan” HR 27/3/54; Hassan “Malam peringatan ke X hari wafatnja Pak Durasim” HR 14/8/54; “Gembira” HR 18/9/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/1/55. 254 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS the movement. At least thirteen of the programmes included dance prominently, and the same number included singing (sometimes individual, but often in choirs). Roughly half included a theatre performance (although it is noteworthy that this did not occur in the detailed report of an extensive programme for the only rural cultural evening covered). Declamation of poetry made its appearance in two out of eleven evenings described for Jakarta, but it is reported in three of the four cultural evenings described for Medan. In the following section I will make use of accounts in Kebudajaan to develop a detailed outline of a number of these programmes, in order to see what insights they provide into this “cultural geography”. In addition, I will also look at the cultural (artistic) aspects of a mass election rally, as it was described in the supplement. I have chosen these case studies on the basis of how they might help provide ideas for further investigation into this aspect of the movement: one programme is from Medan, in North Sumatra; three are from Jakarta; one is from the Central Javanese court city of Surakarta (Solo); and one is from a small village in East Java (Mojosari, in the district of Kras, just south of Kediri). One is a peace movement event, two are union events, two are PKI party events, and one is a PKI election rally (included because it gives an idea of how cultural experience and frameworks built up in cultural nights translated into political campaigning for the election). The Asia-Paciﬁc Peace Conference Evening, Medan

In September 1952, Lekra Medan organised a cultural evening to celebrate the Asia-Paciﬁc Peace Conference that was to be held in Beijing from October 2 to October 12.3 The programme ran as follows:

- A series of songs arranged by Lekra Medan member Lily Suheiry, sung by Rubiah and Rindu Tanjung; - A petition against biological warfare was circulated; - Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment” was performed as a play under

3And possibly to farewell delegates/participants to the conference. This was the case with another cultural evening held in Jakarta—see Njoto [Iramani] “Immer Bereit” HR 6/9/52. The Medan event is described in “Jahja Jacoeb: Sembojan Amerika ‘perang adalah perdamaian’, ‘kemerdekaan adalah perbudakan” HR 3/10/52. CULTURAL NIGHTS 255

the direction of Bakri Siregar, then an inﬂuential teacher at an important Medan public senior high school (which supplied several young recruits for Lekra). Bakri’s wife acted in the play, alongside senior Lekra members. One of these, Hr. Bandaharo (Banda Harahap), stated that Lekra Medan did not agree with the play, but performed it “for discussion”4; - A series of young members read out poems, including A. Azis Akbar, Sj. Andasjamara, Rizakota, Agam Wispy, and Burhannuddin. All read out poems by Lekra poets, except Agam Wispy, who read out a poem by the Turkish poet and communist cause célèbre Nâzim Hikmet Ran5; - Chinese Indonesian students from the Hwa Chung school performed Chinese and Indonesian dances.6 - The evening closed with a performance by the “Maluku Band”, under the leadership of the prominent young Lekra Medan leader, Rizakota.

The key elements of the programme are: music/song; dance, declamation of poetry, and theatre, which is quite similar to equivalent events in the capital. But there are also diﬀerences. It is notable here that the play is placed in the middle of the programme, which is also the case in the other Medan event described in Kebudajaan that featured a play.7 Also, unlike the Jakartan events, the play is modern and foreign, and certainly not a work closely associated with communist politics. The prominence of poetry declamation is also striking (which was the case for three of the four Medan cultural evenings described in Kebudajaan).

4Lit. “for comparison” (untuk perbandingan). 5Nâzim Hikmet Ran (1902-1963), also known as Nâzim Hikmet. A Turkish poet and communist, Ran is considered by many to be one of the great writers of the twentieth century, and is sometimes compared to Pablo Neruda. He is buried in Moscow’s famous Novodevichy cemetery (by coincidence Boris Yeltsin is now buried next to him), in a grave that to this day is a site of pilgrimage for Nâzim Hikmet fans from Turkey and the world over. For accounts of his life and work, see Göksu and Timms (1999) and Blasing (2013). For examples of his poetry see Hikmet (2002). Some of his work and a brief biography is also available at http://www.marxists.org/subject/art/literature/nazim/. 6This student group appears to have performed at other left-wing cultural evenings, as well. These are described in Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 22/11/52. 7See Dharmawaty “Kabar dari Medan” HR 22/11/52. 256 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

SOBSI and PKI Cultural Evenings in Jakarta

The communist-aligned trade union federation, SOBSI, was a central institution of the movement around the PKI, and its national meetings and those of the party itself were important national stages for the movement’s artistic expression. Kebudajaan records the details of two such major national meetings for the federation, as well as one cultural evening performed for a PKI national congress. The ﬁrst of these was held in October 1952 at that year’s national conference of SOBSI. It seems to have been something of an innovation, and attracted a lengthy review from a Semarang-based leader of the Autonomous Regional Workers’ Union (SEBDA), S. W. Kuntjahjo, which itself elicited a response from the central leadership of Lekra.8 The 1952 National Conference of SOBSI

Although Kuntjahjo’s articles give us relatively detailed descriptions of elements of the evening’s programme, it does not give us a precise idea of its order. We do, however, learn that the programme consisted of the following segments:

- Dagelan Mataram: comedy from Javanese folk theatre; - A series of dances, performed by Bambang Sukowati Dewantara from Lekra Jakarta, Sunardi from Lekra Yogyakarta, and a group of revolutionary veterans. Dewantara and Sunardi performed new dances: “The Saidja and Adinda Dance” and “The Peasant Dance”, respectively; - A performance by “The SOBSI Orchestra”; - A performance of Indonesian martial arts (Pencak) by members of the shop employees union; - Poetry declamation; - A performance by Lekra Jakarta of the play “Manusia Baru” (“The New Person”) by Sanusi Pane.9

8See S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52 and S. W. Kuntjahjo “Diskusi tentang ‘Manusia Baru” HR 8/11/52. The Lekra leadership response is published at the end of the ﬁrst article. 9Sanusi Pane (1905-1968), Indonesian journalist, poet and playwright. See Teeuw (1967, p. 20-21, 24-28, 40-41, 89-90, 110) and Nasution (1963). CULTURAL NIGHTS 257

Key elements of this programme include the mixture of “modern” theatre (i.e. forms of theatre easily recognisable to audiences of the time across the world) and “folk” theatre (i.e. forms that have more indigenous elements); a mixture of amateur and more professional performers; and the performance of a play as a complete and uninterrupted piece at the end of the programme. This ﬁnal element was apparently something of an innovation perhaps not expected by many members of the audience. Kuntjahjo in his review of the evening complains that there was no entertainment between scenes, apparently an expectation born out of the practice of Stamboel theatre.10 In their response to Kuntjahjo, the Central Committee (Pimpinan Pusat) of Lekra felt compelled to explicitly defend disappointing this expectation:

. . . susunan atjara memang sengadja dibikin sedemikian rupa, sehingga selingan-selingan (ketjuali selingan lagu) didahulukan sedang tonil disekaliguskan kemudian. Susunan ini dimaksudkan untuk adanja konsentrasi kepada tjerita tonil, dan djangan ia diputus- putus oleh pertundjukan-pertundjukan lainnja seperti lazimnja dulu dipanggung stambul.

. . . the programme was intentionally arranged so that sketches and acts (except songs) preceded the play which was staged undis- turbed afterwards. This arrangement was intended to produce concentration on the plot of the play and to avoid it being constantly interrupted by other performances, as used to be common on the stage of Stamboel.11

The 1954 National Congress of the PKI

In early 1954, a cultural night was organised to coincide with the PKI

10Stamboel was a form of popular musical theatre prevalent in the Netherlands’ East Indies from the late nineteenth century into the ﬁrst half of the twentieth century. See Cohen (2006) for some coverage of this form of theatre at its height. 11S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52. The Lekra Central Committee response is attached to the end of Kuntjahjo’s review. 258 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS national congress. In the weeks following the congress, reviews of the event appeared in Kebudajaan, with the second week’s review by Njoto.12 The programme for the evening was roughly as follows:

- Songs by a Kor Buruh (Workers’ Choir), accompanied by accordion;

- Folk dances, including Tari Uli, Tari Debingi, Tari Berendai, Tari Sa- putangan and Tari Piring;

- New dances: Tari Tani (“The Peasant’s Dance”, danced by Sunardi), Tari Lajang-Lajang (“The Kite Dance”, danced by Bambang Sukowati Dewantara), and Tari Buruh (“The Worker’s Dance”, danced by Sunardi);

- A performance of “Saidja and Adinda” by Lekra Jakarta under the direction of A. S. Dharta (“Klara Akustia”).

Here again, the play is performed at the end of the programme, uninterrupted. The more striking feature of this programme, however, is the strong prominence given to dance, both existing folk dance and the innovations of Lekra members Sunardi and Bambang Sukowati Dewantara.

The 1954 National Congress of SOBSI

At the end of the same year a series of Cultural Nights was staged to coincide with the SOBSI National Congress. This event was also reviewed enthusiastically by Njoto, who gives us a good idea of the programme:

- Songs by a 150 person choir under the direction of Sudharnoto and Subronto K. Atmodjo. Songs sung included Bendera Merah (“The Red Flag”), songs by Cornel Simandjuntak, Chinese songs, and Bulgarian songs. Sudharnoto then accompanied on the piano a series of solos by Rose Sumbrata, Elsje Tahsin, and Gordon Tobing;

- Dances: “Hanoman-Hanggodo” (a scene from Ramayana), Tari Ronda (a new dance by Sunardi), Tarian Persatuan (“The Unity Dance”, another new composition by Bambang Sukowati Dewantara);

12See “Malam Kesenian Kongres PKI” HR 20/3/54 and Njoto [Iramani] “Stimulans jang wadjib diteruskan” 27/3/54. CULTURAL NIGHTS 259

- Folk theatre by Dagelan Mataram

This programme again followed the basic structure of songs and/or music, dancing, theatre. Again there was prominence given to the choreographic innovations of Sunardi and Bambang Sukowati Dewantara. Dagelan Mataram was moved from its position at the front of the programme in 1952 to the most prestigious position at the end of the programme.13

PKI Birthday Celebrations in the village of Mojosari

Lekra Kediri activist Liek Suparmidjah provided Kebudajaan readers with some insight into politics and cultural performance away from the major centres when she reviewed a cultural night in the East Javanese village of Mo- josari in the district of Kras, which was organised by Lekra Kediri members as part of a celebration of the thirty-third anniversary of the founding of the PKI.14 Suparmidjah appears to have been a student of Lekra dance maestro Sunardi, and provides detailed descriptions and explanations of the various dances performed as part of the evening’s programme—indeed she describes herself as the Dalang of the performance.15 It is noteworthy enough that a woman was playing this normally male role, but Suparmidjah also acted as the political interpreter and explainer of the dances as they were performed on the night. She also describes in the article that in one of the dances, "Panji versus Bugis", a female dancer played the martial role of "Bugis", in the process show-casing her Pencak (Indonesian martial arts) skills. All these factors suggest a conscious eﬀort on the part of Lekra Kediri to promote women’s skills and gender equity. Suparmidjah’s relatively comprehensive description makes it easy to re- construct the evening’s programme: - Speeches;

13See Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/1/55. 14Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari kecamatan Kras" HR 6/6/53. 15In Wayang this is the term used for the puppet master, but it can also be used for the director of other types of performances, for instance the choreographer of a dance performance. 260 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

- Panembrama, a ritual and celebratory welcome song by a local youth choir; - Tari Pemuda Sedar (“Dance of Politically Conscious Youth”). Accom- panied, as all the other performances, by a Lekra gamelan orchestra under Ismumartojo; - The song “Darah Rakjat” (“The People’s Blood”) performed by the youth choir; - Tari Pandji lawan Bogis (“The Panji versus Bugis Dance”); - The song “Partisan Perdamaian” (“Partisans of Peace”) by the youth choir; - Tari Front Nasional (“The National Front Dance”); - The song “Pemilihan Umum” (“The General Election”) by the youth choir;

This programme is clearly somewhat simpler than those described above from Medan and Jakarta, following a basic pattern of song-dance-song-dance. This gives special prominence to dance, and it is also noteworthy that the dances are either new creations from Lekra choreographers, or re-interpretations of a well-known dance/story (as in in "Panji versus Bugis"). The absence of theatre in the programme also strikes the eye, but it is diﬃcult to come to a clear understanding of this absence on the basis of one account. There would be obvious blocks to the performance of Indonesian-language modern theatre, since much of the audience would not understand the dialogue, nor would they be familiar with the conventions of such theatre. Perhaps Lekra Kediri was not at this stage in a position to provide folk theatre (e.g. Lu- druk), as its relationships with folk theatre troupes were not yet developed enough that it could call on them, and be conﬁdent that the political message of the performance would be appropriate to PKI birthday celebrations.

PKI Election Rally, Surakarta

The massive PKI election rally held in late February 1955, in Surakarta (Solo) is the only event I’ll discuss in this section which was held outdoors. “STIMULUS THAT MUST BE PURSUED” 261

With a claimed million people in attendance and a stage constructed by Lekra Solo that was 2.5 metres high, this was a major political and cultural event for the Central Javanese hinterland.16 The coverage in Kebudajaan provides information that is less easily converted into a detailed programme, especially in terms of developing an idea of the order of performance. Never- theless, it seems clear that, like the PKI anniversary celebrations in Mojosari, the structure of the cultural performance for the rally comprised new Lekra dances and political songs. The dances performed, in no particular order, were “The Peace Dance” (Tari Perdamaian), “The Worker Dance” (Tari Bu- ruh), and “The Peasant Dance” (Tari Tani). These dances were interspersed with songs including Bang-bang wetan wus raina, joajo milih Paluarit (“The East’s time is here, come on vote for the hammer and sickle”), and a series of songs in classical Javanese poetic form (including Pangkur Paluarit, loosely “Ode to the hammer and sickle”). Amongst the singers were Pelukis Rakjat members Djoni Rachmat and Djoni Trisno. As part of the proceedings, the latter also conducted a public display of painting for those attending the rally. It is notable that the format for the rally was similar to that of the PKI anniversary celebrations in Mojosari—that is a simple mix of modernised and politicised folk dance, interspersed with song. The key diﬀerence is that whereas songs in Mojosari in 1953 were overwhelmingly in Indonesian, in Solo in 1955 they were all in Javanese (at least those that are reported in Kebudajaan). “Stimulus That Must Be Pursued”: Modernising and Politicising Dance

An outstanding feature of the programmes outlined in the previous section is the prominence of dance. And it was not that dance was simply prominent—clearly signiﬁcant eﬀort was made to modernise and develop dance for the social and political context of post-independence Indonesia.

16For an account of the rally see K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/3/55. The rally is also described in “Namikakanda’s” reportage stories “Kebangunan di kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55 and “Pesta Rakjat” HR 4/6/55. 262 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

While folk dances were performed, most of the dances in the programmes were new works with a political colour appropriate to ideas prominent in the movement. Most conspicuous among the innovators creating these new dances were Lekra Yogyakarta member, Sunardi, and to a lesser extent Lekra Jakarta member Bambang Sukowati Dewantara. Between them they created at least twelve new works in the period, a number of which had several it- erations and were taken up by dancers throughout the movement.17 These dances included: - Tarian Kesedaran Pemuda (“The Dance of Conscious Youth”)—later possibly developed as Tari Perdamaian (“The Peace Dance”)—by Sunardi18; - Tari Nusantara Juda (“Dance of the Battle for Nusantara”)—later developed as Tari Revolusi (“Dance of the Revolution”)—by Sunardi19; - Tari Tani (The Peasant’s Dance) by Sunardi20; - Tari Saidja dan Adinda (“The Saidja and Adinda Dance”) by Bambang Sukowati Dewantara21; - Tarian Bondan Sarinah (“The Bondan Sarinah Dance”) by Sunardi22; - Tari Taman Bunga (“The Flower Garden Dance”) by Sunardi23; - Tari Floret (“The Fencing Dance”) by Sunardi24;

17The frequency of appearance of dances like “The Worker Dance”, “The Peasant Dance”, “The Peace Dance”, etc. in the programmes above and in accounts of other Cultural events is testament to this. 18‘Suara Adil’ “Sunardi merintis jalan Tari Baru” HR 31/1/53; Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari ketjamatan Kras” HR 6/6/53; K. Sunarjo “Ke- senian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/3/55. 19Ibid. 20S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52; B. S. D. [Bambang Sukowati Dewantara?] “Resensi Seni Tari: Dua matjam tari tani” HR 10/1/53; ‘Suara Adil’ “Sunardi merintis jalan Tari Baru” HR 31/1/53; B. S. D. [Bambang Sukowati Dewantara?] “Dua tarian Indonesia dalam malam kesenian SinThjia” HR 21/2/53; S. Harya “Tari Muda-Mudi” HR 11/4/53; “Malam Kesenian Kon- gres” HR 20/3/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Stimulans jang wadjib diteruskan” 27/3/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/1/55; K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/3/55. 21S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52. 22‘Suara Adil’ “Sunardi merintis jalan Tari Baru” HR 31/1/53. 23Ibid. 24Ibid. “STIMULUS THAT MUST BE PURSUED” 263

- Tarian Buruh (“The Worker’s Dance”) by Sunardi25; - Tari Front Nasional (“The National Front Dance”) by Sunardi and Lekra Kediri26; - Tari Lajang-Lajang (“The Kite Dance”) by Bambang Sukowati Dewan- tara27; - Tari Ronda (“The Night Patrol Dance”) by Sunardi28; - Tari Persatuan (“The Unity Dance”) by Bambang Sukowati Dewan- tara.29

Their work was not being produced in a vacuum and both Kebudajaan articles and other sources provide evidence that the early 1950s was a period of innovation and experiment in Indonesian dance, as choreographers and dancers tried to create new forms and narratives in tune with the spirit of an independent republic. Evidence for this in Kebudajaan includes criticism and praise for new dances that were being produced outside the movement 30, but is also corroborated by writers like Irawati Durban Ardjo (2012), Hatley (2012), Anderson-Sutton (2002) and Hughes-Freeland (2008).31 It was clearly not always plain sailing for these choreographic experi- ments. In her report on the reception of dancers from the Union of Chinese Peasant Labourers (Gabungan Buruh Tani Tionghoa performing the “Soviet

25S. Harya “Tari Muda-Mudi” HR 11/4/53; “Malam Kesenian Kongres” HR 20/3/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Stimulans jang wadjib diteruskan” 27/3/54; K. Sunarjo “Kesenian Rakjat dimuka sedjuta Rakjat” HR 26/3/55. 26Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari ketjamatan Kras” HR 6/6/53. 27“Malam Kesenian Kongres” HR 20/3/54; Njoto [Iramani] “Stimulans jang wadjib diteruskan” HR 27/3/54. 28Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/1/55. 29Ibid. 30See, for example, Hardjakusuma “Lembaga Kesedjahteraan Buruh’ bikin rusak kesedjahteraa buruh: Tari gojang pinggang macam Hawaii adalah tanggung jawab menteri Tedjakusuma” HR 21/2/53 and B. S. D. [Bambang Sukowati Dewantara?] “Resensi Seni Tari: Dua matjam tari tani” HR 10/1/53. 31In Lindsay and Liem (2012) both Hatley (2012) and Irawati Durban Ardjo (2012) attest to this dynamism in the regions of South Sulawesi and West Java, respectively. Anderson-Sutton (2002, Ch. 3) covers similar ground to Hatley on this front, but with a diﬀerent perspective. Hughes-Freeland (2008, Ch. 3) provides similar evidence for Central Java, with a focus on “classical” dance (as opposed to folk dance, dance forms associated with the various royal courts of the region). 264 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

Union Dance”, Dharmawaty complains that “It’s just that there are still many people who don’t understand the high quality of this dance, and so we heard things that hurt our ears”.32 Nevertheless, she also reports that the “Peas- ant Labourer Dance” and the “Ironworker Dance” were both hits with the audience.33 There also seems to have been something of a sense of competition with innovators outside the movement. So, for example, in reviewing the “Youth Dance” (Tari Muda-Mudi) created and toured by TMM Pangeran Prabuwinata, the Semarang based activist S. Harya began by saying that the dances of “Soe- nardi of Nganjuk” were better.34 Similarly, Bambang Sukowati Dewantara argues that Sunardi’s “Peasant Dance” was better than that of the young Yogyakarta based dancer Sutanti, arguing that Sutanti’s dance focused too much on the land owner rather than those who work the land, and that used very traditional movements making her dance, in Dewantara’s view, “symbolic”, as opposed to the “realism” of Sunardi.35 This was a clear axis of tension in innovations in dance—the extent to which conventions should be continued, modiﬁed, or discarded. In “Sunardi pioneers the way for New Dance”36, ‘Suara Adil’ (“The Voice of Justice”) not only provided readers with a concise biography of Sunardi as a dancer, but also portrayed something of the tensions over his push to make his dance movements more accessible. Suara Adil reports that when Sunardi performed his new creations in front of a number of the “authorities of dance” (Gembong- gembong tari) in 1952, “it was as if he dropped a bomb” (seakan-akan men- jatuhkan bom):

Walaupun sambutan dari rakyat sangat memuaskan, tapi reaksi dari sebagian ﬁhak ahli ternyata dingin, malahan kabarnya ada

32Cuma masih banyak manusia2 yang kurang mengerti ketinggian mutu tari ini, sehingga banyak kedengaran suara2 yang menyakitkan kuping. Dharmaway “Kabar dari Medan” HR 22/11/52. 33Tari Buruh Tani and Tari Tukang Besi. Ibid. 34S. Harya “Tari Muda-Mudi” HR 11/4/53. 35B. S. D. [Bambang Sukowati Dewantara] “Resensi Seni Tari: Dua matjam tari tani” HR 10/1/53. 36‘Suara Adil’ “Sunardi merintis jalan Tari Baru” HR 31/1/53. “STIMULUS THAT MUST BE PURSUED” 265

yang terang-terangan mengejek dan mencap Sunardi sebagai “pen- grusak hukum tari”, Amboi!

Even though the popular reception from the audience was very gratifying, the reaction of some among the experts was cool, apparently some even openly derided him, labelling Sunardi a “wrecker of the laws of dance”. Oh boy!37

Closely linked to the tension between retaining conventions and inno- vating was an associated friction between maintaining movements and techniques requiring high skill levels and developing dances that were accessible to dancers and audiences in a wide variety of contexts and from a diversity of backgrounds. Sunardi appears to have fallen strongly on the side of accessibility, something that drew praise from Njoto. Interestingly, the other leading Lekra choreographer and dancer, Bambang Sukowati Dewan- tara, took a diﬀerent approach. In an essay entitled “Stimulus that must be pursued”, Njoto compared the two premier Lekra dancers’ performances at the 1954 PKI National Congress:

. . . diantara gubahan Bambang Sukowati dan gubahan S. Nardi itu tampak perbedaan jang agak besar. Bambang lebih kuat berpidjak pada tarian klasik (dalam langkah maupun dalam gerak tangan), memadjukan unsur2nja jang kuat sebagai motif komposisinja, dan dengan begitu boleh kita katakan bahwa gubahannja adalah peneru- san tradisi klasik kita dengan isi jang baru. Nardi djuga memilih isi jang baru, jaitu penghidupan dan usaha kaum buruh dan kaum tani. Tetapi dalam pengolahan, Nardi lebih populer. Diband- ingkan dengan Bambang, Nardi agak djauh dari bentuk klasik. Tetapi keuntungan gubahan Nardi ini, ia lebih mudah ditarikan tidak sadja oleh setiap orang, tetapi djuga oleh sebanjak2nja orang . . . kedua2nja membawa senitari kita madju djauh . . . Bravo!’.

. . . between the Bambang Sukowati’s and Sunardi’s arrangements there are diﬀerences that seem quite large. Bambang is more

37Ibid. 266 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

strongly grounded in classical dance (both in his steps and his hand movements), and develops these elements strongly in his composition, and in that way we can say that his work is a continuation of the classical tradition, but with new content. Sunardi has also chosen to inject new content, i.e. the lives and endeavours of workers and peasants, but in his arrangements he has taken a more popular approach. Compared to Bambang, he is quite a long way from classical forms. But the advantage of such arrangements is that his dances are more easily danced by anybody, indeed by masses of people . . . both have brought our dance great strides forward . . . Bravo!38

The number of times that Sunardi’s dances appear to have been danced at events in different places and by different performers seems to be a testament to the success of Sunardi’s “popular” approach.39 In his review of the same two dancers’ performances at the SOBSI Na- tional Congress later in the same year, Njoto again compares their work. He begins by reviewing Sunardi’s dance, “Hanoman-Hanggodo”: “I have no words . . . Perfect!”40. He goes on to a new Sunardi composition: “Sunardi proved his productivity with a new composition: “The Night Patrol Dance” . . . from here we can progress to a national ballet!”. Bambang Sukowati De- wantara also unveiled a new dance, “The Unity Dance” (Tarian Persatuan), which was about the National United Front. Apparently taking Sunardi’s popular “Worker Dance” and “Peasant Dance” as his starting point, Njoto praises Bambang for employing a quicker tempo. Njoto argues that their work constitutes “An emphatic refutation of the chatter about a crisis in our art!”.41 These articles make clear a number of themes that are also reflected in other articles that concern themselves with the development of dance:

38Njoto [Iramani] “Stimulans jang wadjib diteruskan” HR 27/3/54. 39See the references above on pages 262–263. 40kita tidak mempunyai kata2 untuk “Hanoman-Hanggodo”. Perfekt! Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/1/55. 41Suatu sangkalan jang keras terhadap otjehan tentang krisis didalam kesenian kita! Ibid. “COMMERCIAL”, “IRRATIONAL” AND “FEUDAL” ART 267

- the importance of imbuing dance with the new progressive politics of independent Indonesia—the politics of workers, peasants, the National United Front, etc.; - the importance of linking up forms and content with the everyday lives of ordinary Indonesians; - looking towards accessibility of dances—not being limited by the conventional “laws” of dance; looking towards folk dances (as opposed to being limited to classical forms), and not being afraid to innovate even when still incorporating existing forms and conventions.42

In addition eﬀorts seem to have been made to make Indonesian dance more dynamic. One example of this is Njoto’s praise for Bambang Sukowati Dewantara’s up-tempo development of Sunardi’s dances, another is eﬀorts to work on how Indonesian martial arts (Pentjak) were integrated into dance.43

Dealing with “Commercial”, “Irrational” and “Feu- dal” Art: The Case of Reog Ponorogo

Dance, of course, was not an isolated form. As we can see from the example of the performance of “Pandji lawan Bogis” described above (on pages 259–260), dance had a clear relationship to Indonesian martial arts (pencak). Possibly its most important relationship to other art forms, however, was that to another key set of popular performing arts: those of folk theatre (e.g. ketoprak, reog and ludruk). Indeed, the boundary between dance and theatre was itself blurred. The dances referred to above all had stories to tell, and in that sense clearly had an element of theatre, that is of the physical performance of a story. The diverse array of popular dance existent in 1950s ranged from forms that had no speciﬁc story to tell beyond the art of the movements themselves and

42The articles referred to above on pages 262–263 provides ample discussion of these various elements in relation to speciﬁc innovations. 43See, for example, Soemardi “Pentjak dan Pekan Kebudajaan Nasional” HR 30/10/54; Imam Sudjojono “Kepada LEKRA tjabang Bandung” HR 29/8/53; Liek Suparmidjah “Hari Ulang Tahun PKI ke-33 di desa Mojosari ketjamatan Kras” HR 6/6/53. 268 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS the interaction between the dancer and the audience (e.g. some kinds of ronggeng 44) to forms that tell a story largely through dance (e.g. Wayang Orang 45), or those that simply incorporate dance in one way or another (e.g. Ketoprak and Ludruk). A form that was some way along this spectrum is reog, which in regions of East Java takes a form of ritualised public dance that has a story, but where the strongest emphasis is on the physicality of the dance itself. In 1953 the prominent communist journalist and raconteur, Soerjono46, contributed a large article to Kebudajaan that discussed reog at length, and perhaps more importantly reported on discussions among activists concerning the social and political character of reog and its potential as a cultural expression of the movement. Soerjono wrote the article in the form of a travelogue description of a journey by ship to the People’s Republic of China as part of a cultural delegation. With Chinese students coming on board in Singapore, the Indonesian delegation prepared a reog performance for discussion. The performance was preceded by a discussion of the history and social context of the form. His account of the introduction, performance and discussion, give us an insight into the thinking of the communist movement about folk theatre and dance forms like reog.47 Sugijamto, who gave an introductory talk before the performance, put

44Ronggeng is a dance form in Java, the Malay peninsula and throughout many regions of Indonesia that is performed by female dancers, and frequently accompanied by poetic (often humorous and bawdy) singing. It has had a dubious reputation as disguised prostitution, or simply for being too erotic. For a relatively contemporary (that is to the 1950s) account of ronggeng in English, see Holt (1967, p. 112-113). Ahmad Tohari’s famous novel Ronggeng Dukuh Paruk has a ronggeng dancer as its central character, and deals with many of the issues around this dance as a cultural form, from its art and aesthetics, to its positive social role, and, of course, its darker side through association with sexual exploitation. See Tohari (2006). This book was originally published in 1982 as a trilogy, and only later published as a single book. It has been translated into English (Tohari, 2003) as “The Dancer: A Trilogy of Novels”. 45Wayang Orang is an Indonesian translation of the Javanese Wayang Wong, meaning “human wayang”(wayang being the normally puppet-based performances of Javanised Hindu epics and other classical Javanese legends). Holt (1967, Ch. 6) provides a detailed description of forms of Javanese dance drama, with a strong focus on Wayang Orang. 46Soerjono was a leading journalist for Harian Rakjat, writing on a wide range of topics, including political writing on sport and culture. He died in late 2000 after 35 years in exile in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. 47Soerjono “Surat Perjalanan: Diskusi dan Kritik tentang Reog” HR 10/10/53. “COMMERCIAL”, “IRRATIONAL” AND “FEUDAL” ART 269 forward rough statistics for the ubiquity of the form in Ponorogo, claiming more than 400 reog troupes in an area of around 300 villages, and arguing that “the [social] role of reog as a regional folk art form is similar to that of ludruk in Surabaya, lenong in Jakarta and ronggeng in Medan”48, i.e. it was a pivotal form of popular culture. But the response of other members of the delegation was not completely favourable. A journalist for the left-wing Medan newspaper, Pendorong, objected to the reference to ronggeng, arguing that “Just because reog is common, does not mean that reog is a ‘People’s dance’, because in Medan ronggeng is common, but only for commercial reasons”49. Fifteen other delegation members also spoke, apparently with overwhelming negative im- pressions, of which Soerjono gives a number of examples. For instance, an example he gives of the latter is the argument that since reog emerged in pre-Islamic times, it is “feudal” and therefore “should be swept away” (harus dihapuskan). Soerjono comments: . . . konsekwensi pandangan diatas sangat berbahaya. Kita tidak usah membanggakan Borobudur, kita harus runtuhkan Prambanan alasannya karena. . . “feodal”. . . . the repercussions of such an argument could be dangerous: we should not be proud of Borobudur; we should pull down Pram- banan on the excuse that they are . . . “feudal”.50

Other speakers complained that reog was “nonsensical” or “irrational”.51 While these criticisms are dismissed by Soerjono as being “ad hoc” (kritik darurat) and “superﬁcial” (dangkal), he singles out one critic, Bambang Sukowati Dewantara, as “someone who calmly gave insightful criticism”.52 His feedback appears to have been mainly technical: movements were out of

48Dalam hal ini fungsi rejok sebagai kesenian Rakjat jang bersifat kedaerahan sama sadja seperti ludruk di Surabaja, lenong di Djakarta atau ronggeng di Medan. 49Kalau djumlahnja rejok tsb. banjak, ini tidak berarti bahwa rejok itu “tarian Rakjat”, sebab ronggengpun di Medan djumlahnja banjak, tetapi hanja karena desakan uang sadja. 50Borobudur is a ninth century Buddhist monument in Central Java near the modern city of Magelang, and is a UNESCO world heritage site. Prambanan is a ninth century Hindu temple complex, originally consisting 240 temples, which is also located in Central Java, between Yogyakarta and Surakarta. 51. . . tak masuk akal . . . 52. . . adalah orang jang tenang dan memberikan kritik setjara dalam. 270 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS synch with rhythm; scenes in the performance were not consistent with the plot. Leading Lekraist Bachtiar Siagian was given the job of summarising (menarik kesimpulan) the debate. His conclusions were:

1. “Adalah benar kalau rejok dikatakan kebudajaan daerah dan hanja merupakan salah satu tiang kebudajaan Indonesia”; 2. “Rejok timbul dizaman perkembangan feodal, tetapi ini tidak berarti bahwa rejok mendjadi alatnja kaum feodal. Perkem- bangan di Ponorogo menundjukkan bahwa rejok adalah tempat melontarkan perasaan seni Rakjat”; 3. “Rejok itu adalah seni jang sekarang tumbuh dikalangan Rak- jat luas di Ponorogo, dan adalah mendjadi kewadjiban setiap seniman Rakjat untuk memajukannja sesuai dengan keingi- nan perdjoangan Rakjat”.

1. “It is true to say that reog is a form of regional culture and only one element of Indonesian culture”; 2.“ Reog emerged during the feudal period, but this does not mean that reog is a tool of the feudalists. Developments in Ponorogo showed that reog is an arena for the expression of popular feeling”; 3.“ Reog is an art form that is growing amongst the mass of the People in Ponorogo, and it is the duty of every People’s artist to develop [this form] in accordance with the aspirations of the People’s struggle”.

The first point suggests there was tension over the inclusion of regional forms in “national” culture, while the second addresses the objection of reog being “feudal”. The final point expresses a committed enthusiasm for indigenous popular culture, and contains an implied criticism of those who want to ignore art forms that have popular currency because they do not accord directly with abstract political principles (e.g. national culture can not be regional in character; modern culture is, by definition, not “feudal”; socialist culture cannot be commercial). “COMMERCIAL”, “IRRATIONAL” AND “FEUDAL” ART 271

After Bachtiar presented these conclusions, the meeting discussed them and apparently accepted them. The following morning the delegates enthusiastically practiced reog, “having had a very unsatisfactory session at the first practice previously”.53 Soerjono concludes that the “criticisms that were made on the ship, even if they were sometimes hurtful, were, in the end, useful. It was not criticism itself that was hurtful, but rather the ‘ad hoc critics’ who threw around sharp words, but did not actually understand the issues”.54 The delegation continued to practice and develop their dancing on the ship until they arrived in China, where they performed in Beijing before going on to the Soviet Union for further performances. Soerjono’s article gives its modern readers an interesting insight into the tensions around the communist movement’s enthusiasm for indigenous popular culture in the 1950s. We get a clear sense of the passion and commitment of some activists (e.g. of Soerjono himself, Bachtiar Siagian, Djoni Trisno and Bambang Sukowati Dewantara). But we also get a sense of tension over this attitude. Reog is “commercial”, “irrational”, and “feudal”. We get a sense of debate in the movement, and of the organic character of the development of the approach. There is no hand of Moscow or Beijing manipulating events, no idea of the imposition of a foreign aesthetic (i.e. Stalinist “socialist realism”). Nor is there a sense of the military imposition of an official cultural policy from the movement’s leadership to its activists. People’s arguments need to be addressed, even if they are “ad hoc” and “superficial”. There is, however, a clear sense of authority (i.e. of leading activists like Bachtiar, Bambang Sukowati, and Soerjono himself) and a dominant line: one that argues that if an indigenous form of culture is popular, particularly if it is growing, amongst the mass of Indonesian people, then it is “the duty” of cultural activists to engage with that form and seek to integrate it with the wider cultural and political activity of the movement.

53Semua bisa menerima dan paginja baru dengan giat melatih lagi rejok jang dalam latihan pertama sangat kurang menggembirakan. 54Kritik tentang rejok jang diadakan dikapal itu, sekalipun kadang2 menjakitkan, tetapi toh ada djuga gunanja. Jang menjakitkan bukan kritiknja, tetapi jang menjakitkan ialah “kritikus2 darurat” jang sering melontarkan kata2 tadjam, tetapi tiada mengerti persoalan- nja. 272 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

“A Potent Weapon”: Popular Theatre & the Movement

Enough has been written about the various forms of theatre, both Western- style (“modern”) and folk forms, during the 1950s and 1960s that it is unnecessary in this thesis to go into great detail about Lekra and the Left’s approach to theatre in general. The programmes above make it clear that various forms of theatre were important to the movement, and a number of works make it clear that Lekra had a conscious strategy of promoting and developing theatre, especially folk theatre (teater Rakjat).55 However, these works have a strong tendency to focus on the early 1960s, or at least the period after 1955. From that standpoint, study of Kebudajaan’s pages in the early 1950s can add to developing views of the role of theatre in communist movement politics. As was argued in chapter three, the various forms of theatre (whether “modern” or “folk”) prevalent in 1950s Indonesia were important to the “cultural ecology” of the communist movement, and theatre was an important arena of Lekra activity. Not only this, theatrical groups appeared to have played an important role in providing frameworks and personnel for organisational development (e.g. in the establishment and consolidation of new branches). When unions established “Sport and Culture” (Kebora) units during the period, organising “healthy” theatrical entertainment for workers was a central concern. It is no accident that one of the longer works of ﬁc- tion published in Kebudajaan in the period, a serialised short story about industrial tensions on a plantation, included prominent reference to a Ludruk performance that the community was eagerly anticipating.56

55So, for example, Lindsay (2012, p. 17) quotes former Lekra leader and facilitator Oey Hai Djoen as saying “We aimed to bring ketoprak and ludruk [both folk theatre forms] to the presidential palace”. “They succeeded in this”, she concludes. Peacock (1968) provides perhaps the richest discussion of a form of folk theatre, the East Javanese Ludruk, in the Sukarno period, including the role of Lekra and the PKI (see especially p. 25-28 and p. 41-45). Bodden (2012) and Bodden (2010) discuss Lekra’s approach to Western-style theatre. “Tugas Partai di Panggung Ketoprak” (The Party’s Work on the Ketoprak Stage) and “Gusti Allah Pun Ngunduh Mantu” (God Gets a Daughter-in-Law) both in the Lekra special edition of Tempo, Edisi 30 September-6 Oktober 2013, both provide evidence of on-going interest in this aspect of Lekra and the PKI’s work. 56Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/06/53 and 20/06/53. POPULAR THEATRE 273

In regions like North Sumatra and amongst students and middle class audiences, Western-style theatre was clearly popular and important. Bodden (2010) gives an account of Lekra theatre from 1955 to 1965, and reports of the activity of Lekra branches like North Sumatra, Jakarta, and Solo, making it clear that “modern” theatre was an important area of Lekra activity.57 While modern theatre was important, in this section I will nevertheless focus on “folk theatre”, as this was the form of theatre that was more often referred to, and which key Lekra leaders, above all Njoto, most enthusiastically embraced. It is, perhaps, also an element of the communist movement’s approach to culture that may have set it apart from other groups, given the “low culture” stigma attached to these forms.58 The first significant reference to folk theatre in Kebudajaan occurs in late 1952 in relation to performances by the Dagelan Mataram group (which was affiliated to Lekra Yogyakarta) at the 1952 National Conference of SOBSI. Dagelan is a form of comedic acting or clowning that can be integrated into other forms of folk theatre, or can be performed separately. It can be anywhere in form from a kind of stand-up, to sketch comedy, to a more or less coherent play. Dagelan Mataram’s performance seems to have been a hit, with Njoto particularly impressed: “The satire of Dagelan Mataram is a match in its sharpness to Cervantes in his attacks on feudalism”. He went on to say that the performance “contained jokes that were really masterful”.59

57See the section on theatre groups in chapter three for more detail on this topic. 58Even in Kebudajaan’s pages, however, some disdain for “low” culture like folk theatre might be seen to rear its head at times. For example, Imam Sudjono in his review of a modern theatre performance by Lekra Bandung, complains that some performers “still use a style of speech that is artificial, similar to what we often see in ketoprak performances [in dialogue] between a king and one of his subjects” (. . . masih menggunakan stijl perkataan jang tampaknja dibikin2. Seperti halnja sering terdjadi didalam pertundjukan ketoprak antara sang radja dan hambanja.). This could be seen as a criticism or disdain for ketoprak, but the quote is just as easily read as a criticism of a particular aspect of ketoprak, rather than the form as a whole. See Imam Sudjono “Kepada LEKRA tjabang Bandung” HR 29/08/53. S. W. Kuntjahjo’s comments below on Dagelan Mataram are perhaps a clearer example of disdain for folk theatre, suggesting as they do that it is a key area of activity because ordinary Indonesians’ “level of thinking is still low”. See the footnote below on page 275. The types of concerns over reog as an art form described in Soerjono’s article above—its commercial character, its “feudal” flavour, its regional limits—no doubt also reflected general attitudes to a number of popular indigenous art forms. 59. . . satire dalam Dagelan Mataram itu sungguh tidak kalah ketadjamannya dengan mis- 274 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

The storyline focused on a corrupt and social-climbing bureaucrat, and Njoto praises it for “accurately reﬂecting our social reality at the moment; bitter social realities, which in themselves encourage laughter and ridicule”.60 Njoto sees the improvisation that is a normal part of Dagelan to be an integral part of its vitality, commenting: Bermain sonder teks memang mempunjai kekurangan-kekurangan dan kerugian-kerugiannja, tetapi ada pula keuntungan dan kelebi- hannja: bukan hanja penulisnja jang mentjipta, melainkan tiap- tiap pemainnja, seorang-seorang! Para pemainnja hidup di dalam permainannja, dengan sepenuh tjurahan djiwa dan hati dengan kekajaan improvisasi jang ada padanja!

Performing without a script can certainly have its shortcomings and drawbacks, but it also has its beneﬁts and advantages: it is not just the writer who creates, but also all the performers as individuals! The actors are alive in their performances, using all the feelings in their hearts and souls, all of their powers of improvisation!

He unambiguously identiﬁes folk theatre like Dagelan as central to the sort of cultural form that should be nurtured as part of the development of national culture and politics, seeing it as a form that was politically more potent than modern theatre:

Film buat sementara ini mendesak sandiwara tetapi ﬁlm tidak akan mendesak Dagelan atau Ludruk! ... Ia pasti sendjata jang ampuh untuk menjebarkan sesuatu pengertian, ia pasti sendjata jang ampuh djuga di dalam pemilihan-umum ... Kesenian Rakjat inilah seharusnja lapangan gerak jang utama bagi Lekra.

At the moment movies are putting pressure on [modern] theatre, but movies will not put pressure on Dagelan or Ludruk! . . . They alnja ketadjaman Cervantes jang menghantam feodalisme . . . terdapat lelutjon-lelutjon jang benar-benar meesterlijk . . . . Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” (Letter of the Week: On Modern Dagelan) HR 11/10/52. 60mentjerminkan dengan baik kenjataan-kenjataan masjarakat kita sekarang, kenjataan- kenjataan jang terlalu pahit, jang sendirinja menjuburkan tertawaan dan edjekan. Ibid. POPULAR THEATRE 275

are deﬁnitely potent weapons for spreading a particular political understanding, they will also deﬁnitely be powerful weapons in the general election . . . This People’s Art should be a central area of activity for Lekra.61

Later in the period Dagelan Mataram again appeared at a SOBSI national congress in 1955, and again were the subject of Njoto’s praise. Njoto and the audience in general were in fits of laughter: “our laughter, and sometimes our tears, were exhausted”.62 But this time Njoto also has a criticism: “sometimes satire is used too much, and as a result more than once we saw satire that was misplaced”.63 The example that Njoto gives of this is the character of the workers’ leader, Sastro, who, according to Njoto, “sometimes took part in directionless joking . . . and as a result the standing and role of the workers’ leader was undermined”.64 Nevertheless, Njoto again finishes his article with a flourish of passion for folk theatre, seeing it as crucial in the establishment of an Indonesian “socialist realist” national culture:

“Ludruk” dan tonil2 Rakjat lainnja. . . akan mendjadi sendjata jang hebat dari gerakan revolusioner Indonesia. . . Dan kita jakin, djuga kesenian realisme sosialis pasti terus madju dibumi kita Indone- sia!

61Njoto [Iramani] “Surat Minggu Ini: Tentang Dagelan Modern” HR 11/10/52. A fortnight later another Lekra writer, this time the union oﬃcial S. W. Kuntjahjo from Semarang, also gave the performance a positive review, although this contained a back- handed compliment: “. . . explanations in a form like Dagelan Mataram are more easily accepted and understood by the masses, whose level of thought is still low” (. . . penerangan dalam bentuk Dagelan Mataram ini lebih mudah ditangkap dan diterima oleh massa jang tingkat berﬁkirnja masih rendah). Kuntjahjo was also critical of the general content of the story, the use of Javanese rather than Indonesian, and of the fact that the story did not provide reasons for corruption, or provide ideas as to how it might be overcome. S. W. Kuntjahjo “Pendapat tentang malam kebudajaan Konfernas SOBSI” HR 25/10/52. 62. . . tawa kita, kadang airmata kita, turut habis karenanja. Njoto [Iramani] “Malam Kesenian SOBSI” HR 17/01/55. 63. . . satire kadang2 terlalu banjak digunakan, sehingga tidak hanja satu dua kali mendjumpai satire jang salah tempat. Ibid.. Interestingly these comments appear in a comparison of two star companies associated with Lekra: Dagelan Mataram itself, and Surabaya’s Ludruk Marhaen, both of which Njoto diplomatically criticises for misuse of satire. For a little more on Ludruk Marhaen, see below. 64. . . kadang2 turut didalam pelawakan jang tidak bertudjuan. . . sehingga kedudukan dan peranan pemimpin buruh itu mendjadi hambar. Ibid. 276 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS

Ludruk and other forms of folk theatre. . . will be great weapons for the Indonesian revolutionary movement. . . And I am certain that socialist realist art will continue to move forward in our land of Indonesia!65

If Dagelan Mataram was a model in folk theatre for the movement in Cen- tral Java, in East Java its equivalent was Ludruk Marhaen.66 This troupe first appears in the pages of Kebudajaan in mid 1954, when Lekra Surabaya leader, Hassan, reviewed their performance at an evening commemorating the tenth anniversary of the death of Tjak Durasim, who was a Ludruk performer and nationalist hero.67 Having criticised the evening as being “not really successful” because it did not provide enough detail of the life and struggle of Tjak Durasim, Hassan moves to the performance by Marhaen, which was entitled “Results of Government Regulation Number 19” (Akibat Nomer 19 ). The regulation to which the title referred was a central regulation allowing polygamy, and Hassan praises the performance for “giving a direct line of struggle for women in confronting all of the forms of injustice that afflict them at present”68, adding that it was “also enlivened by the humour of the role played by Tjak Bowo”.69 He went on to praise the performances in general, writing that “we never saw any awkwardness or stilt- edness”.70 Nevertheless, Hassan does draw attention to numerous technical short-comings of the performance, amongst them poor set design and poor lighting. He puts this down to “financial difficulties and inadequate attention from government for folk art”.71 Despite this, Hassan argues that folk theatre 65Ibid. 66Ludruk Marhaen was led by Tjak Bowo (“Tjak”—modern “Cak”) is a title often used by Ludruk performers. Tjak Bowo seems to have also published a short story in Kebudajaan, although the story was datelined “Djakarta”. Tjak Wib. [Tjak Bowo] “Suka Duka Kaum Buruh” HR 09/05/53. The Djakarta dateline raises doubt as to whether this is the same “Tjak Wibowo”, but the use of “Tjak” as a title counters this doubt somewhat. The equivalent leader of Dagelan Mataram was Bung Sarpin. 67Hassan “Malam Peringatan ke X Hari Wafatnja Pak Durasim” HR 14/08/54. Tjak Durasim was a Ludruk performer who was murdered by the Japanese occupation forces’ secret police, the Kenpeitei, in August 1944. 68. . . mengarahkan garis2 perlawan jang langsung bagi kaum wanita terhadap segala ketidak adilan jang menimpa dipunggung kaum wanita dewasa ini. 69. . . djuga dihidupi oleh humor jang perannja dipegang oleh bung Bowo . . . 70. . . tidaklah kita temui kejanggalan dan kekakuan2-nja. 71. . . disebabkan sukarnja finansil serta perhatian pemerintah terhadap kesenian rakjat POPULAR THEATRE 277

(sandiwara rakjat) troupes like Marhaen are clearly meeting a social need: “So it is not surprising that Marhaen Folk Theatre is in demand and has found itself a ready market in East Java”.72 A few months later, Njoto published a feature article on Marhaen, starting by emphasising the troupe’s commercial success, saying that they were booked up to two months in advance (impressive in a form where many groups led a week to week existence).73 But, he writes, Marhaen is also explicitly political and modern, quoting the troupe’s leader, Tjak Bowo:

Ludruk itu sematjam sandiwara modern. Lain daripada wajang orang, jaitu sandiwara klasik. Ludruk tidak hanja mengikuti perkembangan zaman, ia mentjerminkan peristiwa2 masjarakat. Kami mengabdikan diri kepada Rakjat. . . Ludruk is a modern form of theatre. It is not like wayang orang, which is classical theatre. Ludruk not only keeps up with historical developments, it directly reﬂects events in society. We put ourselves at the service of the People. . .

Despite its popularity Ludruk continues to suﬀer from deﬁciencies:

. . . mutu ludruk jang ada sampai kini biasanja belum lagi tinggi. Pentonilannja biasanja sederhana sekali, satu dekor, satu medja, tiga kursi, satu balai2, beberapa tjangkir, habis. Seperti lenong di Djakarta, atau ronang di Madura. . . . the quality of contemporary ludruk is usually still quite low. The conditions of staging are very simple: one set, one table, three chairs, one bed, a few cups, that is it. It is the same for lenong in Jakarta, or ronang in Madura.

Njoto argues the strength of Ludruk therefore comes from its clever use of language, and its humour. For Njoto this has the danger that performance often descends to “the ordinary, even the vulgar”, which means that “there jang rupanja masih perlu harus didorong. 72Maka tidaklah mengherankan kalau sandiwara Rakjat Marhaen di Djawa Timur menjadi rebutan dan mendapatkan pasaran jang sangat subur 73Njoto [Iramani] “Tjak Bowo & ‘Marhaen’nja” HR 07/01/55. 278 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS is no discernible didactic value”.74 On this front Marhaen had “started a revolution”.75 This is why Tjak Bowo, according to Njoto, “is a legitimate inheritor of the tradition of Durasim”.76 Njoto wrote the feature in the context of having witnessed a key recent performance by Marhaen, put on as part of a “People’s Festival” (Pesta Rak- jat”) that was organised by the PKI in Surabaya, the capital of East Java. After the performance, he visited the actors backstage:

Kalau saudara masuk kebelakang lajar, kepanggung, kekamar pakaian pemain2 “Marhaen”, saudara akan tertjengang: Tjak Urip, tjak Rukun, tjak Slamet, tjak Minin, dll.— mereka inikah jang bermain begitu bagus tadi? Mereka ini — mereka orang2 biasa dari kampung ini? Siapa lagi! Tempat lahir seniman Rakjat bukan diistana2 pembesar, sudah tentu, mereka anak2 Rakjat. . . If you go behind the curtain, onto the stage, into the actors’ dressing room, you will be amazed: Tjak Urip, Tjak Rukun, Tjak Slamet, Tjak Minin, etc.—are these really the people who performed so well just before? These people?—these ordinary kampung people? Well, who else would it be? Folk artists are not born in the palaces of the powerful, they are, of course, children of the masses. . .

Njoto praises the “realism” of Marhaen’s performance, commenting that “The environment that inﬂuences a Marhaen performance is one of realism, which sets a refreshing tone”.77 He praises the development of the humour of the performance, which:

. . . hampir2 tidak bisa dikritik lagi: bebas dari segala jang vulgar, sopan tetapi tadjam, berdiri diputujuk tombak peristiwa2 aktuil, baik sosial maupun politik, keras tetapi tidak kasar, halus tetapi tidak lunak. 74. . . hal2 jang ordiner, dan kadang2 bahkan vulgar . . . Sehingga tak terasalah nilai pendidikan . . . didalam ludruk itu. 75“Marhaen” . . . membikin revolusi dalam hal ini. 76Tjak Bowo . . . pelandjut jang absah dari tradisi Durasim. . . 77Iklim jang mempengaruhi pertundjukan2 “marhaen” adalah iklim realisme, iklim jang segar2. POPULAR THEATRE 279

. . . can hardly be criticised any longer: it is free of anything that is vulgar, polite but cutting; it stands at the sharp end of contemporary developments, both social and political; hard, but not crude; reﬁned, but not soft.

Whereas Njoto’s description of Dagelan Mataram’s performance for the SOBSI National Congress emphasised the sheer comedy of the act (“our laughter, and sometimes our tears, were exhausted”), in this case he highlights the additional didactic quality of Marhaen’s humour:

Lelutjon2 itu membikin gedung pertundjukan selalu hampir2 meledak, tetapi lelutjon2 itu, melalui kelutjuan, mengisi dan bahkan mem- persendjatai para penontonnja untuk hidup perdjuangannja. Dalam hal ini trio Bowo-Urip-Rukun adalah tertunggal jang bulat. The jokes often almost blew the roof oﬀ the theatre. But those jokes, through their humour, enlightened and even armed the audience for their lives in struggle. In this the trio of Bowo-Urip- Rukun really have no peer.

While portraying the performance as an overwhelming success, the reader is nevertheless left with the impression of a diﬀerent audience reaction to that received by Dagelan Mataram at the national congress. While the latter gives an impression of non-stop and uncontrolled laughter, the former gives an impression of laughter punctuating some serious scenes:

Didalam mengedjar pendekatan pada kehidupan jang njata, “Marhaen” kadang2 tergelintir pada sematjam naturalisme didalam tonil. Kita katakan sadja terlalu ber-=sungguh2, sehinggga menjerupai sandiwara biasa, sehingga hampir2 kehilangan keludrukannja! In their endeavours to ﬁnd a method based in real life, Marhaen sometimes slips into a kind of naturalism in their performance. We could say that it is too serious, and as a result seems like ordinary theatre, having almost lost its character as Ludruk!

Njoto argues that this is not genuine realism, that “satire is also a tool for actualising realism”.78, i.e. what deﬁnes realism is not the naturalism of 78Djuga satire adalah alat pengutjapan realisme. 280 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS the portrayal of the story, but how well the performance meets the political needs of ordinary people (e.g. does is improve their morale or conﬁdence? Does it help them understand the workings of the society around them?).

Conclusion

The communist movement of the early 1950s saw their struggle as an extension and continuation of the national liberation struggle of the 1940s and earlier, and the new young leadership under D.N. Aidit saw the development of an independent and anti-imperialist culture as central to their political project. In the early 1950s, mass capitalist culture (what is sometimes now known as “media culture”) was still at its beginnings in Indonesia. The new nation and its colonial predecessor (the Dutch East Indies) had already begun to consume and imitate key products of this emerging global mass culture (e.g. Hollywood films, American popular music), but much of Indonesia’s popular culture still had a “folk” quality, and was still performed live. Cultural nights associated with various movement events (conferences, congresses, anniversaries, commemorations, etc.) were a key meeting point between the movement and such live performance. Kebudajaan provides readers with a number of contemporary reports of such events, especially for the capital, Jakarta. One striking feature of these reports is the prominence of dance, both folk and classical, which was clearly going through a period of great flux and vitality, as young choreographers, such as Sunardi and Bambang Sukowati Dewantara, sought to develop forms and content more appropriate to an independent and anti-imperialist Indonesia. Bambang Sukowati took an approach that sought to infuse a technically demanding and classical style with more dynamism and new political content. Sunardi also sought to inject his choreography with politically progressive content, but also moved further from the techniques of classical Javanese dances, seeking to make his movements more accessible to amateur dancers. Both artists drew strong praise from PKI politburo member Njoto, and were popular performing artists at CONCLUSION 281 movement events. Not only were this, their innovations were taken up by other performers at movement events, especially in the case of Sunardi. Dance was only one area where artists and activists in the communist movement were seeking to bring new political meaning to existing folk forms of performing art. Dance itself blended into a number of these forms, especially forms of folk theatre. Within the communist movement, key exponents of the latter were the Ketoprak troupe, Dagelan Mataram in Yogyakarta and the Ludruk group Marhaen in Surabaya. Both conducted successful performances at key movement events, and both were praised for their humour. But while Dagelan Mataram was lightly criticised by Njoto for being somewhat careless in choosing targets for satire, Marhaen was criticised for tending to be a little too serious, and therefore too much like mainstream Western-style theatre, i.e. as having lost its “ludruk-ness”. In making these criticisms, Njoto referred to Marhaen being too “naturalistic”, rather than “realistic”. In this case, as in several reviews of films, “realism” was a concept that did not seem to refer to form, as much as to political content, affect, and effect. Articles in Kebudajaan give readers a sense of the tensions around efforts to modernise folk forms of performing arts. These tensions seem to have revolved around issues like the “feudal” flavour of some of these forms, their “low-brow” and commercial quality, as well as their regional (rather than national) history and tone. As artists, activists, and movement leaders grappled with these issues, they did not reach for abstract formulae or ready-made definitions to assess the potential future directions of particular forms, but started with key practical concerns, emphasising the importance of the continuing popular vitality of these forms for Indonesian populations that were key demographics for the movement’s political work (i.e. the urban and rural poor). 282 CHAPTER 6. LIVE PERFORMING ARTS Chapter 7

The Communist Imagination: Creative Short Prose in Kebudajaan

Introduction

Short creative prose, as opposed to cinema and live performing arts, was not simply reviewed and discussed in Kebudajaan; the supplement also provided a forum for the “performance” (i.e. publishing) of works. As the 1955 election approached, the publication of short stories and other short creative prose became an increasingly regular feature of its pages. This work therefore provides a concrete example of communist approaches to a particular form, as well as an insight into how writers (overwhelmingly amateurs) saw the communist movement and the society in which it operated. It also gives insight into how the movement wanted to present itself—both because of the fact that it was movement activists that created these works, and because the editors of Kebudajaan considered these works worthy of publishing. This does not, however, mean that the stories chosen were necessarily the “best” available in the movement, or that the editors chose stories simply to represent the movement, both to itself and to others. Lekra leaders (including those involved in editing the supplement) saw literature and other arts as being inherently political.1 By extension publication of short stories was not

1See chapter four above for a number of comments from leading Lekra-ists on this front.

283 284 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION simply a matter of reﬂecting conditions in the movement or propagandising an idealised picture—it was a political act in itself—which had impacts on the writers, as well as the communities and groups of which they were part. This chapter will examine the short creative prose of Kebudajaan to see what insights it gives into the vision the supplement’s editors had for the form, as well as the insight it gives into how participants in the movement saw themselves, their situations and conditions, and the dreams they had for the future. Rather than selecting “good” stories, it will look at the body of stories published in Kebudajaan as a whole, examining the detail of individual stories as they relate to general trends across the whole body of narratives.2 Overview of the Stories

From the beginning of September 1952 until New Year 1956, ninety-four works of “short creative prose” were published in Kebudajaan.3 The number of short stories gradually rose throughout the period, peaking in the middle of 1955. Table 7.1, on page 286, gives the number of short fiction pieces published in Kebudajaan by quarter. While discussion of film was concentrated in two periods (September 1952 – February 1953; November 1953 – July 1954; see Table 7.2 on page 286 for figures by quarter), short fiction is concentrated in the thirteen months from June 1954 to July 1955 (64% of the total number of pieces that appear in this period). This suggests that discussion of film and short fiction might be complementary. It might also suggest that short fiction, a form of art that was easier for an ordinary person

2This approach is loosely based on “corpus” approaches to studying bodies of narratives, a methodology pioneered by students of legends and folklore in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. 3This figure has the following qualifications: serialised works are counted more than once; the inclusion of some reportage works in the “fiction” category is debatable. The latter is justified by the fact that reportage was clearly important in the period (see below), and it also seems clear that Kebudajaan itself did not draw a clear boundary between fiction and non-fiction (see the discussion below). Serialised works are counted more than once to give them the approximate weight they actually have in Kebudajaan (i.e. a short story serialised over three weeks is obviously more highly valued than a short story published in one issue, as the former makes more demands of the limited space available). There were seven short stories that were serialised during the period, each over two weeks. Travelogue stories are not included in this figure, although they are discussed below. With travelogues included, the figure rises to 115. “REPORTAGE” & “PERSONAL STATEMENTS” 285 to produce, was more important to Kebudajaan’s editors. Of course, short fiction is also cheaper to consume (no expensive ticket to purchase, just one newspaper necessary, which can be shared between several people). A key feature of short fiction in Kebudajaan is the fact that the vast majority of authors appear only once (64%) or twice (20%) over the forty month period. Only two authors appeared more than three times: “Siswa Patria” from Medan, and Saibun, who appears to have had roots in East Sumatra. The former appears to have been the nom de plume of a Medan Lekra activist, the latter a trade union activist. Prominent left-leaning writers appear sparingly or not at all.4 This suggests that both that the number of people who could write for the supplement was large5 and that its editors were consciously encouraging new writers. The logic behind these efforts becomes clearer when we consider the thematic content, and forms of the work published.

“Personal Statements”, Reportage, & Biography

By 1954, the cultural pages of Harian Rakjat were publishing short stories on a regular basis, and a distinct LEKRA style was emerging. . . the characteristic preference. . . is for “personal statements”, stories in which the writer either assumes the persona of an observed character, or speaks undisguisedly of his or her own experience. Stylistically there is a tendency towards reportage. . . [A] radical departure from established literary conventions occurs in the extension of the “personal statement” style of story-telling into

4The writer who since 1965 has been most identiﬁed with Lekra and the communist movement, Pramoedya Ananta Toer, appears only once as the writer of a short story: “My Neighbourhood” (Kampungku), which was originally published in the newspaper Duta. See Pramoedya Ananta Toer “Kampungku” HR 3/1/53. Nevertheless, Pramoedya does appear as the author of a number of essays, and is often mentioned in connection with the cultural life of Jakarta. The authorship of a number of the works is unclear. Two short stories are anonymous, and in other cases the author is diﬃcult to identify. For example “A.S. Dharta”, “ASD”, and “Klara Akustia” are all clearly A.S. Dharta. “AS.”, which appears once, may not be (see AS. “Minggu Pagi” HR 30/10/54). “A.” could be A.S. Dharta, Joebaar Ajoeb, Agam Wispi, etc. See A. “Ningsih, aktivis BTI” HR 11/6/55. Likewise, “S” could be Saibun, or any number of other writers. See S “Kaomalang” HR 12/3/55. 5Especially when we add to these numbers the large number of writers who were addressed in notes from the editors, published in Kebudajaan, that gave explanations for rejections of work and suggestions and advice for further work. 286 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

Table 7.1: Short Creative Prose in Kebudajaan

Quarter Year No. September-December 1952 3 January-March 1953 4 April-June 1953 8 July-September 1953 3 October-December 1953 2 January-March 1954 1 April-June 1954 8 July-September 1954 7 October-December 1954 13 January-March 1955 11 April-June 1955 20 July-September 1955 5 October-December 1955 9 Total 94

Table 7.2: Articles that Discuss Film in Kebudajaan

Quarter Year No. September-December 1952 26 January-March 1953 6 April-June 1953 0 July-September 1953 0 October-December 1953 7 January-March 1954 9 April-June 1954 7 July-September 1954 4 October-December 1954 0 January-March 1955 2 April-June 1955 3 July-September 1955 6 October-December 1955 4 Total 69 “REPORTAGE” & “PERSONAL STATEMENTS” 287

reportage contributions. . . LEKRA’s publication of them in Har- ian Rakjat’s “Cultural Aﬀairs” page is [itself] a radical aesthetic gesture. . . it indicates the possibility of a turning away from established conventions of Indonesian literature.6

While only two stories by the Balinese writer Made Serinata and one story by “Bakri” (possibly Lekra Medan leader Bakri Siregar) ﬁt strictly into the idea of a “personal statement” as described by Foulcher (1986) in the quote above7, many have a biographical and/or “reportage” quality. These stories describe in an unadorned and unpretentious way the lives of ordinary Indonesians or of movement activists (which is not to suggest that the latter could not also be amongst the former).8 While “reportage” is normally associated with journalism9, there is a history of reportage-style literature on the Left. In the early 1930s, the great Hungarian philosopher and literary

6Foulcher (1986, p. 52-54). 7Made Serinata “Apa sebabnja saja masuk S.G.A.?” HR 6/6/53 and “Semalam dalam tahanan” HR 7/5/55 & HR 14/5/55. The former story appears in Indonesian and English translation in Foulcher (1986, p. 89-94). Bakri [Bakri Siregar?] “Derita Perang” HR 7/5/55. 8The only stories that fall outside of this categorisation are two stories by PKI leader Njoto’s secretary, chief Lekra facilitator, and later Constituent Assembly member, Oey Hai Djoen (writing under the pen name “Samandjaja”), one story by Mohammad Isa, and an anonymous story making fun of the Socialist Party (PSI). Oey’s first story, “Skets Khajal: Keruhbajangan” (A Fantastic Sketch) HR 11/4/53, describes a stereo-typed US corporation, the “Yankee Monopoly Corporation”. His second effort, “Simin, Dul, Amat, Madjid dan Lain-lain” (Simin, Dul, Amat, Madjid and the Others) HR 12/9/53 & 19/9/53 sets out to portray the hypocrisy of the local bourgeoisie. In neither story is there a clear plot, and Oey’s general approach is impressionistic, with absolutely no pretence of drawing on direct experience. Mohammad Isa’s “Sten-Gun: O, sancta simplicitas” HR 17/8/55 has a machine gun as its narrator. The anonymous story poking fun at the PSI is Anon. “Kata sehibul hikajat” (Once Upon a Time) HR 22/10/55, like Oey’s efforts, has a fanciful feel, and simply plays with stereo-types of the PSI to make fun of apparent PSI frustration with the General Election results a few weeks before. 9Indeed Wikipedia automatically redirects searches for “reportage” to the entry under “journalism”, which has no discussion of reportage as a literary method. See http://en.wikipedia.org/Reportage, accessed 1/7/14. The Granta Book of Reportage (2006 [1993]) is made up of journalistic essays, almost all of them written from a first person (“eye-witness”) perspective. In his introduction, Ian Jack recognises something of a relationship between creative literature and reportage journalism (in that he sees reportage as a form that brings non-conventional writers, such as novelists, to the journalistic table), but seems unaware of reportage as an approach to literature as well as journalism (Jack, 1993). Given Granta as a magazine publishes both fiction and non-fiction, and given it has a history of supporting and promoting realist fiction, this seems surprising. 288 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION critic Gyögy Lukács could state while discussing the novel Denn sie wissen, was sie tun (“Because they know what they’re doing”)10, that:

Ottwalt’s new novel is representative of a whole trend in literature, and a quite speciﬁc kind of creative method. He works with the methods of journalistic reportage, instead of the “traditional”, “obsolete” and “bourgeois” methods of “invented” plot and “portrayed” men and women. The trend is very widespread today, on an international scale.11

This was part of a broader debate that he was conducting with leading modernists who were close to the German Communist Party (KPD), notably including Bertolt Brecht.12 In this case Lukács was arguing against a mixing of journalism (reportage) and fiction to create what Ottwalt called a “factual novel” (Tatsachenroman), that is a work of fiction built from non-fiction narratives, seeing this development as falling into similar errors to those of naturalism.13 This endeavour to blur fiction and non-fiction is somewhat similar to the efforts of Kebudajaan editors and writers in the early 1950s. The latter seem, however, to have been largely unaware of this history. In part this might reflect disjunctures in the international communist movement caused by the crushing of the KPD by the Nazis and the crushing of oppositionists (“Trot- skyists”) and Old Bolsheviks by Stalin in the Soviet Union. These events,

10Ottwalt (1931). Ernst Ottwalt was the nom de plume of German communist writer Ernst Gottwalt Nicolas (1901-1943), who fled Nazi Germany for the Soviet Union (via Denmark and Czechoslovakia) in 1933, only to be sent to Stalin’s gulag in 1936, where he apparently died in 1943. See Raddatz (1977) and Mytze (1977). 11Georg Lukács “Reportage or Portrayal?” in his Essays on Realism (Lukács, 1980, p. 45). This collection of essays was first published in German as Werke, Band 4: Essays über Realismus (Lukács, 1971). This particular essay was itself originally published in the famous communist cultural journal Die Linkskurve in 1932 (Lukács, 1932). 12The exchange and interaction between these two leading thinkers is covered in detail in Pike (1985) and Lunn (1984), amongst others. Adorno et al. (2007) and Jameson (1974) contain some key primary source material from the debate (although this is more oriented to the “realism” versus “modernism” debate). Raddatz (1977), Murphy (1991, p. 52-54), Congdon (2014, p. 90-92), Richardson (2007, p. 45-46, 63-64), and Berman (1977) all deal directly with the controversy around Ottwalt’s “factual novel” (Tatsachenroman) approach. 13Ottwalt’s defence of his approach is given in Ottwalt (1932) in one of the last issues Die Linkskurve. “REPORTAGE” & “PERSONAL STATEMENTS” 289 alongside Indonesia’s own “disjuncture” in the crushing of the PKI in 1926- 27, severed and buried critical links with the international movement of the 1920s, a key period of experimentation for the international cultural Left.14 Beyond this it might also reflect the fact that this experiment arose in a way that was under-theorised, at least in the period covered by this study. It was an approach that seems to have grown organically from the political and cultural imperatives of the movement in early 1950s Indonesia. Whatever the roots of the approach, its basic outline is clear enough: an unadorned descriptive or observational approach, and a seeming preference for amateur over professional writing. Part of this was a common “biographical” or “eye-witness” style. Beyond this, the stories can be categorised a number of different ways: the “personal statement” stories mentioned above, “personal profile” stories, “regional biography”, “change of consciousness” stories, and pulang kampung (“going home”) stories. “Personal profile” stories focused on a particular individual who was seen in one way or another to be representative of a larger group in society. Ex- amples of such stories include “Ani, the Maid” by Srisad., Rumambi’s “Simin, the Bike Cleaner”, S. Djin’s “Siman, the Fried Peanut Seller”.15 This form was also used to take up issues around the experience of activism, as in “Ningsih, the Peasants’ Union Activist” and Zein D. Datu’s “Wirjo, the Old Com- munist”.16 This kind of biography spilled over into what might be termed “regional biography”, which was a form of creative reportage that described conditions and issues for common people in a particular region. For example, Lekra Surabaya writer Hassan produced reportage stories on the area around the Jero (Blawi) river and the Tuban region in Northeastern Java,

14We might add to this list the effective crushing of the communist revolution in China 1925-27. A classic critical account of the latter is Isaacs (1938). See also Harris (2015). On the 1926-27 rebellion in Indonesia see McVey (1965) and Williams (1982). 15Srisad. “Babu Ani” HR 1/5/55; Rumambi “Simin tukanglap speda” HR 13/11/54; and S. Djin “Siman, pendjual katjang goreng” HR 31/12/54. Other stories in this sort of vein include K. S. Warsininingsih “Falsafah sepiring nasi. . . !!” (The Philosophy of a Bowl of Rice) HR 23/5/53, which profiles a prostitute, and A. M. Adinda “Fragmen kehidupan: Hudjan” HR 17/1/53, which profiles an unemployed man. 16A. “Ningsih, aktivis BTI” HR 11/6/55 and Zein D. Datu “Pak Wirjo Komunis Tua” HR 18/6/55. 290 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION while Njoto produced a story on the Besuki region of East Java.17 The latter in particular blurs into a body of travelogues published in HR, a key domestic example of which is Joebaar Ajoeb’s monumental “From Aceh via Tanjung Morawa to Minangkabau”, which ran as a serial from late October, 1953, through to the middle of January 1954.18 Numerous accounts of travels in Eastern Europe and China make up the the largest part of a body of international travelogues.19 Whether narrated from the first person (as in the “personal statement” stories), or from the point of view of a third party observer (as in the “personal profile” stories), many stories share other characteristics. These shared characteristics suggest another two key generic categories for the stories: “change of consciousness” and “going home” stories. The former is similar to the personal profile stories in that the narrative focuses on a particular individual. While the personal profile stories do this as a starting point for depiction or discussion of general conditions, “change of consciousness” do so in order to portray the development of a character (in one way or another “typical”) moving from holding one set of ideas to another (more progressive) set of ideas. In Tisno’s “Fate’s Spectre”, the character Pak Ijem comes to a greater understanding of the world through an anti-illiteracy campaign run by local Peasant Union leaders.20 In A. S. Dharta’s “Fear of Being Fired” Raden Mas21 Parto is won over to the cause of unionism as the result of a strike in a large foreign firm.22 Other stories of this sort do not focus “capital

17Hassan “Tjatatan dari Bengawan Djero” HR 19/6/54 & “Tjoretan dari Tuban” HR 10/7/54; Njoto “Besuki (tjatatan perjalanan singkat)” HR 16/1/54. 18Joebaar Ajoeb “Tjatatan Perdjalanan: dari Atjeh lewat Tanjung Morawa ke Minangk- abau” HR 24/10/53, HR 31/10/53, HR 7/11/53, HR 14/11/53, HR 21/11/53, 28/11/53. No editions of the supplement are available at the National Library of Australia between the edition of 5 December, 1953 (which does not contain an essay from Ajoeb) and that of 2 January, 1954, which includes an essay under the simple title “Minangkabau”, apparently a continuation of Ajoeb’s series. This is marked as the third installment on the Minangkabau region and continues in the following two supplements (HR 12/1/54, and 19/1/54. 19E.g. Sugiarti Siswadi “Oleh2 dari Bukares (3)” HR 8/10/55. This is apparently the third installment of this essay, but the other two are not available in the NLA collection. 20Tisno “Hantu di dalam Nasib” HR 9/5/53. 21A Javanese aristocratic title. 22Klara Akustia [A. S. Dharta] “Dimana takut berhenti” HR 15/11/52. Widjaja’s “Kisah bung Hardjo” HR 12/2/55 is another story of a character won to unionism. Similarly, “REPORTAGE” & “PERSONAL STATEMENTS” 291

C” change of consciousness, but rather on a character being won to simple arguments that would have been the bread and butter of the movement. In Suparman’s “Land to the Tillers”, the character Karsan is convinced by his wife to talk to the Peasants’ Union about improving conditions for local farmers.23 Probably the most famous story of this type, however, concerns a maturing child’s grappling with religious belief and the social realities of Indonesian society. In Sugiarti Siswadi’s “Heaven on Earth”, the narrator, a middle class child who is coming of age, comes to see formalistic religion as hypocritical, and comes to the conclusion that there is a need to struggle for better conditions in the here and now (i.e. there is a need to ﬁght for a “Heaven on Earth”).24

Pulang kampung (“Going home”) stories provide another example of a simple ﬁrst person narrated story form that gives a platform for the discussion of general conditions or important political issues. In these stories the narrator’s return to their home town is an opportunity to explore issues that might have social or political relevance, either to the local area in particular, but more normally to the nation as a whole. For example, both A. S. Dharta and Walinah Sastro used this device in stories for Kebu- dajaan that portrayed the destruction wrought by Darul Islam rebels (more on this below).25 Other stories that used this device include Isnandar P’s “I go home”, which uses the device to talk about many of the key political issues of the day (e.g. the Round Table Agreement and conﬂict over land)26, and “Namikakanda’s” “Developments in the River City”, which celebrates the success of the then recent PKI mass election rally in Solo, Central Java.27

although in a much cruder depiction, the character Ali in Tjak Wibowo’s “Sehelai Seskin” (A Length of Satin) is won over to the PKI and SOBSI-based unionism. 23Suparman “Tanah untuk Tani” HR 18/6/55. 24Sugiarti Siswadi “Sorga dibumi” HR 24/1/55. This story is also available in original Indonesian and English translation in Foulcher (1986, p. 81-89). 25A. S. Dharta “Tak ingat ke Kembang Beureum” HR 26/11/55 and Walinah Sastro “Pengalaman jang menjedarkan” HR 17/12/55. 26Isnandar P. “Aku pulang” HR 4/12/54. 27Namikakanda “Kebangunan di Kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55. 292 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION Key Themes

Whatever particular approaches were taken to short stories in Kebuda- jaan, it is clear that political considerations were at the centre of work for both the writers and the editors. In so far as Lekra and Kebudajaan did develop their own approaches to short stories, it is clear that they did this as part of a movement concerned to address social issues of importance to ordinary Indonesians and to the broad movement around the PKI. This section will discuss a series of key thematic areas that arise from a reading of the entire body of short stories in Kebudajaan. It begins by looking at the stories’ endeavours to identify the issues, to portray the conditions that the activists want to change. From there it moves on to a variety of themes that relate to endeavours to change these conditions. Revealing Conditions: The Lives of Ordinary Indonesians in the Communist Imagination

The living conditions of ordinary Indonesians was a central focus for many stories in Kebudajaan. These were aimed at drawing attention to the plight of poorer Indonesians, but may also have been intended—as part of the anti-illiteracy campaigns of which the communist movement was an enthusiastic supporter and promoter—at engaging ordinary Indonesians in reading, discussing, and writing about their own conditions and that of their fellow Indonesians.

At the beginning of the period stories tended to focus on conditions in urban areas and on plantations, but from the middle of 1954 more stories began to appear describing rural conditions, possibly reﬂecting the PKI’s expansion during this period into non-plantation rural areas. This section will begin by discussing stories that in one way or another focus on urban conditions, before moving on to conditions in plantation areas, then on to stories about rural conditions, and ﬁnally to another key concern of many stories: conditions for women in Indonesia. REVEALING CONDITIONS 293

Urban Conditions

Many Kebudajaan stories concern themselves with the living conditions of ordinary Indonesians in urban areas. A signiﬁcant number of these also deal with industrial tensions, or other social tensions around campaigns, and these will be analysed in a later section of this chapter. Here I will consider those stories and elements of stories that seek to simply describe conditions.

Poverty

Naturally, poverty was a key topic for Kebudajaan writers, and at the beginning of the period this largely meant urban poverty. Writers used a number of techniques to approach the topic. The author of “Sunday Morning”28 focuses on a ﬁre that sweeps through North Jakarta slums, but does not stop at portraying the suﬀering and hardship that ensues, but uses the situation to highlight the general living conditions and the large inequalities in Indonesian society. The narrator lives in one of many slums that line Gunung Sahari An- col Road, a road that leads (then and now) to a famous recreational area, Zandvoort29, and links the port of Tanjung Priok to central Jakarta. As a consequence, constant reminders of the wealth of others are passing through the slums. The rich are constantly passing on the way to spend their extra cash at Zandvoort.30 The parade of vehicles includes those of large companies, the sedans of the rich, tankers for the oil company BPM31, and buses for the passenger liners of the Dutch owned KPM.32

28AS. “Minggu Pagi” HR 30/10/54. 29The area is now known as “Dunia Mimpi Ancol” (Ancol Dream World) or simply Ancol. In the early 1950s it was still known by its Dutch colonial name. 30“[It] is the place where the money moguls spend their time, especially on Saturday nights” (. . . tempat radja uang menghabiskan waktunja terutama di-malam2 Minggu). 31Bataafsche Petroleum Maatschappij (The Batavian Petroleum Company). A sub- sidiary of Royal Dutch Shell that focused on oil extraction and reﬁning. See Gerretson (1953) for detailed coverage of BPM’s history in Indonesia (this is a four volume history of Royal Dutch Shell, published between 1953 and 1957). 32Koninklijke Paketvaart Maatschappij (The Royal Package Company), a shipping company established in the colonial Indies in 1888 that continued to operate in Indonesia until it was nationalised in 1957 (although this “nationalisation” largely failed, as KPM simply 294 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

Even the fire does not treat people equally. Poor residents’ houses are often built using woven bamboo walls, sometimes huddled against the large stone walls of wealthier residents’ houses. Their houses burn quickly, and the poorly resourced fire service does little to stop the fire. People cry out for lost children, and gather themselves and what possessions are to hand and watch the fire from the banks of the canal that runs alongside Gunung Sahari Ancol Road. Another story that provides a personalised take on general poverty is “The Lebaran Thief”.33 The story centres on a poor old woman who steals some clothes and food during Idul Adha celebrations. Initially, the neighbourhood is awash with gossip about the magical powers of the thief, since nobody saw him, even though there were a lot of people around. The old woman lives under a bridge with her grandchild, who is sick. She cannot afford enough food, let alone medicine. She asks people for rice, but nobody gives her anything. Eventually she gets up the courage to steal some rice from the local selamatan34 being held for Idul Adha, the Muslim holiday held to celebrate the culmination of the Hajj. People come into the house as she is stealing the rice, so she has to hide. When she gets the courage to leave, nobody gives the poor old woman a second look, and she escapes as if invisible. But it is too late for her grandchild, who has died in the meantime. She gives the rice to other poor people like herself, but is racked by guilt. Eventually she asks the owner of the rice for forgiveness. He is well-known for his bad temper, but is moved, and he and his wife then offer to take care of her, even though they are not well off (he is a common labourer).35 sailed most of its ships to Singapore. For details of the history of KPM see Mulder (1991) and Campo (1992). At the time of writing there is no history of KPM in English. 33I. Imaesih “Pentjuri Dihari Lebaran” HR 26/9/53. Lebaran is a term for the celebration at the end of the Muslim fasting month (Idul Fitri) and also for the holiday celebrating the climax of the Hajj (Idul Adha). 34A general term for a celebration feast where food is given away ostensibly to provide some kind of supernatural security for the host and their family. Such feasting is associated with key religious holidays, as well as pregnancy, birth, and death (amongst other things). For a classic (and extensive) discussion of selamatan, see Geertz (1960). 35Another story that focuses straight-forwardly on poverty is K. Sunarjo “Dinding koran ‘Harian Rakjat” HR 10/7/54. In this story a union leader is too embarrassed to invite his comrades to his home because it is so small and its walls have been patched up with old REVEALING CONDITIONS 295

Health

While both “The Lebaran Thief” and “Sunday Morning” are peripherally concerned with the link between poverty and health issues36, the only story by Pramoedya Ananta Toer to be published in Kebudajaan during the early 1950s, “My Kampung”37, has that relationship front and centre Pramoedya uses the contrast between the location of his kampung—only ﬁve hundred metres northwest of Independence Palace (Istana Merdeka), the President’s residence in Jakarta—and the actual health conditions there. He compares the dangers of ﬁghting as a guerilla during the National Revolu- tion (which he did), and decides that it was less dangerous than living in his kampung. He parades before the reader a succession of stories of death and disease in his area, repeatedly using the image of the angel Gabriel calling copies of Harian Rakjat. Other stories that have urban poverty as a secondary or passing theme include: • Boejoeng Saleh “Fragment sebuah roman: Insan dan Yvonne” HR 11/10/52; • Boejoeng Saleh “Insan dan Yvonne (II)” HR 18/10/52; • Saibun “Mogok Setahun” HR 19/6/54 & HR 26/6/54; • T. Roberto Ousmaninov “Fadjar Merah” HR 31/7/54 & HR 7/8/54; • Saibun “Gambar Pemimpin” HR 12/2/55; • S. Djin “Sari, tetanggaku” HR 9/4/54; • Made Serinata “Semalam dalam tahanan” HR 7/5/55 & HR 14/5/55; • Namikakanda “Kebangunan di kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55;

36The latter includes discussion of, for example, the impact of malaria on poor residents of Gunung Sahari, while in the former the health of her grandchild is a central motivating factor for the poor old woman to steal. 37Pramoedya Ananta Toer “Kampungku” HR 3/1/53. Kampung is a term that is used to describe any area where the houses of ordinary Indonesians are gathered together. In rural areas it can be an equivalent of “village” in English. There is no equivalent in meaning in urban areas, since there are only derogatory terms for poorer areas of cities (e.g. “slum”, “shanty town”). The closest equivalent might be “ghetto”, but this also has negative connotations, and gives an impression of ethnic exclusivity (which can be the case with kampung—as in Kampung Arab, the Arab Quarter—but often is not). Barrio, a Spanish term that has wide currency in the Americas is possibly the closest available equivalent. Kampung is the source of the word “Compound” in English (in the sense of a large enclosed area in which people live or work). “Kampungku” was included in the 1957 collection Tjerita dari Djakarta (Toer, 1957b). It is available in English translation in Toer (2000). 296 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION people to heaven as a way of contrasting the beauty of the religious myth with the cruelty of the everyday situation. He comments: “Friend, I have not told you everything about the angel Gabriel’s activities in my kampung. . . Gabriel really takes the initiative in calling people to heaven”.38 He tells the story of one family where ten of thirteen children have died. He continues: “While murder with weapons is punished by the authorities, murder through igno- rance and poverty is not forbidden in my kampung, even when that murder is of your own children”.39 Pramoedya points out that this is only one gang (alleyway). His whole kampung has seven gangs, with a total population of around 800. My Kampung, like several other stories, makes mention of the widespread prevalence of tuberculosis. F.L. Risakotta’s “His Final Moments”40 is another in this category. It begins with the image of a crumbling colonial building. Scores of homeless people shelter under its eaves. They lack jobs and need to beg to get what they can. “For them all enjoyment and beauty is gone. Life seems dark to them”.41 The rainy season is the hardest for people here; it is harder to beg. Risakotta then moves from the group of homeless people to an individual, a beggar. He is coming home at night, coughing; he obviously has tuberculosis. He ﬁnds a spot at the building and begins singing a sad song, between coughing ﬁts. A warung (food stall) operator across the way feels moved, but he does not have anything he could give the beggar—he has not got enough, either. The beggar dies and then there is silence.

Unemployment and Homelessness

In societies like 1950s urban Indonesia that lack a signiﬁcant welfare system, unemployment and homelessness are inextricably linked, as is the case in “His Final Moments”. These themes appear in several other stories. In A. M.

38Kawan, ini belum semua jang harus kutjeritakan padamu tentang kegiatan djibril dikampungku. . . djibril ini sungguh pesuruh jang punja inisiatif jang amat besar. 39Kalau pembunuhan dengan sendjata dihukum oleh pemerintah pembunuhan karena kebodohan dan kemiskinan tidak dilarang dikampungku, sekalipun pembunuhan itu diker- djakan atas anak sendiri. 40F.L. Risakotta “Detik-Akhir” HR 5/12/53. 41Baginja hilang segala kesenangan, keindahan. Serasa pekat hidup ini baginja. REVEALING CONDITIONS 297

Adinda’s “Rain”42 the narrator has been combing Surabaya for a job since eight o’clock in the morning. He has only had a little to eat, something given to him by a friend. The rain has been falling for ﬁve hours. He tries to gradually make his way home:

Setiap terang sedjenak, kulangkahkan kakiku terus berdjalan meripit gedung2 besar kepunjaan bangsa asing jang hidup mewah.

Every time the sky clears for a moment I walk between large buildings owned by foreigners who live in luxury.

His house is small, and the roof leaks. He knows his wife and son won’t be able to sleep. Because of his unemployment, they are having to sell all their possessions one by one. But, the narrator comments, “what hurts even more are the voices of the better off calling me lazy”.43 At half past ten at night, when he finally makes his way home, it is still raining. He has only eaten two plates of rice in three days. They have not paid the rent in months, and they will be evicted soon. The landlord has already taken their bamboo couch as payment. They are going to be made homeless, and all the narrator can think to do is to live in the field near the Bupati’s44 office. If it rains, they will have to find shelter in the ruined Toko Inggeris (British Shop) building. In I. Imaesy’s “Work Hard!”45 the starting point is the headache the narrator gets when he hears people talking about the need to work hard. He is unemployed. He has three children, and his wife is asking for things. They used to live in a village, and even though they were “hicks” (djiwa udik), they were happy. But their house was burnt down by “terrorists” (pengatjau), presumably Darul Islam rebels, killing their son. As a consequence, they decided to move to the city. Eventually, the narrator is able to find a job

42A. M. Adinda “Hudjan” HR 17/1/53. 43Jang mendjadikan lebih djengkel lagi, suara dari orang2 mampu jang mengedjek aku malas. 44A Bupati is the senior position in local government (below the provincial level). There is no real equivalent in the English-speaking world. It is something of an equivalent of a mayor, but even this does not really describe what a Bupati does. In Australian terms they are something like a premier, but only for a region, rather than a state. 45I. Imaesy “Kerdja Keras. . . !” HR 6/6/53 298 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION clearing forests in Sumatra. He finishes by asking: “but what of the other unemployed people?”. Kebudajaan’s most prolific contributor of short stories, Saibun, begins his “The Jobless Family”46 with a scene of a husband and wife talking in a small shack (gubuk). They are trying to decide which of their possessions can be pawned next. What’s left? Which of them should not eat that night, so that their children get enough? They are desperate to find a way to get some more money to survive, but all the alternatives involve serious compromises. Land lent from a Dutch tobacco company is being given for the use of landless people like themselves, but only if they have a referral from local Masjumi leaders, who are stridently anti-communist. The wife suggests working on the wharves at Medan’s port, Belawan, but that would involve scabbing on a strike. The story finishes with them finally sharing a single portion of rice:

Keduanya menghabiskan nasi jang sebatok itu. Menjuap berganti2 dengan rasa puas. Sedikit demi sedikit semangat keduanja bangkit perlahan membentuk kepertjajaan pada diri sendiri dan perlahan- lahan kejakinan akan hari depan jang lebih baik menebal dihati masing2. Keduanya saling tersenjum sambil memandang malam sesudah hudjan.

The two of them ate the single bowl of rice together. They felt satisﬁed taking a handful each in turn. Little by little their spirits improved, lifting their spirits and their faith in a future that would be better. They smiled at each other while watching the night outside after the rains.

Occupations of the Poor and Obscure

Another way of depicting the poverty and hardships of the lives of ordinary Indonesians in Kebudajaan stories was to focus on the desperate occupations to which poorer Indonesians had to resort in order to survive. There are several examples in this category. These stories do this either by the narrator taking the role of someone doing one of these jobs, or with the narrator as

46Saibun “Keluarga Penganggur” HR 28/8/54. REVEALING CONDITIONS 299 an observer. For example, K. S. Warsiningsih’s “The Philosophy of a Bowl of Rice”47 has a woman who has become a prostitute as its narrator. Like several other stories of this type, she addresses the reader as Tuan (“Sir”)48, emphasising that the narrator is looking up from below: Tuan djangan mentjoba menjarankan bahwa pekerdjaan dan dja- batanku sekarang ini adalah termasuk hina dikutuki Tuhan. . . Aku. . . ingin djuga melandjutkan kehidupanku seperti Tuan2 djuga. . . Sir, don’t try to suggest that the work and the position I have now is one that is lowly and cursed by God. . . I. . . want to go on living just like you do.

The tone is not celebratory, but not apologetic either. She explains how she came to be working as a prostitute. Initially, she had worked in a milk bottle factory. But after a car smashed a cart full of bottles, the boss fired workers, raised working hours (with no wage rise), and began charging prices above the government limit. He is inevitably caught, and his goods and factory are seized by the police, and so the narrator finds herself unemployed. Desperate, she goes from house to house looking for domestic work—to no avail. The only person who would take her in was a Madame. Out of the side of her mouth, she “apologises” to her imagined better off readers: Tuan, kalau aku setjara kebetulan telah masuk kerumah diantara Tuan2 untuk mentjari pekerdjaan, sungguh kusajangkan bila Tuan hanja menutup pintu Tuan dengan menjeringai mentjurigaku. Meski demikian masih kutjoba, kutjoba beberapa puluh kali masuk keluar halaman Tuan2 dan Njonja2 lainnja. Sirs, if I by chance came to your doors looking for work, I regret that you had to just close your door while giving me a suspicious smile. Even when this happened, I kept trying, I tried dozens and dozens of times, entering and leaving the yards of other Ladies and Gentlemen. 47K. S. Warsiningsih Kbh. “Falsafah sepiring nasi. . . !!!” HR 23/5/53. 48Another example of this is I. Imaesy’s “Kerdja Keras”, discussed above. Tuan has clearer class connotations than “sir” or “madam”, which although they have roots in feudal class distinctions, have general modern usage. In some contexts tuan could be translated with “boss” or even “master”. Tuan is also closely associated with colonialism, and was a general term of address for European men or other rich foreign men. Tuan can be used for indigenous Indonesians, as well, but is most often replaced with Bapak (“father”) or other kinship terms. 300 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

In “Karlan”49, Lekra Medan’s F. L. Risakotta tells the story of the ul- timate desperate occupation: scrounging. In this story the narrator is an observer. It begins by setting the scene in the narrator’s bedroom: a field bed he brought with him from his home kampung 50, a lamp, and that is about it. He is clearly not well off. But a visit to a warung (food stall) shows him that there are people who are much worse off. It is raining, and all sorts of people are seeking refuge: beggars, drinkers, “a hungry old man with a grumbling stomach, which sings the same old song”.51 It is also “a nest of well-dressed people ordering hot milk, and waiting on the rain”.52 They ignore the poor people around them. A group of girls leaves the warung, and some children pounce on their left-overs. An old man with sunken cheeks tries to get something, too. The man can eat anything mixed with anything: beer, milk, juice, noodles, satay sauce, whatever. They fight over the scraps. The owner, angry at the impression they must be giving prospective customers, drives them out. The narrator leaves, wondering why people have to live like this. Rumambi’s “Simin, the Bicycle Cleaner”53 looks at one of the many small “unproductive productive” jobs that constantly spring up in modern Indone- sia. These are jobs that do not really need to be done, but which have the appearance, at least, of providing some convenience, usually for richer Indonesians. These jobs can emerge and disappear quickly as small opportunities that provide space for them change.54 In this story, the narrator finds someone cleaning his bike as he sits down for an Es Shanghai drink at an outdoor restaurant. The cleaner appears to be part of a troop of teenagers who

49F. L. Risakotta “Karlan” HR 20/1/54. 50See the discussion in the footnote above on page 295. 51situa jang kelaparan dan perut kerontjongan melagukan lagu lama 52sarang manusia stelan menanti hudjan dan memesan susu panas. 53Rumambi “Simin tukanglap speda” HR 13/11/54. 54A contemporary example is the “jockeys” who get paid to ride in cars so that drivers can fulfil passenger number requirements on major thoroughfares in central Jakarta. After providing a new job opportunity, it looks like Jakarta’s anti-congestion laws will now be phased out, and the people relying on jockeying for a living will need to find new employment, whether more productive or another “unproductive productive” job like jockeying. See Gordon LaForge “Dead end for Jakarta’s jockeys” The Jakarta Post 2/10/2013. REVEALING CONDITIONS 301 have given themselves this job, apparently having appeared from nowhere to do it. The narrator calls over the teenager, who is wearing nothing but a pair of colourless shorts and has a cigarette hanging from his mouth. The narrator calls him over and talks to him (with the help of a free Es Shang- hai and cigarette), finding out that he has grown up scrounging left-overs from restaurants and what he could from garbage. He has stolen clothes from clothes lines, as well as chickens, and he lives under a bridge. He does not know who his parents were, and says he does not care. He lethargically boasts of having sex with lots of girls, and having already had to bury a baby alive, because his girlfriend could not produce any milk to feed it. Finally he parts with “I’ve got to go, I want to get some money”.55 With that he returns to his work “with the same indifference people showed towards Simin himself”.56 Other examples in this genre include S. Djin’s profile of a fried bean seller57 and Srisad.’s profile of a domestic maid58, which will be discussed below.

Rural Conditions

Rural conditions are widely covered in Kebudajaan stories in the early 1950s, but are still less common than stories describing urban conditions. These stories only appear in numbers from the second half of 1954, whereas stories of urban poverty are common throughout the period. This section

55Sudah ja bung, saja mau duwit. . . 56 . . . dan ia terus ngelujur pergi melap-lap speda orang2 jang baru datang. Dengan atjuhtakatjuh, sama dengan atjuhtakatjuhnja orang2 pada si Simin. . . . and he wandered casually back to the bikes and began cleaning a new cus- tomer’s bike. He worked showing the same indiﬀerence that people showed towards Simin himself.

57S. Djin “Siman: pendjual katjang goreng” HR 31/12/54. The author goes into the detail of Siman’s life: where he lives, how much he earns, where he sleeps, and where he likes to eat. The young man’s father is apparently dead, and left his sickly mother with debts. She struggles to make batik at home, as she is too weak to work in a batik factory, where she could earn more. 58Srisad. “Babu Ani” HR 1/5/55. 302 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION will discuss stories that focus on rural conditions, although only those articles that focus primarily on rural conditions. Stories that have a focus on rural conditions, but are primarily concerned with other themes will be discussed in the relevant sections below.59 In particular, stories revolving around unions and industrial relations in rural areas will be discussed in the relevant section below. More orthodox reportage stories, such as those by Hassan, Joebaar Ajoeb and Njoto, have a significant amount of description of the concrete conditions faced by ordinary Indonesians in rural areas60, but this is not the case with work that is more easily categorised as a “short story” (i. e. is more fictional). Few works describe rural living conditions with the detail of Kebudajaan stories that focus on urban conditions, and fewer still do so before the second half of 1954. This might reflect a lack of engagement by the communist movement outside of urban areas and some rural enclaves where there was

59For example: - Siswa Patria “Korban” HR 19/3/55, A.S. Dharta [Klara Akustia] “Tak ingat ke Kembang Beureum” HR 26/11/55, Suganda Partasasmita “Pahit getir Liburan kekampung” HR 26/11/55, and Walinah Sastro “Pengalaman jang menjedarkan” HR 17/12/55 will all be covered in the section on Darul Islam; - Hassan “Perpisahan (fragmen kehidupan)” HR 24/7/54 will be covered in the section on “Love and Politics”; - S. Djin “Sari, tetanggaku” HR 9/4/55 will be covered in the following section on women’s conditions; - Joel Noeniek “Keluarga Pak Hadji” HR 4/6/55 will be covered in the section on religion; - A. “Ningsih, aktivis BTI” HR 11/6/55 will be covered in the section on women and political activity; - Namikakanda “Kebangunan di kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55 and Jusbari “Ia memilih hari depan jang gemilang” HR 31/12/55 will be covered in the section on the election campaigns; - Ali Imran “SAMA DENGAN, sama dengan” HR 1/5/55 will be covered in the section on plantation politics.

60See Hassan “Tjatatan dari Bengawan Djero” HR 19/6/54 and “Tjoretan dari tuban” HR 10/7/54; Njoto “Besuki (tjatatan perjalanan singkat)” HR 16/1/54. For the relevant references to Joebaar Ajoeb’s epic political travelogue/reportage series on North and West Sumatra, see the footnote above on page 290. REVEALING CONDITIONS 303 significant union activity (above all in plantation and mining areas). Indeed in the middle of 1953, PKI Chairman D. N. Aidit stated that “there is not yet a single Party member who thoroughly understands, and very few who know about, agrarian relations and the life and demands of the peasants”.61 Despite this apparent lack of engagement before the end of the period of this study, there are nevertheless some stories that take up issues relating to rural conditions the end of 1954. In early 1953 an anonymous story, “I’m Someone Who Loves Children”, the writer grieves the loss of a child due to illness.62 The story has a strong tone of “personal statement”, with the narrator blaming herself for being ignorant of what she should have done in the situation.63 Other exceptions include two young members of Lekra Medan, Azis Akbar and F. L. Risakotta, who were in a region where the PKI did have a significant rural base due to the extensive plantation economy in the region. Even here, however, Azis Akbar’s effort at the end of 1953, has a forced tone, with the farmer and his son at the centre of the story somewhat romanticised, and a lack of detailed description of their living conditions.64 The story functions as a vehicle for a simple and common political message: there has been little progress for ordinary Indonesians since independence, and the injustice of attacks on squatters since the official recognition of Indonesian sovereignty.65 F. L. Risakotta’s “The Move”66 , which was published towards the middle of 1954, gives more of a sense of intimacy with the main characters: a peas- ant67, his son, and his son’s girlfriend. This “Slice of Life” story describes the

61Quoted in Hindley (1964, p. 161). This quote is taken from an article published in the PKI theoretical journal Bintang Merah (Aidit, 1953). 62“Aku manusia jang tjinta anak” HR 24/1/53. 63Since the Indonesian third person singular pronoun does not specify gender, it is actually unclear whether the narrator is male or female, although it seems likely that it is the mother of the child. 64A. A. Akbar “Dia Jang Bertanja” HR 21/11/53. 65 . . . perlukah ditembak kawan2nja jang bersendjata patjul ini, hanja untuk merampas tanah jang setumpak itu . . . is it really necessary to shoot his comrades who are only armed with hoes, just to seize a tiny piece of land?

66F. L. Risakotta “Pindah” HR 8/5/54, 67Indonesian does not have a direct equivalent of “peasant”, which has clear class conno- 304 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION scene as the father and son are moving house during the rainy season—they push meagre belongings in a cart along a muddy, pot-holed road as the rain continues to pour down on them. Partly through the son’s relationship to his more affluent girlfriend, we get a sense of the inequalities in the village.68 Several Kebudajaan stories deal with the apparent alienation of the writer from direct rural experience by having the narrator or protagonist experience passing contact with rural conditions through travel. In “The Awakening of the River City”69, which will be discussed at greater length below, the author describes a train trip in which the narrator has a long conversation with a “genuine peasant” (petani tulen). It is a story that has a clear ring of truth about it—it seems quite possible that the author met a peasant on a train and had a conversation similar to the one in the story, but in the end the story is simply a propaganda piece that gives little insight into the concrete conditions of ordinary people in rural areas. A variation on this approach is R. Hamzah’s “They Need Attention”70, which has at its centre a boat journey along the river Siak in East Suma- tra. This odd story begins with conversation among the passengers of a river boat on the Siak river in eastern Sumatra, then moves suddenly to a reportage-style account of a local council (DPDS) meeting, followed by a journalistic account of the east Sumatran forestry industry. In all these cases the characters and the audience are kept at a distance from the people who are the key topics of the work: the local Chinese (especially local Chinese tations. The term I am usually translating as “peasant” is tani or petani, which actually translates more literally as “farmer”. Given, however, that the stories do often have clear class elements, I have chosen to translate petani/tani as “peasant”. 68Another early story that focuses on rural life, Tisno’s “Fate’s Spectre” (Tisno “Hantu di dalam nasib” HR 9/5/53) puts at its centre the efforts of the communist movement to fight illiteracy (Pemberantasan Buta Huruf [PBH], Eradication of Illiteracy, campaigns). This theme also appears in K. Walujo’s “Pak Karto dan perdamaian” HR 30/10/54. It is the first story in Kebudajaan to discuss in any detail conditions at village level: illiteracy, lack of medical facilities, inequality and class prejudice, absentee landlordism, the impact of Darul Islam attacks, etc. But the story gives no real sense of actual political activity by those suffering, and the path to the conclusion is a little too clear: “All of this is caused by the exploitative behaviour of a tiny layer of imperialists” (Kesemuaan ini disebabkan oleh penghisapan jang dilakukan oleh segelintir kecil kaum imperialis.) 69Namikakanda “Kebangunan di kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55. 70R. Hamzah “Mereka meminta kesungguhan hati” HR 15/1/55. REVEALING CONDITIONS 305 loggers), and the indigenous Sakai people (who need to be “civilised”, as do the later-mentioned Mandau people). A related approach is the pulang kampung format71, where the narrator or protagonist returns from the city to their home region and in the process comes back into contact with rural conditions. Isnandar’s “I Go Home”72 uses this strategy in a story that covers a series of issues of general concern to the communist movement (e.g. the fall-out of the Round Table Agreement, the National Front, and the immorality of Western style dancing) with passing references to a number of rural issues. But the reader is not taken into the lives and minds of people actually suffering or struggling as a result of these problems (e. g. a farmer who has lost his land because of the return of land to foreign plantation companies).73 The first stories that directly endeavour to present conflict at the grass roots level in rural areas appear in 1955, after the PKI is well into its second membership campaign (which focused on recruiting members amongst the peasantry).74 Sesongko’s “Standing Firm”75 centres around the character of Mustari, a poor West Javanese farmer. Land is in short supply, and many in Mustari’s village tap palm sugar for wages to supplement their income. But the wages are low. Matters are made worse by the fact that the one local who does have a significant amount of land, the rich Hadji Ahmad, has been taking water from the irrigation channels to feed his reservoir, where he keeps goldfish. Mustari meets with ten of his neighbours who have also been affected by Hadji Ahmad’s actions. They re-route the water themselves and guard the channels in shifts. Hadji Ahmad, predictably unimpressed, confronts Mustari as a ringleader, then involves the Lurah.76 The latter threatens to

71See above on page 291. 72Isnandar P. “aku pulang” HR 4/12/55. 73Other stories to use the pulang kampung format include “Kisah dari desa Indone- sia: mBok Sima djadi hantu?” HR 22/5/54. A.S. Dharta [Klara Akustia] “Tak ingat ke Kembang Beureum” HR 26/11/55, and Suganda Partasasmita “Pahit getir Liburan kekampung” HR 26/11/55. 74See Hindley (1964, p. 78-84) and also the discussion above in chapter three. 75Sesongko “Tetap bertahan” HR 28/5/55. 76A local government position that sits below Camat (district head). In Java Lurah is often synonymous with village head (Kepala Desa), but the two are technically different. A 306 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION bring in the police, but Mustari is unmoved. The water does not belong to anyone, and Hadji Ahmad has not paid a water tax or bought the water from the government. Moreover, all the channels were built by the villagers themselves, not the government, and not Hadji Ahmad. When they need repair, it’s the local villagers who see to it. This enrages the Lurah, who storms off: “It’s pointless talking to ignorant people!”77 The story finishes with the conflict unresolved, and with Mustari and his comrades deciding they will take the matter to the Camat (the next administrative level above Lurah). In Suparman’s “Land for the Tillers”,78 the protagonist, Karsan, is a poor peasant. He rents land, but the rent is so high that he often has to sell livestock, or find extra wage work, or go further into debt. Sometimes a whole year’s harvest goes to paying off debts. Not only this, he also has to do forced labour (rodi) for the local landlords (tuantanah). The tuantanah live comfortably, and can have two, three, or even four wives. For Karsan, though, this might be his last harvest. Apparently the tuantanah is going to take his land off of him. He curses: “God is not just. He gives to those who already have, and the poor get more suffering”.79 But his wife has heard that in a neighbouring village they have a peasant organisation. Karsan is cynical, because they used to have something similar in their village, but the peasants saw no improvements for the dues they paid. He also does not like the idea of "making demands" (menuntut), he does not want to “trample the rights of other people” (merampas hak orang lain). His wife, however, is persistent and has details of improvements that have been won by the organisation. Karsan decides to investigate, and arrives in the neighbouring village just as a BTI80 speaker is about to begin a speech. Karsan finds out lurah is a public servant and reports to (and is responsible to) the camat in their district. A kepala desa is not a state official, and merely coordinates with the camat. The full hierarchy from village to province is: Kepala Desa/Lurah, Camat, Bupati, Gubenur. 77Pertjumah ngomong sama orang jang tidak makan sekolahan. 78Suparman “Tanah untuk Tani” HR 18/6/55. 79Tuhan tidak adil, jang senang diberinja kesenangan, jang sengsara selalu dibebani penderitaan. 80Barisan Tani Indonesia (The Indonesian Peasants’ Front), the communist-affiliated peasants’ union. REVEALING CONDITIONS 307 details of the BTI’s activities and approach, and, on his return to his village, becomes an enthusiastic proponent of the organisation. His wife is happy to see him “speaking with passion” (bitjara ber-api2 ). Karsan has become a “new person” (manusia baru).

Conditions for Women

Throughout the early 1950s, the overwhelming majority of PKI members were men. In 1957, the number of women members was given as 100,000 in a total membership of over one million.81 This reﬂected the sexism generally prevalent in Indonesian society as it spilled over in the attitudes of members of the party and communist movement mass organisations, as well as how this sexism impacted on the ease with which women could be organised: women were less likely to have experience of political organisation; were more likely to be illiterate; and had to struggle against gender stereotyping that discouraged assertive behaviour.82 Nevertheless, the PKI and its mass organisations did have a conscious strategy that sought to organise women and improve their conditions and status. In their election manifesto released in March 1954, the party included a special section on women’s rights and conditions. This included demands in a number of key areas: equal rights in marriage, divorce, and child rear- ing; equal rights in inheritance; equal pay and participation in the productive process; no discrimination in employment; equality in education. The manifesto also included demands for the provision of low price textiles and food, demands which had special attraction to women.83 Women were recognised as important not simply for domestic roles they might play, or their role elec- torally as constituting half the electorate, but also because of their extensive participation in the money economy. Hindley (1964, p. 200) echoed the PKI leadership when he argued that this importance arose from the fact that “A high percentage of workers in industry are women, and women participate in

81Hindley (1964, p. 80, 85-86). 82Ibid., p. 200. 83Ibid., p. 201. 308 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION agricultural work as peasants and as labourers on estates”.84 Women were organised as a special group through Gerwani 85, as well as other mass organisations in the communist movement (such as unions). This work did have a signiﬁcant impact in the movement, with increasing recruitment for the PKI and Gerwani in the 1950s, and with the rise of a number of leading women cadres (albeit from a low base).86 Issues related to conditions for women are common in Kebudajaan short stories, and can be grouped into three broad categories: issues around marriage and marital problems; issues around working conditions; and women as organisers and activists. Marriage, Morality, and Marital Problems

As in contemporary Indonesia, polygamy was a major issue in Indonesia in the 1950s.87 Opposition to polygamy was a major plank of the politics of both the PKI and Gerwani, with the PKI banning its male members from taking more than one wife (an issue that led in 1958 to the expulsion from the PKI of the leading Lekra painter and Constituent Assembly member, Sudjojono).88 It appears in passing in a number of stories, usually in connection with an opponent of the protagonist, and is often identiﬁed with wealth89 Polygamy is without fail a signal to the reader that a character is malevolent, immoral, or at least ﬂawed—it is an important way of discrediting a male character. In Joel Noeniek’s “The Hajj’s Family”90, a key sign the Haji of the title is the anti-hero of the story is that he is about to take another

84This is still the case today, at least in industrial work. See Ford and Parker (2008) and Ford (2008). 85Gerakan Wanita Indonesia (The Indonesian Women’s Movement), which was known from 1950-53 as Gerwis. For more on Gerwani, see Wieringa (1995, 2001, 2002) and Diniah (2007). 86Hindley (1964, p. 200-208). 87Technically this actually means polygyny, since women having multiple husbands is and was illegal. For an outline of the issue both in Indonesian history and in contemporary Indonesia, see Blackburn (2004, Chapter 5). 88Holt (1967, p. 329). Ironically, his second marriage was to a former Gerwani member, Rose Pandanwangi (Marianto, 1995, p. 63). 89As in “Land to the Tillers”, where Suparman writes that the exploitative local landlords could have “two, three, or sometimes four wives” (. . . istrinya 2, 3, kadang2 sampai 4.). Suparman “Tanah untuk Tani” HR 18/6/55. 90Joel Noeniek “Keluarga Pak Hadji” HR 4/6/55. REVEALING CONDITIONS 309

(younger) wife. In contraposition, the strongly Muslim female protagonist is won away from her stridently anti-communist stance after hearing a speech by Aidit, in which he attacks polygamy.91 In the case of the Hajis in the stories above, the second, third, and fourth wives are presumably legal, but illegal polygamy (keeping “secret” wives) was also a problem.92 In K. Walujo’s “The Philosophy of a Bowl of Rice”93 the narrator/protagonist falls in love with a guerilla whom she shelters during the National Revolution. She marries him only to find on moving to the city at the conclusion of the conflict with the Dutch that he already has another wife. She feels that she has been treated “as some kind of robot or machine for the satisfaction of his pleasures”94, and gets a divorce, but is now tainted as a divorcée. In “Ningsih, the BTI Activist”95— apparently a true story— Ningsih’s husband repeatedly cheats on her, before finally asking her to be a madu (co-wife).96 Another key issue for both Gerwani and the PKI was that of arranged/forced marriage. Ningsih’s marriage was arranged for her when she was only twelve years old. In “Sari, My Neighbour”97 the narrator’s neighbour, a good-looking and charismatic, but poor girl, takes an old man of Arab descent as her husband in an arranged marriage. She initially agrees to the marriage in part to

91 Sekalipun didalam adjaran Islam soal poligami itu dibenarkan, tetapi bagi isteri bung Idrus sendiri tak dapat membenarkan. . . Sedjak pulang dari rapat itu mulailah hilang sjakwasangkanja terhadap PKI Even though in Islamic teachings polygamy is acceptable, it was unacceptable to Idrus’ wife. . . After coming home from the meeting, she began to lose her prejudices against the PKI See the discussion of this story below in the section on “Red Religion”. 92As it remains in contemporary Indonesia. The 2006 film Berbagi Suami (“Sharing a Husband”) explores three different variations on contemporary polygamy: an upper class Muslim who formally marries his extra wives, but keeps the extra wives secret from both his first wife and each other; a working class Muslim who is openly polygamous and exploitative of the wives that he procures through arranged marriage with young rural women (or by misleading them before the wedding); and a Christian who keeps a secret young mistress. See Dinata (2006). 93K. Walujo “Falsafah sepiring nasi. . . !!!” HR 23/5/53. 94. . . alat pemuas nafsu atau robot 95A. “Ningsih, Aktivis BTI” HR 11/6/55. 96This story is discussed further below. 97S. Djin “Sari, tetanggaku” HR 9/4/55 310 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION help her family financially. She is not the only one. The narrator hears that another girl, Minah, has been married at the age of fourteen. Her husband is: “. . . a clerk who is quite old, but owns a house and has a permanent job. . . ”.98 Another girl, Darmi, has been taken as one of many selir (mistresses or concubines) by a certain “nDoro Rio”. He leaves her after she becomes pregnant, and she has to try to survive by selling fried bananas at an intersection. In part the story is told from the perspective of local poor boys who are overlooked in favour of richer (but unattractive and unscrupulous) men. For example, Darmi has Kardi’s eye before she gets married, but he works making batik prints, and is often unemployed. Another local boy, Achmad, is attracted to Sari (and she to him), but he is the son of a poor widow, and makes his living selling newspapers at the railway station. He becomes a left-wing activist, and eventually gets work on the wharves. One day the narrator finds Sari at a mass rally (rapat raksasa). She is wearing a veil, with only her eyes visible, but he can still recognise her. He takes Achmad to meet her. She says, “I wanted to sacrifice myself so that my parents didn’t have to go hungry every day. But I am a human being, not a toy to be played with”.99 She tells Achmad that after she married, people distanced themselves from her, and young men made nasty remarks as she passed. She planned to run away from the old Arab, but he found out. He took all the jewels he had given her, and threw her out. She thought about suicide, but became frightened and decided she wanted to see Achmad one more time, so she went to the rally. She says, “I always used to criticise you, and say that you were a dreamer with your ambitions to set up a happy society. . . ”.100 Sari is won over to Achmad’s activism, and she gets a job in a textile factory near the harbour. She becomes a Serikat Buruh Textiel activist, and becomes more confident and passionate in her endeavours to create a better

98. . . pegawai jang telah agak landjut umurnja, tetapi mempunjai rumah dan pekerdjaan jang tetap. . . 99maksudku berkorban agar ajah ibu ta’lagi lapar setiap hari. Tetapi akupun manusia, bukan benda permainan sadja. 100Aku dulu selalu mengedjekmu, mengatakan kau pelamun chajal dengan tjita-tjita masjarakat bahagia. . . REVEALING CONDITIONS 311 society. “Sari, My Neighbour” does not simply deal with polygamy, but also touches on the closely related issues of arranged marriage and concubinage: the story moves easily from a discussion of Sari’s arranged marriage and that of another teenager, Minah, to the concubinage of Darmi. In Sudarman’s “Hadiah, My Neighbour”,101 the heroine has a strange name by local standards and her eyes look like those of the local aristocrats. It seems she is probably a lembu peteng (secret child102); that her mother was probably a concubine (gundik) or “practice wife” for an aristocrat. She lives with her mother, who takes care of Hadiah by herself. Before World War Two, it seems her mother received some ﬁnancial support from the aristocrat involved, but this ended with the Japanese Occupation and the National Revolution. During the Revolution, Hadiah disappears for three and a half years. Her mother says a friend has taken her to Djakarta. After Hadiah returns to the village, the narrator hears that she has been implicated in a corruption scandal, and that she is in hiding. She has no money and, what’s more, she “has a dirty disease”. 103 The narrator thinks:

. . . dimana keadilan Tuhan, belum tjukuplah penderitaan bathin- nja, waktu dia dilahirkan sebagai lembu peteng dan diteruskan dengan rangkaian hidupnja jang selalu dirundung kesengsaraan. . . . where is God’s justice? Hasn’t her psychological suﬀering been enough? She was born a lembu peteng and from then on her life was beset with suﬀering.

But then he goes on:

Soalnja bukan keadilan atau ketidakadilan Tuhan, dan bukan perkara Tuhan jang kuhadapi, tetapi jang terang karena adanja systeem

101Sudarman “Tjerita Pendek: Hadiah tetanggaku” HR 17/7/54. In Indonesian the title is a play on words, since hadiah means “present, gift, prize”, and tetanggaku (“my neighbour”) is in a position that could be possessive or predicate. This means the title could mean “My Neighbour’s Gift”, “The Gift for My Neighbour”, or “Hadiah, My Neighbour”. The “gift” may be the disease she contracts later. 102Lembu peteng is actually more derogatory than this, since lembu means “cow, ox”. 103berpenjakit kotor, i.e. she has an STD. 312 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

pemerintahan dikotaku, systeem gundik resmi dan tidak resmi- lah. . . The problem is not a problem of God’s justice or injustice; it was not God who confronted me. Rather it was the existence of a system of government in my town, a system of oﬃcial and unoﬃcial concubines. . .

The reference to “God’s justice” is a reference to the then common idea that if a woman got “a dirty disease” from “immoral” behaviour, it was “God’s justice” at work. In contrast S. Djin took a view sympathetic to the woman involved, arguing that the woman’s suﬀering was the result of an unjust social system. In another story he takes a similar view on women’s prostitution. Onah, in “Onah, on the Banks of the Ciliwung”104, starts her working life as a prostitute. Onah’s mother dies giving birth to her, but she is saved by a neighbour, Mak Idjah. But Mak Idjah is a Madame, who prostitutes out girls who seek her protection because of the dangers of living on the streets in Djakarta. Mak Idjah sees herself as looking after the girls, and the girls themselves see some logic in what she says, because they may have had to prostitute themselves even without her help. Onah’s father is still around, but only infrequently (he regularly disappears to work on ships), and he does not take care of Onah. As a child, Onah earns her keep by doing housework. Mak Idjah regularly beats the girls, including Onah, particularly when they have not been able to attract enough customers. She also regularly throws girls out onto the streets. This can be for a variety of reasons, above all if they cease to look “fresh” (segar: i.e. they look older or tired), or if it seems that they have an STD. Girls who are thrown out ﬁnd it hard to get other work:

Badan dan djiwa mereka telah retak, ta’ sanggup lagi untuk bekerdja berat sebagai babu tjutji, ataupun buruh pabrik. They are wrecked body and soul, and they can’t cope with heavy work like laundressing, or working in a factory.

104S. Djin “Onah. . . ditepi Tjiliwung” HR 16/7/55. REVEALING CONDITIONS 313

One night Mak Idjah’s house is burnt to the ground. She is inconsolable, since all of the money she had saved from the girls’ work has gone with the house. Onah is made homeless, and unemployed, and the story moves on to Onah’s struggle to survive on the streets.105

Women and Work

Several stories depict women working outside their homes for wages. In “Ani, the Maid”106 the author details the conditions common to what is to this day a wide-spread job for poor women: domestic servant. Ani gets Rp.50 per month, apparently a relatively good wage for the time. But she has to be available for work from 4 am in the morning to late at night. Some maids specialise in cooking, cleaning, or doing laundry. Ani does all of these things. Ani can’t get eight hours of sleep a day, unless she is sick. She never gets a siesta, and Sundays and public holidays are no holiday for her. Every day Ani is confronted with luxury that she couldn’t possibly aﬀord herself. She has no time to socialise, and if her boyfriend visits, there is no guarantee that they will be able to spend time together. The author ﬁnishes with:

Jah, Ani— dan masih banjak lagi— belum lepas dari perbudakan ... Kapan lahir Sarekat Babu walaupun mungkin mendjadi buah- edjekan kaum madjikan? Se-tidak2-nja kapan organisasi wanita jang ber-djenis2 itu memetjahkan masalah babu seperti jang diderita Ani?

105K. Walujo’s “The Philosophy of a Bowl of Rice” (K. Walujo “Falsafah sepiring nasi. . . !!!” HR 23/5/53) takes a similar attitude to the prostitution of the protagonist. The author sympathetically plots the course of the woman’s life as she is pressed towards prostitution. Having been abandoned by her husband, and having lost her job at a factory as a result of the illegal behaviour of her boss (see above on page 299), she falls into prostitution as the only means of survival available to her. This sympathy is made completely (and clumsily) explicit in “A People’s Festival” by “Namikakanda” (“Pesta Rakjat” HR 4/6/55), when the character Hermin is “revolted by a loose woman who stood close to him” (. . . djidjik pada seorang perempuan djalang jang berdiri didekatnja.). Perempuan djalang is most literally translated as “wild woman”. The narrator quickly adds: “Hermin’s behaviour was not right, actually. He was discriminat- ing against his own kind” (Perbuatan Hermin tidak pantas sebetulnja. Ia mengadakan diskriminasi diantara sesama.). 106Srisad. “Babu Ani” HR 1/5/55 314 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

Yes, Ani—and many others— are still not free of slavery. . . When will there be a Maids’ Union, even if it might become the butt of their bosses’ jokes? At the very least, when will all the various women’s organisations address the problems that are suﬀered by maids like Ani?

A number of other stories show women struggling through a variety of work, from petty trading, to wage work and various occupations in the “informal” sector. “Onah” (discussed above) describes the heroine’s passage through a variety of efforts to support herself (looking for work as a maid, as a waitress, as a laundress) before she finally becomes a prostitute. Surtiati’s reportage biography of the wife of a Boven Digoel107 exile tells of the many different forms of work she does to help her children when her husband is in the camp: she helps out at her parent’s food stall (warung), she works at the local market, and eventually finds a job as a nurse’s assistant.

Women and Political Activity

Several stories make strong eﬀorts to present women as politically independent and critical, as well as depicting women political activists. For example, “Tinah, a Sarbupri Member”108 is focused on a trade union activist. Even though around half of plantation work forces are women, there are very few women union leaders. Tinah, however, is one of the exceptions, a keen and capable local leader of Sarbupri 109, the communist-aligned plantation workers’ union. Management on her plantation manoeuvres to marginalise and neutralise her as an organiser. They approach her husband, a tradesman, to pressure her to leave Sarbupri and join the compliant

107Boven Digoel was an isolated Dutch colonial prison camp in West New Guinea that incarcerated political prisoners, especially following the communist led rebellions of 1926- 27. For an internee’s account of life in the camp see Marco (2002). For an account from a Dutch colonial point of view (written by the camp doctor), see Schoonheyt (1936). See also Mrazek (1996). 108Hasan Raid “Skets: Tinah. . . anggota Sarbupri” HR 2/1/54. This story is probably biographical, although tellingly Kebudajaan does not make any clear statement to this eﬀect. 109Sarikat Buruh Perkebunan Republik Indonesia, the Plantation Workers’ Union. REVEALING CONDITIONS 315

(“yellow”) Perbupri union. Her husband agrees, but of course Tinah is not willing. They argue, and her husband tries to put his foot down as head of the household. Their argument ends with Tinah’s husband hitting her, and then leaving her. All this is reported back to management, and so they decide to fire Tinah, using “absenteeism” as an excuse. Tinah is left alone and jobless, but Sarbupri unionists step in to help. They vote to support her in her struggle against management, and the story ends with Tinah working full-time as a union activist. The superficially similar “Ningsih, a BTI activist”110 is a biographical story, complete with photograph, of an activist in the communist-aligned peasant union, BTI.111 Ningsih is twenty seven years old, and has three children. But she was first forced to marry at the age of twelve. During the Japanese Occupation and the national Revolution she faced many difficulties, and became a refugee. Her husband cheated on her repeatedly, eventually asking her to become a madu, a “co-wife”, and this leads to their divorce. She is angry about her experiences, and joins Gerwis, the communist- aligned mass organisation for women. She becomes a local leader for Gerwis (which later becomes Gerwani). There are many issues that she is fighting to address as a local leader of the women’s movement: unequal wages for men and women, infant mortality, the lack of schools, amongst other things. She is also a member of the district (ketjamatan) Peasants’ Action Com- mittee (Panitya Aksi Kaum Tani). She campaigns for lower rents: Mula2 tuantanah kepala batu, tetapi kaum tani jang dipimpin BTI dan SAKTI terus-menerus berdjuang, sehingga achirnja sikap tuan tanah itu tidak sebandel dulu dan mendjadi lemah. In the beginning the landlords were stubborn, but the peasants under the leadership of the BTI and SAKTI112 continued to fight, and eventually the attitudes of the landlords softened and became less obstructive.

Ningsih sees the peasants’ movement and the women’s movement as being

110A. “Ningsih, aktivis BTI” HR 11/6/55 111Barisan Tani Indonesia (The Indonesian Peasants’ Front). 112Sarekat Tani Indonesia, another Peasant Union that merged with BTI in 1955 (Hind- ley, 1964, p. 165). 316 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION related: “I think the struggle of peasants can’t be separated from the struggle of women. It is precisely women peasants whose conditions are the worst at the moment”.113 Ningsih has now married a peasant activist, who is tolerant of her going off and attending the various meetings necessary for her activism. She is also supported by her parents, who take care of her children for her. She enjoys reading about struggles and comments “What is really important now is that we read and study theoretical books”.114 In both “Ningsih, a BTI Activist” and “Tinah, a member of Sarbupri” the focus is on the activism of the women. In “Sari, My Neighbour”115 the focus is on the process that leads a woman to political activity. Sari is from a poor family, and agrees to an arranged marriage to help her parents out. But her marriage leads to social isolation, and when she tries to leave her husband, she is left with no money, no home, and with a tarnished reputation. But with the help of an activist friend, Achmad, she rebuilds her life. She finds work in a textile factory, and becomes a textile union activist. Through her activity she regains her confidence and develops an interest in the wider world. Some stories are not exactly concerned with women’s political activity, but rather with valuing and encouraging women’s independence and critical thought. In “My comrade’s Wife”116 the wife of the title has conservative political views, and in that sense she is a negative character. Her husband is a union activist who is attracted to the PKI. She is the daughter of a Kiyai (Islamic teacher), and is strong Muslim. She is also stridently anti- communist. Her husband tries to discuss communist politics with her, but she cuts him off, saying:

Orang komunis tetap sebagai orang jang anti tuhan anti agama bagi saja habis perkara!

113Menurut saja, perdjuangan kaum tani tidak bisa dipisahkan dengan perdjuangan kaum wanita. Sebab djustru wanita2 tani inilah jang sekarang jang [sic] masih gelap nasibnja. 114Jang amat dipentingkan lagi ialah membatja dan mempeladjari buku2 teori. 115S. Djin “Sari, tetanggaku” HR 9/4/55. 116Jadi “Isteri Kawanku” HR 26/2/55 REVEALING CONDITIONS 317

Communists are still people who are anti-God and anti-religion, and for me that is the end of the story!

Their arguments are fierce and frustrating, but ultimately the husband, Idrus, grows to appreciate them: Perdebatan2 sematjam itu sering2 menimbulkan kedjengkelan, tetapi setelah difikir2 lagi perdebatan sematjam itu adalah sangat hidup dan bung Idruspun bangga djuga, bahwa isterinja mempunjai fikiran jang kritis. Arguments like that were often upsetting, but after thinking about them, Idrus decided that they were lively, and he was proud that his wife was a critical thinker.

Gradually Idrus and his wife reach agreements on various political issues, but religion continues to be a problem. Eventually his wife goes by herself to hear a speech by Aidit in a local cinema. Aidit talks about the party’s stance against polygamy, and other parts of the PKI’s programme for women. Although polygamy is allowed in Islam she is against it. After hearing the speech, she becomes less anti-communist. Neverthe- less, she continues to be a member of a Muslim party’s women’s auxiliary, Muslimat.117 But she is not happy with the organisation: Tetapi hingga sekarang saja belum pernah mendapatkan bimbin- gan, bagaimana kita mesti melakukan perdjuangan untuk membela nasib dan mendjundjung deradjat kaum wanita. Jang saja dapat dari Muslimat hanjalah hasutan2 mengenai kominis [sic] . . . disitu bagiku tak ada keuntungan apa2. But up till now I haven’t got any guidance as to how we should be going about the struggle to improve the conditions and status of women. All I get from Muslimat is incitement against the communists. . . there is nothing for me there.

She leaves Muslimat, but does not want to join the PKI. She does change her attitude towards Idrus’ views, and towards his various political guests.

117Muslimat was the women’s auxiliary of the modernist Muslim party, Masjumi, which was the second largest of the “big four” parties following the 1955 elections. In both the parliamentary election and the Constituent Assembly election it received just under 21% of the vote. 318 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

Eventually she decides to join the communist-aligned women’s mass organisation, Gerwani. While these stories represent the general tenor of Kebudajaan when representing women’s politics and political activity, it should be noted that the supplement was not free of sexism, and this sexism even extended to at least one story that ostensibly sought to encourage women’s political activity. In Isnandar P.’s “I Go Home”118, a boorish boyfriend lectures his girlfriend about the low level of her political consciousness, and revels in “defeating” her in a political argument. This approach was probably unlikely to have convinced many women to become more involved in the communist movement, and may have encouraged some communist men to act in a way likely to lose the movement a few activists. The story, the reader supposes, was meant to showcase the narrator’s modernity, but the patronising tone, the general arrogant attitude, and the barely concealed sexism, make it irritating reading today. It is highly likely that this was also the case for at least some women’s movement activists at the time—which does not reﬂect well on the editorial team of Kebudajaan.

Getting Active: Organising and Campaigning in the Communist Imagination

Much of Kebudajaan representation of women’s politics and political activity covered two general areas: that of the development of political consciousness in terms of ideas, and that of the its development in practical terms, i.e. organisation and direct action. This was a general focus, and if a reader had to come up with a slogan that covered the key messages of as many of these stories as possible, it would surely be: “Get organised!”. The PKI and the movement around it worked hard in the early 1950s to build a broad grass roots base for their organisations. These eﬀorts are reﬂected in short stories published in Kebudajaan, and these stories give us insights into this process: into how Kebudajaan writers saw their political activity, how

118Isnandar P. “aku pulang” HR 4/12/54. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 319 they wanted it to be seen, and what issues they thought might be important in further developing the level of organisation. As I discussed in chapter three, the strength of the PKI at the beginning of the 1950s was its links to the union movement and its involvement in industrial campaigns. This is most deﬁnitely reﬂected in the short stories published in the supplement.

Plantations as a Key Point of Conﬂict

While Kebudajaan stories did not depict rural conditions in great depth or intimacy until the second half of 1954, there was one exception: the depiction of conditions on plantations. Plantations were a key stronghold for the PKI, and moreover it seems both the PKI and the communist-aligned plantation workers’ union, Sarbupri 119, seem to have grown in influence on plantations during the early 1950s.120 Several stories in Kebudajaan revolve specifically around Sarbupri. As discussed above, “Tinah, a Sarbupri member”121 describes the life and activity of a trail-blazing woman leader of Sarbupri, but does not go into the detail of the lives of plantation workers. Siswa Patria’s somewhat epic “Char- ity and Corruption”, most definitely does.122 The latter story begins with a detailed description of everyday work on a rubber plantation, emphasising the class distinctions on the plantation. A bell sounds to tell tappers that it is time to take the latex milk to the factory. As they trudge along a muddy road with their heavy loads, a jeep carrying the Hoofd-Assistent 123 drives by, spraying mud and water all over the workers. The Hoofd-Assistent’s name is Griffith, but the workers disparagingly call him Kripik.124 Griffith’s key representative to the workers is the Hoofd-Mandor (chief supervisor), Noto.

119Sarbupri = Sarekat Buruh Perkebunan Republic Indonesia—The Plantation Workers’ Union of the Republic of Indonesia. 120Stoler (1985, p. 125-130). 121Hasan Raid “Tinah. . . anggota Sarbupri” HR 2/1/54. See above from page 314. 122This story ran over two weeks and comprised well over ﬁve thousand words. Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/6/53 and HR 20/6/53. 123“Chief Assistant” (Dutch), presumably a senior management position. 124A kind of cheap chip, usually made from cassava, and somewhat similar to potato chips 320 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

Noto, who dresses in a tan uniform (complete with pith helmet and cane), is both roundly hated and feared by the workers. This does not stop some of the more confident workers, such as Loso, from making fun of Noto to his face. It is Ramadhan, the Islamic fasting month, and the story moves from work to a scene of workers and their families gathering to collect pay cheques, surrounded by those who want to sell them things, or to whom they owe money. It is here that we are introduced to the anti-hero of the story: Hadji Umar. Hadji Umar is the local naib-kadhi, an Islamic religious leader with various powers, including the power to register Muslim marriages. He sees himself, and is seen, as something of a moral supervisor of the community. But his influence is waning, especially amongst Sarbupri members. Sarbupri has led a recent action to get five rubber tappers reinstated. But Hadji Umar did not take part, considering the matter “unimportant”. He has recently married a young djanda (widow, divorcée), the daughter of the Mandor Besar (senior supervisor), Tego, who is also the head of the local branch of the yellow union, Perbupri. Tego is stridently anti-Sarbupri, and is not well liked by the workers. His daughter had been going to marry Legiman, a knek 125— again we see the theme of a woman being forced to marry a wealthy man, and a poor man having his love taken from him. Hadji Umar sees himself acting as a mediator between Sarbupri and Per- bupri, and asks the two unions to merge. This basically means that Sarbupri should dissolve itself, since in his proposal all Sarbupri members should join Perbupri.A Sarbupri leader, Taslim, asks why the workers cannot all join Sarbupri. The answer comes that management hates Sarbupri: they are always making trouble, always organising strikes and demonstrations. Sarbupri stops people working and seeing to their family responsibilities, and, moreover, Sarbupri is a tool of the communists. Sarbupri’s demand of a wage of Rp 7,50 a day could close all the plantations.126 Key leaders of Sarbupri are offered secondary positions in the new “merged” union, along with “income

125Conductor/fare collector on public transport. 126The writer includes vivid descriptions of Hadji Umar’s exaggerated hand movements and over-florid speech as he makes these arguments. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 321 for their services” (upah djasa). But the Sarbupri leaders defend their union, arguing “we will never achieve the changes we want by asking for them on the basis of charity”.127 Taslim gives the example of the repairs to the mosque (langgar). When Hadji Umar asked he was turned down, Perbupri did nothing, while Sarbupri put pressure on management and got something. He also criticises Perbupri for offering to pay them for services before the union has actually achieved anything for its members. This, of course, heats up the argument, and Noto ends up starting a fight with Loso. Loso gives Noto a blood nose, and Hadji Umar is pushed over into a kerosene lamp, which in turn falls over and starts a fire. Hadji Umar runs from the mosque yelling “Someone is running amok in the mosque! It’s that bastard Loso!”.128 Another story written by “Siswa Patria”129, “Champions and Stooges”130, tells the story of Pak Wikrama, a foreman (mandor) at a plantation near Asahan in Northeastern Sumatra. He started working on the plantation in the 1920s and should have retired by now, but management will not let him. They are also threatening to demote him, or even fire him before he can get his pension. The Union (i. e. Sarbupri) is fighting on his behalf, but management has Dutch and recent government legislation on its side. There are

127A Sarbupri leader, Sonto, defends his union: Perobahan nasib buruh pada pokoknja sangat berlawanan dengan kepentingan madjikan2 . . . selamanja kepada buruh dia menjatakan “rugi” dan sangat- lah takut dan bentjinja kepada organisasi2 buruh jang berusaha sepenuhnja merobah nasib buruh, karena itu artinja keuntungannja jang berlebih2an itu djadi berkurang! Improvements in workers’ conditions are fundamentally opposed to the interests of the bosses . . . they always tell the workers that they will make a “loss”, and they hate and fear workers’ organisations that consistently struggle to improve workers’ conditions, because that would mean that their excessive proﬁts might be cut!

He goes on to argue that unions must be strong and honest, and take decisive action: “there are no improvements that we can ask for on the basis of charity” (. . . tidak bisa ada perobahan jang diminta “setjara belas kasihan”. . . ). 128Orang ngamuk di Langgar! Si Loso anak keparat, he, he! 129“Siswa Patria”, like many other authors’ names, is clearly a nom de plume. It means “patriotic student”. 130Siswa Patria “Kakitangan dan Pembela” HR 23/4/55. 322 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION three unions at the plantation, but the vast majority of workers are members of Sarbupri (980 out of 1070). Pak Wikrama is elected as a member of the local branch committee of the union, and suddenly management oﬀers him a promotion to senior supervisor (mandor besar) and a month-long holiday to Java, all expenses paid—if he leaves Sarbupri. In September 1953, Sarbupri goes on strike 131, with Pak Wikrama taking the role of the chair of the “action committee” (panitia aksi) for the local area. After the order is received to return to work, management reports him to the police, claiming that he is inciting the workers and leading a wildcat strike. Again they make approaches to him to try to convince him to leave Sarbupri. They say they will drop the charges and give him a promotion. If he stays with Sarbupri, he will be demoted to "junior supervisor" (mandor ketjil), and all the other supervisors who are in the union will be demoted, as well. When he does not attend a branch meeting, other leaders become worried. He is approached by members of the other two unions, who disparage Sarbupri’s ability to protect him, as well as disparaging each other. Man- agement promotes new foremen, all of whom are members of the other two unions, Perbupri and SBII.132 However, after a mass meeting of Sarbupri threatens a strike, management pulls back. They reinstate Pak Wikrama, and demote the Perbupri and SBII members. This would seem to end the matter, but Sarbupri threatens action if anybody is demoted. These Perbupri and SBII workers now join Sarbupri, as well. The story ends with touching and light-hearted banter between Pak Wikrama and other members of the union, as he admits that he almost gave in. T. Robert Ousman’s “How Sugar is Milled”133 is set in a sugar plantation area. The narrator’s father, who was a foreman, was apparently run over by a cane carriage before his son was born. His mother thinks it was murder, and his father was replaced by someone who, she said, “betrayed your father”

131This was a famous Sarbupri-led strike. See Hindley (1964, 148). 132SBII is not listed among the many plantation unions of the early 1950s in Stoler (1985, p.131-136). It is probably the Sarekat Buruh Islam Indonesia (Indonesian Muslim Workers’ Union), which was aﬃliated with Masjumi (Tejasukmana, 1959, p. 59-60, 75, 89-90, 109-110, 122). 133T. Robert Ousman “Bagaimana gula digiling” HR 31/12/54. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 323

(menchianati ajah): a certain Saman. Saman is a “toady” (pendjilat), and after he is appointed ten workers lose their jobs and are replaced by Saman’s friends and family. The narrator’s mother has to continue working at the sugar mill to makes ends meet. However, she does not want her son to become a supervisor like his father. She wants him to be a white collar worker, but will not say why she does not want him to follow in his father’s footsteps. Eventually she just stops talking about the issue. Saman often comes by their house, drunk. Finally, the son approaches a close friend of his mother’s, and she tells him the history of the relationship between Saman, his mother, and his father. His mother had been promised to Saman in an arranged marriage, but his mother had refused because she wanted to be with his father. She had eloped with his father, and they had run away to the area of the sugar mill, where his father became a supervisor. Saman was furious, and followed them to the mill, where he also got a job. He worked to divide the workers against the narrator’s father, but could not manage it. The neighbour thinks that that is why Saman murdered him. Having obtained this vital piece of information, the narrator returns home, where he sees that, unusually, the light on their verandah is not on. Saman is inside, drunk, and, after an argument, tries to strangle the narrator’s mother. Neighbours chase him away, and eventually he dies, after jumping or falling into the local river. Ali Imran’s “SAME AS, same as”134 is set around a workers’ meeting on a plantation. The workers’ are concerned about their pensions. They are staying away from the hospital, because they are frightened of losing their jobs, and then having to leave work on the inadequate pensions. They avoid going to hospital, but this means they are actually more likely to get sick, and more likely to be pensioned oﬀ. This does the company a favour: people die earlier, and the company does not have to pay any pension. The yellow union does not see a problem, but workers at the meeting discuss ways of encouraging people to go to the hospital. The general conditions of workers are described in ﬁve of the seven sto-

134Ali Imran “SAMA DENGAN, sama dengan” HR 1/5/55. 324 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION ries135 about plantations. For example, the issue of insufficient pensions surfaces in both “Champions and Stooges” and “SAME AS, same as”.136 “Charity and Corruption”137 goes to somelength to depict the class differences between the various members of the plantation community, from foreign bosses, through local workplace tyrants to ordinary workers. Griffith, the foreign manager, travels around in a Jeep, covering ordinary workers in mud as he passes. Griffith’s right-hand man has the complete colonial out- fit: tan uniform, complete with pith helmet and cane. Hadji Umar uses his religious position in part for personal gain (not all of the money the workers donated for the feast to break the fast in the local mosque can be found). He is obviously well off, and is close to management. Both “Champions and Stooges”138 and “Charity and Corruption”139 make it clear that the management is foreign. In “Champions and Stooges”, Siswa Patria includes a negative description of their foreign attitude: “They act as if they know everything. Sometimes they put their hands on their hips and get angry in their own language”.140 “Tinah, a member of Sarbupri”141 does not describe general conditions, but does do something that all but two of the stories do: depict the pressures on individual union leaders at a local level to leave the communist-aligned union, Sarbupri (see above). Even though Tinah loses her job, the solidarity of her fellow Sarbupri members means that she continues to work for the union, and seems to have hope that she will be able to get her job back with the help of the union. The formula is similar in “Love and Duty” 142: the

135Using the methodology outlined earlier that counts serialised stories once for every time an installment is published in Kebudajaan. 136Siswa Patria “Kakitangan dan Pembela” HR 23/4/55; Ali Imran “SAMA DENGAN, sama dengan” HR 1/5/55. 137Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/6/53 and’ HR 20/6/53. 138Siswa Patria “Kakitangan dan Pembela” HR 23/4/55. 139Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/6/53 and’ HR 20/6/53. 140Lagaknja matjam segala tahu. Kadang2 tungkal [?] pinggang, marah2 dalam ba- hasanja sendiri ... Putting hands on hips is generally considered aggressive in Indonesia, whereas in many Western countries it is relatively innocuous, often signifying mild frustration or concentration. In Indonesia, Westerners are notorious for adopting this culturally inappropriate pose. 141Hasan Raid “Skets: Tinah. . . anggota Sarbupri” HR 2/1/54. 142Hadisubagio “Tjinta dan kewadjiban” HR 27/11/54. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 325 hero is put under pressure by his wife to leave the union. In “Champions and Stooges”143 Pak Wikrama is threatened with demotion if he does not leave the union. When he is given a key position as a union organiser, management (unsuccessfully) tries to bribe him with an offer of promotion and an all expenses paid holiday. This mixture of pressure and bribery also occurs in “Charity and Corruption”144, where the leaders of the local Sarbupri branch are pressured to merge their union with the yellow Perbupri union favoured by management. In all of these cases, the Sarbupri leaders do not cave in, although in “Champions and Stooges” Pak Wikrama is explicitly depicted as having doubts. In this sense, all of the stories have the expected outcome. Nev- ertheless, only “Love and Duty” gives a bombastic impression. In the other stories there is a real sense that things could have turned out otherwise (e.g. the various leaders might have left Sarbupri). Of the other stories, only “Champions and Stooges” has an outcome of complete victory for Sarbupri: Pak Wikrama and his comrades are reinstated, and the members of the other unions join Sarbupri. However, in this case balance is achieved because much is made of Pak Wikrama’s doubts and it is honestly unclear whether he will hold firm or not. Besides this, there is also the twist that the Sarbupri leaders support the members of the other unions, who had undermined them earlier. In “Tinah, a Sarbupri member”, Tinah loses both her job and her husband, although she bravely continues her union work, with the support of her comrades. In “Charity and Corruption” the conflict between the Sar- bupri leaders and their supervisors remains unresolved, although it is clear that the former will not agree to a merger. In “SAME AS, same as”145 the workers only discuss what to do about the insufficient pensions and the fact that workers are not reporting to the hospital when they are sick. Another theme that runs through four of the seven stories is that of the competition between Sarbupri and other unions (in all but one case, this means the PSI-aligned Perbupri, or its predecessor PBP). As well as this,

143Siswa Patria “Kakitangan dan Pembela” HR 23/4/55. 144Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/6/53 and HR 20/6/53. 145Ali Imran “SAMA DENGAN, sama dengan” HR 1/5/55. 326 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION in “Tinah, a Sarbupri member”, when management ask the heroine to leave Sarbupri, they do not simply ask her to stop being a union member: they ask her to join Perbupri. This in itself clearly implies a key difference between Sarbupri and Perbupri: Perbupri is close to management, whereas Sarbupri is not. This is a constant theme throughout the four stories that explicitly compare the policies of the two unions. In “Charity and Corrup- tion” Hadji Umar makes it completely explicit: management hates Sarbupri, because they always make trouble and Sarbupri is a tool of the communists. In “Champions and Stooges”, the other two unions allow themselves to be used as tools of management in a “divide and rule” tactic when their members accept the positions of demoted Sarbupri members. Not only this, they undermine each other when they both try to win Pak Wikrama away from Sarbupri. Sarbupri, on the other hand, not only stands firm with Pak Wikrama and the other demoted leaders, but also supports the members of the other unions. “How Sugar is Milled”146 is the only exception to these general patterns. The everyday lives of people in this sugar growing area are described in passing, but the focus is on finding out the background to the murder of the narrator’s father. The fact that the “bad guy” is a management toady is really only a mechanism to establish his poor moral character, rather than a depiction of a general social phenomenon. Sarbupri is not mentioned, nor are any industrial struggles. Unionism and Unions in General

While Sarbupri might be the star of the union show in Kebudajaan, many stories depict other unions or focus on unionism in general. Given the importance of the oil industry in Indonesia during the 1950s147, a reader might expect a signiﬁcant number of stories with a central focus on Perbum (the SOBSI-aﬃliated oil workers’ union)148, but only two appear in Kebudajaan, both by Saibun.149 During the 1950s membership of Perbum fell, halving

146T. Robert Ousman “Bagaimana gula digiling” HR 31/12/54. 147Allen and Donnithorne (1957, Ch. 9). 148Perbum = Perserikatan Buruh Minyak. 149In terms of the accounting introduced earlier in this chapter, it is actually three, since GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 327 from around sixty thousand at the beginning of the period to thirty thousand in the early 1960s.150 This contrasted with other unions in the SOBSI federation, like Sarbupri, whose fortunes fared much better in an environment of militancy and growing confidence on the plantations. Perhaps it is therefore not as surprising that, although it does get passing mention in a number of short stories151, only one author writes stories set around the oil industry union. “Strike for a Year”152 opens with three activists at the Prabumulih153 branch office of Perbum. The occasion is a visit by higher level union officials. While one of the officials, Danial, seems happy with the local situation, it becomes obvious that the local union office worker is not happy. He opens up to the narrator when they are alone. The worker, Madjid, was a Socialist Youth (Pesindo154) militia member during the revolution. He is disappointed at the outcome of the Nationalist struggle: . . . komandan2 knil itu enak2 djadi employe disini. . . Semua Ne- fis2 Belanda dan nefis Indonesia dapat tempat di BPM ini. Bekas2 pedjuang tak ada angin. . . . the commanders of the colonial army have nice positions here. . . All the colonial intelligence officers, whether Dutch or Indonesian, can find a place at BPM. Ex-freedom fighters have no chance.

A strike is already underway amongst sub-contractors for the company, but the branch is not doing anything to support them. The dispute is about Lebaran bonuses: management is refusing to give anything, even though their work contract says that workers should receive something. The strike is led by leaders of the "local section" (ranting) of the union: Rahman, Radjali, Pak Salim, and Ali. Nobody has been assigned from the branch to help them. Rahman has only just started working as an organiser and he is “shy one of the stories is serialised over two weeks. Saibun “Mogok Setahun” HR 19/6/54 & 26/6/54; Saibun “Pahlawan” HR 5/3/55. 150See Hindley (1964, p. 142). 151For example Siswa Patria’s “Korban” HR 19/3/55. 152Saibun “Mogok Setahun” HR 19/6/54 & 26/6/54. 153Prabumulih is an oil town near Palembang in South Sumatra. 154Pemuda Sosialis Indonesia 328 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION and doesn’t socialise much with the other workers. He is patient and pays attention to detail.”.155 He got the position because workers had become suspicious of Pak Salim, an old man who is considered alim (religiously learned). When he was chair of the ranting, money from the workers’ cooperative disappeared. Radjali is one of the ranting executive because of his oratory skills, while Ali is an oﬃce worker like Madjid. Pak Salim and Rahman are in competition for the leadership of the ranting, and Pak Salim is actively undermining Rahman. The following day the narrator attends a workers’ meeting in their new hostel. This gives the narrator the opportunity to describe in detail the cramped living conditions of the workers. At the meeting the union activists divide up duties to support the strike. Rahman handles general issues, Rad- jali is responsible for publicity and external relations, Ali is to assist Rahman, and Pak Salim is given the job of preventing "scabs" (staking brekers) from getting through. Pak Salim gets up to speak, and gives a ﬁery speech: “We can strike for a year”156, and argues that workers need to absolutely shun anyone who scabs, even if a child of theirs dies.157 He asks the meeting if it is ready to strike for a year, but Rahman stops him:

“Tadi kita dengar keterangan kawan2 kita dari Perbum Tjabang, bahwa kita dalam melakukan pemogokan ini mesti ada batas2nja. . . Mungkin sdr. Salim tahan mogok itu berlama-lama sebab sdr. mempunjai persediaan beras dirumah, tetapi kawan2 lain bagaimana. Kita mogok bukan untuk mogok, tetapi mogok untuk menang.” “We just heard clariﬁcations from our comrades from the Per- bum branch oﬃce that in conducting this strike there needs to be limits. . . Maybe comrade Salim can hold out on strike for a long time because he has a store of rice at home, but how about other comrades? We don’t strike for the sake of it, we strike to win.”

This is red rag to a bull, as far as Pak Salim is concerned. He argues that they made decisions in the past to stay on strike until they won. He adds: 155Pendiam dan pergaulan dengan buruh sangat kurang. Ia penjabar dan teliti. 156Setahun kita tahan mogok. The narrator adds “His speech was mixed up in local dialect” (Ia bitjara dengan langgam daerah bertjampur baur). This aside seems to be suggesting that Pak Salim is uneducated and uncouth. 157. . . kita lipat djangan kundjungi djika anaknja meninggal, bekot. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 329

Kalau Rahman mau menghentikan pemogokan, ia penghianat. Pengetjut, takut kelaparan karena isterinja dua. If Rahman wants to stop the strike, he is a traitor. He is a coward who is frightened to go hungry because he has two wives.

This enrages Rahman, and Pak Salim dares him to take it outside. Rah- man jumps at him, and Pak Salim pulls out a knife. Madjid, the narrator, and others have to separate them. Madjid closes the meeting, supporting Rahman:

“Kita harus bisa menghitung kekuatan lawan dan kekuatan kita sendiri. . . Kalau terpaksa, pemogokan bisa distop. Soalnja bagi kita ialah hasilnja, bukan mogok2an yang bertahun berbulan. Djadi sdr.2 jang telah ditentukan tugasnja tadi supaja mendjalankan tugas itu baik2, hati2 djangan sampai ada keributan2. Semuanja harus disampaikan kepada pimpinan djangan bertindak sendiri- sendiri.” “We need to be able to assess our own strength and that of our opponents. . . If necessary, the strike can be stopped. The issue for us is the result, we are not playing at striking, for months or years. So those comrades who have been given tasks, try to carry out those tasks as well as you can, try to avoid making trouble. Everything needs to be reported to the leadership, we should not be going oﬀ doing things on our own.”

The following installment ends with people seeing Pak Salim emerging from the Dutch hostel. Pak Salim approaches them and says he saw Rahman inside: “I never trusted Rahman. . . with that shiny bicycle of his”.158 The next installment begins with the narrator and Madjid noticing Rah- man’s bicycle against the wall of the Dutch hostel, seemingly confirming Pak Salim’s suspicions. They see Rahman talking to the boss. In the meantime, the strike has been going on for fifteen days, and Madjid has organised thirty tonnes of rice, which he sells to the strikers, but at cost. There is conflict again, because Pak Salim wants one hundred kilograms, which Rahman will

158“Dari dulu saja tidak pertjaja kepada Rahman. . . dengan spedanja jang mengkilap itu.” 330 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION not allow, since people have been re-selling the rice for proﬁt on the black market.159 Finally the narrator and Madjid are invited to the Department of Labour in Palembang for negotiations. While they are away, Pak Salim spreads ru- mours that they have been paid oﬀ by management, and that they have been arrested by the authorities in Palembang. It seems that he has been doing so with the support of management, since he has also been promoted to the position of “head supervisor” (kepala mandor). As it turns out, the government has rejected their demands, and it appears that the strike has failed. Madjid is not fazed, however: “this is experience for future victories”.160 In “Scared of Quitting”161 the focus is a generic “large company”162 Raden Mas163 Parto is worried because a certain “Darman” is organising a union and making demands for a wage rise, overtime pay, leave rights, etc. This puts Parto in a quandary:

Bahaja mengantjam. Tjelaka. Tidak ikut masuk djadi anggota, takut dikatakan tidak mau rukun. Masuk djadi anggota bisa dimusuhi sama tuan2 direktur jang baik hati itu. This was dangerous. A disaster. Not joining in as a member would mean people might say he was anti-social. If he became a member it could cause friction with those nice directors of the company.

For two months management does not respond to the union’s demands, then Darman gives them a week before the union will call strike action.

159And “it was not clear that Pak Salim was not one of those doing this” (. . . apakah Pak Salim ini salah satu diantaranja masih tanda tanja.) 160. . . ini latihan untuk kemenangan jang akan datang. The second story by Saibun that has a perbum focus is “Pahlawan” HR 5/3/55, which is fundamentally a report on a strike by workers at the Stanvac refinery at the port of Belawan, near Medan. 161A.S. Dharta [Klara Akustia] “Dimana takut berhenti” HR 15/11/52. The title of this story is particularly difficult to translate. Berhenti means “stop”, but it has a wider semantic field than “stop”. It is also used for “quit” (as in “quit a job”). Memberhentikan means “to fire”, and berhenti itself does not make it clear if a person made the choice to quit a job, or they were fired. The title could be “Scared of Being Fired” or “Fear of Being Fired”. 162Maskape besar.“Maskape”, as opposed to “Perusahaan” implies a foreign company. 163Raden Mas is a title that clearly identifies a man as coming from a Javanese aristocratic background. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 331

Parto begs Darman to be “wise” (bidjaksana), but the strike goes ahead. All of Parto’s colleagues seem to support the strike, and it wins. Through the solidarity of the workers before and after the strike, Parto’s fear of being fired subsides, and he is glad to be in the union.164 S. End’s “After Being Fired”165 is similar to “Champions and Stooges”166, in that its central theme is the doubt felt by someone who has become a union activist. In the story the narrator has been unemployed for a month, after being fired for his union activity. The union has been successful in achieving concrete gains for the workers, and the narrator has been part of building the union up from six members to the point where all of the workers in his work place are members. He has become general-secretary of the union, but now that he has been fired, he wonders why he took the position. The story finishes with a somewhat forced epiphany (inspired by a poem by E. Rusmijati). The narrator “feels ashamed that he had had weak thoughts such as those”167, and vows to go on working as the general secretary of his union.168 While stories like “Champions and Stooges” and “After Being Fired” were aimed at dealing with a lack of political confidence, “The Newspaper Wall”169 addresses lack of personal confidence as a result of poverty. Pak Parman is a well respected SOBSI union leader from the Glass Workers’ Union (Serikat Buruh Gelas), but is too ashamed of his home to allow comrades to visit. Af- ter they reassure him, he gains more confidence, and feels that the solidarity among them has improved. He says that now when he is sick “the medicine and nurses arrive by themselves” (i.e. other activists organise his health care

164Tjak Wibowo’s “The Trials and Tribulations of the Workers” (“Suka duka kaum Buruh” HR 9/5/53) is centred around a similar relationship between a more conservative and more militant character. 165S. End “Setelah Dipetjat” HR 29/1/55. 166Discussed above, on pages 321–322. 167. . . malu rasanja masih punja pikiran2 jang lemah itu. 168His union is identified as “Sarbubadi”. This appears to be Serbubadi (Serikat Buruh Bangunan di Indonesia), the Indonesian Construction Workers’ Union. The only reference I have found to this union is in a biography of an anti-communist religious teacher, who was apparently involved in founding the union, as well as in the “cleansing” (pembersihan) of communists 1965-67. See Wardah (2007). 169K. Sunarjo “Dinding koran Harian Rakjat” HR 10/7/54. 332 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION for him).170 Three weeks after “The Newspaper Wall” was published, another work was published in Kebudajaan featuring the glass workers’ union: “Red Dawn”, which ran over two installments.171 Here the protagonist, Nurman, is also a union leader, but in this case his unionism is background for a story about tension with his wife over the domestic impact of his political activity. After he has been mistakenly arrested and interrogated as a thief, the story ends with a grand scene of Nurman, alongside his wife and son, leading the workers in a march. Another industry that is mentioned more than once is the cigarette industry, which appears three times.172 Soepinar P.’s “Passion and Wickedness”173 is a combination of reportage and soap opera set around a cigarette factory. The Narrator is an observer, who sometimes inserts himself, with the main characters being Rolijan (an ordinary worker and “informant” for the narrator), Waloeyo (a corrupt ex-union leader), Soenoto (the noble union leader and hero of the story), and Srini (the sympathetic daughter of the boss, who is attracted to Soenoto, but also has Waloeyo’s jealous eye). Rolijan has nothing but scorn for Waloeyo, who appears at the beginning of the story riding an expensive motorbike. He is a “coward” (pengetjut), “fifth-columnist” (pendjilat bangsa), and “All he does is betray his own”.174 Apparently Waloeyo used to be a leader of the union, but he was bought off with a position in management. Since then Soenoto has taken over leadership of the union, and there have been improvements. Srini has been sympathetic, and this is too much for Waloeyo. As a result, Waloeyo encourages the boss to fire some workers, Soenoto among them. The workers stand behind Soenoto, and behind the union. Soenoto, meanwhile, works hard for the other workers who have been fired, organising, amongst other things, food for them while they are unemployed. The workers decide to strike to support those who have lost their jobs, and, after a complex build-up, the story is resolved in

170. . . obat dan djururawat datang dengan sendirinja. . . 171T. Roberto Ousmaninov “Fadjar Merah” HR 31/7/54 and HR 8/8/54. 172Including the reportage article Hassan “Tjatatan dari Bengawan Djero” HR 19/6/54. 173Soepinar P. “Nafsu dan Kedjahatan” HR 16/10/54. 174Pandainja hanja mendurhakai awak sendiri. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 333 a single paragraph: the strike wins, and Waloeyo is arrested for defrauding the company while trying to get money to impress Srini.175 “Asphalt and the Congress”176 depicts the lives of workers in the Depart- ment of Public Works. In this case there is a clear sense of class and “industrial tension”. Workers from the Department are repairing a small bridge over the Belawan river in North Sumatra. The narrator details the problems the workers face and the general situation in the department—amongst other things, corruption and careless work. The story focuses on three men who are close friends: Malik, Djamil, and Usin. All three have worked for the department for more than three years, but they are still only employed as day labourers. While travelling with his supervisor to pick up some asphalt, Usin sees a banner reading “Regional Congress of the SBPU, North Sumatra”. Usin remembers that he and the others are in a union; it might be SBPU, or was it PBPU?177 Whatever it was, Usin thinks, they have not changed anything. With some knowledge of the congress planted in his mind, Usin returns to the bridge, where traﬃc has to be slowed and limited to one lane while the workers do their repairs. But some drivers are “impatient” (kurang tenang pikirannja). Trucks often approach the bridge at 80km/h, and buses

175The second story to be set around a cigarette factory is “The Story of Comrade Hardjo” (Widjaja “Kisah bung Hardjo” HR 12/2/55), which focuses mainly on the protagonist’s life before he became a unionist, but the culmination of the story is clearly comrade Hardjo’s transformation after he gets work at a cigarette factory and joins the union. After joining the union he stops gambling and womanising, and straightens himself out. But the story contains nothing that could really be called “industrial tension”—no strikes, no-one being fired, no struggle with a yellow union, etc. “It Wasn’t Me, Major. . . ” (Isnandar “Itu bukan saja Majoor. . . ” HR 20/11/54.) also has a union leader as a protagonist, but, like “The Story of Comrade Hardjo”, it lacks a sense of conflict or real tension. The lead character, Wakidjo, is a mechanic at a military garage, and a member of the branch executive of SOBSI. The local commander, Major Martono offers to “militarise” him (i.e. make him a member of the military). Although this will lead to higher pay and better conditions, it would also mean not being allowed to be in a union. Wakidjo, of course, refuses. At the same time two other issues that have concerned union members are dealt with easily and agreeably—a doctor who union members feel has acted inappropriately is to be transferred, and members’ families are to get compensation in the case of their death due to workplace injuries. 176Saibun “Aspal dan Gema Kongres” HR 26/3/55. 177SBPU = Serikat Buruh Pekerjaan Umum (Public Works Labourers’ Union); PBPU = Perserikatan Buruh Pekerjaan Umum, with the same meaning. SBPU was communist- aligned. PBPU was close to the PSI. See Tejasukmana (1959). 334 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION at 100km/h. This is dangerous, and one speeding jeep (a symbol of luxury) smashes into a man on a bicycle, before speeding off to Medan. Nobody sees the number plate, and although the rider is not seriously injured, his bike is a wreck and his cargo of tins of rice is spread everywhere. The workers decide that Djamil should deliver the rider’s rice to his home; that Malik should take the rider to the hospital; and that another worker should report the incident to the police. When the supervisor returns, Usin tells him what has happened. Annoyed, the supervisor fires both Djamil and Malik for having left the work site without permission. There seems little the workers can do to save their jobs, since it turns out that the supervisor is an official of the PBPU. The workers gather under a tree to talk things through. They decide they will approach the SBPU for help. But there is a problem: there is no local branch in Medan, so they go to the local SOBSI office. SOBSI helps them get Malik and Djamil reinstated. The workers decide to leave the PBPU and join the SBPU. Even though there is no local branch, they write a statement on some wrapping paper. Unfortunately their pen runs out after they have finished the statement, but before they have signed their names to it. They decide to use the asphalt to put their thumb prints on the document. Everyone joins, and they decide to try to get workers under other foremen to join, too. The author of “You Wanted to Know: How tyres are made”178, N. Juwono is apparently a worker at a Goodyear tyre factory, and spends much of the story describing the general conditions for workers. For example, even though there are many dangerous machines in the factory that require concentration, the company does not provide any place that the workers can sleep before or after a shift; there are dangerous and toxic chemicals everywhere; the factory still uses old and dangerous machinery that has been rejected at plants overseas; the company doctor cannot be trusted (he gives different advice to his private patients compared to his company patients). The story is set around a dispute about "Lebaran money" (tundjangan lebaran). The company claims it is a "bonus" (gratifikasi) and is therefore

178N. Juwono “Saudara ingin tahu: Bagaimana Kami Membuat Ban” HR 31/12/55. GETTING ACTIVE: STORIES OF STRUGGLE 335 not obligatory. Like many other stories we have examined, “How tyres are made” ends without the central conﬂict being resolved: more than a thousand workers from the morning and night shifts go out on strike, but we hear nothing of the result. We are just assured that they are “heading for a glorious future” (menudju hari depan jang gemilang).

Conﬂict in the Countryside

The main area of rural conflict depicted in Kebudajaan stories was indus- trialdisputes involving the communist-aligned Plantation Workers’ Union, as discussed above on pages 319–326. But other rural conflicts are also discussed, in particular conflict over land. But even here, two of the three stories where land is a central focus are based around the problem of what to do with plantation land that had either been vacated, or had been occupied by squatters. “Red Flags”179 tells the story of Pak Karta and his friends. Karta’s crops are about to be destroyed by tractors belonging to the local plantation owner (tuan ondernemer), with the clear support of the local authorities. Karta returns home demoralised, but his friend Darma and others are gathering to discuss the seizure of the land that they had been farming. Some argue that the government has already recognised their ownership by taxing them on the land. The meeting is held at the house of Pak Mardi, who seems among the most militant of the farmers. He tells the meeting, “United we stand, divided we fall”180, and is taken on as the leader of an organisation that they form from the meeting. The farmers march together to the fields, waving red flags and singing “The Blood of the People” (Darah Rakjat), which intimidates the tractor drivers. They stop their tractors and agree to stop work until a definitive decision has been made by the government. Their supervisor arrives and

179Puteri Pertiwi “Benderah Merah” HR 16/4/55. “Puteri Pertiwi” is obviously a nom de plume, as it means “Daughter of the Earth”. “Dewi Pertiwi” is the Earth Goddess, “Ibu Pertiwi” means “motherland”, and is also the name of a women’s association of the Department of the Interior. 180Bersatu kita teguh. Bertjerai kita runtuh. 336 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION orders a return to work, but the drivers turn their engines off. The farmers continue protesting, and the supervisor is forced to ride off on his motorbike to tell the plantation manager (tuan administratur) what has happened. In the meantime, the drivers have put red flags on their tractors and the disputed area has also been marked with red flags. Later the drivers threaten to strike if the farmers are ignored. Mardi organises to meet both the local police commander and the plantation manager. The police commander asks that the farmers disperse, and that the red flags be removed. Mardi responds that that could only happen if it could be guaranteed that the land will not be ploughed in before the government clearly established who has rights over the land. The Wedana181 and Tjamat arrive, and are prepared to accept Mardi’s proposal. The story ends with local youth guarding the land, but with the dispute unresolved. The story “I accept that!”182, draws the issue explicitly back to the Na- tional Revolution. At a mass meeting at that time, land from a foreign coffee plantation is given to landless peasants. This is decided democratically at a mass meeting in which more than four hundred people take part. Ninety percent of the meeting vote for the proposal, but amongst those opposing it is a certain Hadji Jusuf Achmad, who argues that the land does not belong to the village. After the Round Table Conference (KMB), all former plantation land has to be returned, even land that is still being used for housing, or is in active agricultural use. The squatters resist, and are supported by the Lurah.183 The plantation owners bring in the police, which leads to the arrest of the Lurah, as well as a BTI leader. They are both accused of being PKI members, which they deny. The judge asks them why then they have put forward communist policies. The Lurah responds that it is just coincidence, and goes on to say that if he had done anything else he would have been “scorning the trust that people had in me!”.184 He says that the poor should “experience

181District Head, above Tjamat, but below Bupati. In modern government replaced by Pembantu Bupati. See the description above on page 306. 182Dal Suharman Wirosudarmo “Saja rela. . . !” HR 9/10/54. 183See the explanation of the position of Lurah above on page 306. 184( dots membuang kepertjahajaan Rakjat jang telah dilimpahkan kepada saja! RED RELIGION 337 something of the gains of the freedom for which they laid down their lives”.185 The fact of the matter is that the lands had been declared public land (tanah kas) by the government. The villagers had not been doing anything illegal. But his arguments do not seem to have an impact on the judge. He and the BTI member are sentenced to twenty days in prison, and the Lurah loses his position. The story ends as the now ex-Lurah is released from prison at the end of the twenty days. He gives a speech at the gates of the gaol: Kepertjayaan dan ketjintaan saudara2 sekalian pada saja untuk memegang djabatan lurah desa telah dihapus dan dilenjapkan oleh pengadilan oleh karena saja membela saudara2. Saja rela ...! . . . Saja lebih bergembira hidup di-tengah2 dan bersama2 saudara dengan saling hormat dan mentjintai dari pada saja hidup sebagai pembesar tetapi dibentji oleh Rakjat. The trust and aﬀection that you all showed for me by making Lurah has been wiped away by the court because I defended you. I accept that!. . . I am happier living among and with you in an atmosphere of mutual respect and aﬀection than I would be if I lived as your superior, but I was hated by people.

The villagers respond that, as far as they are concerned, he is still Lurah, and that Hadji Jusup (who has moved against him) is a traitor (pengchianat).186

Red Religion: Communist Faith and Morality

In one way or another morality and/or religion are themes in many, probably the majority, of short stories in Kebudajaan. At the same time tales of hostility to religion and communist immorality were signiﬁcant lines of attack in anti-communist politics in the 1950s, and after 1965 were used as a key means of discrediting the communist movement, as well as implicitly (and

185. . . merasakan hasil perdjoangan kemerdekaan jang telah mereka tjapai dengan bertaruh njawa. 186Suparman’s “Land for the Tillers” (“Tanah untuk Tani”, HR 18/6/55), which was discussed above, is the only story to discuss a land issue not related to former plantation land. It is focused on tensions over water allocation. 338 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION sometimes explicitly) justifying the mass slaughter that brought the Suharto regime to power. Atheism and hostility to religion has been presented as a key feature of communist politics in the 1950s.187 A frequent starting point for such presentations is references to classical Marxists such as Karl Marx himself or Lenin, who were openly atheist, frequently beginning with Marx’s often misquoted “Religion is the opium of the people”188, but writers do not generally move on to detailed discussion of the primary sources. This section will endeavour to contribute something to ﬁlling this gap by discussing how religion and morality were portrayed in the “communist imagination” of the early 1950s, as expressed in Kebudajaan short stories.

Religion in General

A reader of oﬃcial histories (especially those in the New Order period) or other anti-communist accounts would expect to ﬁnd at least some material

187For a contemporary example of this see P. N. H. Simanjuntak Pendidikan Kewargane- garaan SMP/MTs Kls VIII (Grasindo), Chapter One, as an example of what Indonesians are taught in junior high school. For an Islamist perspective see Tanjung (2006b). 188The quote without context gives the impression that Marx believes religion is simply like recreational drugs or alcohol, simply a distraction or escape. A fuller version of the quote gives a more sophisticated impression: Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people. Marx (1992, p. 243) The full quote is clearly sympathetic to the religious beliefs of people suffering oppression and exploitation. It is also worth noting that opium (in a variety of forms) was by far the most effective pain killer of the nineteenth century, called “God’s own medicine” by the founder of Johns Hopkins Hospital and “Father of Modern Medicine”, Sir William Osler (Booth, 2013, p. 81). Moreover, Marx writes that religion is not simply an escape or distraction, it is “the heart of a heartless world, the soul of a soulless conditions”. Those citing the short version of the quote also usually fail to mention that this was written in the introduction to a never finished or published work (although the introduction itself was published in the small radical journal Deutsch-Französische Jahrbücher), nor do they mention that it was written when Marx was just twenty five years old, when his central ideas were still forming, and was published well before Marx’s mature work, such as Das Kapital (1867). Assumptions are often made in regard to Lenin, as well. For example, the vast majority of writers are completely ignorant of the willingness of Lenin to work among unorthodox faith communities to help them agitate for greater religious freedom. See Cliff (2002, Ch. 4). RED RELIGION 339 in Kebudajaan that was anti-religious: presenting religion as a general evil or promoting atheism. However, amongst the selection of short stories published in the supplement during the period not one can be said to be anti-religion in general. The closest the stories get to such ideas appear in Boejoeng Saleh’s “Insan and Yvonne”189, which was published over two weeks in early September 1952, and Bakri Siregar’s “For Friends and Foes”190, which also appeared in two installments, in mid-1954. Neither of these stories makes anti-religious arguments. The first half of “Insan and Yvonne” contains elements of strong secularism, while the narrator in “For friends and Foes” is openly non-religious and ex-Muslim, but does not make arguments for atheism or against religion. The only other story which could be said to have any sort of a sense of antagonism to religion in general is “He Asks Questions”191, where a son asks his father why they are poor, and the answer comes that it is God’s will. When the son says “God isn’t Fair, is he, Dad?”, his father is quick to scold him. Throughout Kebudajaan, religion appears as something that is good and should be respected, and honestly practising religious people often appear as models, or voices of conscience. For example, in “A Piece of Satin”192 a Santri (orthodox Muslim) wife is the voice of her husband’s conscience. The husband, working on the wharves, is caught up in an environment of corruption and smuggling. When he tries to justify what he and his colleagues are doing by saying that they are just “trying to survive” (ingin selamat), and so he should not “make waves”, his wife asks him if he thinks God is sleeping. Eventually the wife leaves him, and his daughter has to go and live with her grandmother. Only after this does the husband decide to reform himself, although the writer does not let the reader know the nature of the epiphany that led to this change of heart (which includes a decision to follow “a new

189Boejoeng Saleh “Fragment sebuah roman: Insan dan Yvonne” HR 11/10/52 and HR 18/10/52. 190Bakri Siregar “Untuk Kawan dan Lawan” HR 5/6/54 and HR 12/6/54. 191A.A. Akbar “Dia Yang Bertanya” HR 21/11/53. 192Tjak Wibowo “Sehelai Seskin” HR 28/2/53. 340 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION path, the path of the People”.193) He wants to be a “new man” (manusia baru), and now wants to work to get his wife and daughter back. In “The Clerk’s Wife”194, Nurdin is depressed because of pressure from his wife over their poverty. She is jealous of a neighbour who is doing well, even though her husband is only a driver (sopir). When Nurdin asks if the driver is corrupt, his close friend says “don’t think like that. Being suspicious of people . . . We’re religious people aren’t we?”.195 Bakri Siregar’s apparently autobiographical “For Friend and Foe”196 begins with Bakri re-telling an incident from a recent court case in which he has been involved: Beberapa waktu jang lalu, ketika aku didjadikan saksi dalam suatu perkara dimuka pengadilan, sesudah disumpah dengan Kuran diatas kepala, hakim bertanja padaku: “Tuan ’kan beragama Is- lam?”. Kudjawab: “Pernah Islam!” Some time ago, when I was called upon to be a witness in a court case, after I had been sworn in with the Koran above my head, the judge asked me: “you are a Muslim, aren’t you?”. I answered: “I was!”

This apparently caused a stir, and his good friend Djamil thought that Bakri should not have been quite so brazen. Defending himself, Bakri tells Djamil “For several years now I have not followed the teachings and requirements of Islam. What would be the point of saying that I am still a Mus- lim?”.197 Djamil admits that he is also a lapsed Muslim, but does not think that it is a good idea to be so brazen in public. This is a long way from being an argument for atheism. In Boejoeng Saleh’s “Insan dan Yvonne”198 the protagonist argues against the ﬁrst principle of the philosophy of state, Pancasila: “One Supreme God” (Ketuhanan Yang Maha Esa). 193. . . djalan baru, djalan Rakjat. . . 194M. Sabirin “Isteri Djurutulis” HR 20/11/54. 195. . . djangan ada ﬁkiran jang begitu. Fikiran menjangka-njangka orang . . . Kita memeluk Agama bukan? 196Bakri Siregar “Untuk Kawan dan Lawan” HR 5/6/54 and HR 12/6/54 197Aku sudah sedjak beberapa tahun ini tidak mengerdjakan dan mendjalankan adjaran serta suruhan agama Islam. Apalah gunanja aku mengaku beragama Islam. 198Boejoeng Saleh “Fragment sebuah roman: Insan dan Yvonne” HR 11/10/52 RED RELIGION 341

Menurut pendapat Insan sebetulnja Pantjasila itu susunan logika dan tanggungdjawab ﬁlsafatnja sangat lemah . . . Sila ketuhanan jang maha esa adalah wudjud daripada theokrasi jang meniadakan tempat bagi kaum animist, buddhist, brahmanist dan atheist . . . maka hilanglah kebebasan didalam hal menganut sesuatu agama atau kepertjajaan . . . Theokrasi senantiasa pertentangan dengan demokrasi. . . Insan thought that actually Pancasila logically and philosoph- ically was very weak . . . the principle of One Almighty God is an expression of theocracy, which destroys any place for animists, Buddhists, Brahmanists, and atheists . . . and so freedom of belief disappears . . . Theocracy is always in conﬂict with democracy. . .

All that is being argued for here is a political system that allows real freedom of belief, including the freedom to disbelieve.199 Sugiati Siswadi’s “Heaven on Earth”200 suggests that it is more important to build a “heaven on earth”, rather than focusing on the afterlife. This could be seen as anti-religious, but a closer reading of the story makes this interpretation unviable. This “coming of age” story begins with the narrator’s grandmother telling religious stories, in particular stories about heaven and hell. Of course, the children (and the grandmother!) focus on the stories of hell. All of the children in the household compete with each other to be pious, in an endeavour to avoid hell. During the fasting month, the narrator (as a child) notices that many people around her are not fasting. One of their older servants is not fasting. When the narrator asks why, the servant answers “if I fasted I would not be able wash and clean. In the afternoons I would be too weak to do the 199It is true, however, that many people both in contemporary Indonesia and the In- donesia of the 1950s would consider this a pro-atheist argument, since it allows atheism to exist. Many Indonesians believe freedom of belief does not include freedom not to believe, and this has been underlined by the recent case of an Indonesian, Alexander Aan, who was jailed simply for stating on social media that he did not believe God existed (Bayuni, 2013). He was threatened and beaten by Islamic radicals, but none of those responsible for attacks against him were charged, let alone prosecuted. A similar attitude has been taken by authorities in the face of vicious attacks on religious minorities such as Ahmadi and Shia Muslims. For a brief account of issues around the attacks on Indonesian Ahmadi, see Crouch (2011). For a general account of the recent growth of religious intolerance, see Pearson (2014). 200Sugiarti Siswadi “Sorga dibumi” HR 24/12/55 342 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION ironing”.201 The narrator gets a similar answer from a neighbour: “If I fasted I wouldn’t be able to lift the rice pounder, I wouldn’t be able to pound rice. I wouldn’t be able to carry my goods to the market”.202 Likewise, a poorer playmate, who is also not fasting, tells her “You only fast once a year. I fast every day, every day I only eat once”.203 One day the son of one of the servants gets caught stealing money from the narrator’s mother’s purse, and is tied to a pole as punishment. He only wanted to buy a kite, which cost one cent. When the narrator asks him why he did not ask his own mother for the money, he answers that all of their money had been used up paying oﬀ a sarong she had worn at Lebaran. These and other stories (including one about conﬂict over money between her own parents) are interspersed with the narrator (as a child) praying that all the things that get in the way of people fasting be resolved, so that they can all fast together, and that people have money so there is no need for stealing. The narrator as an adult then intervenes to conclude the story:

Ketika saja sudah besar dan dapat berﬁkir, saja mengerti bahwa doaku dan doa semua Bapak dan semua Ibu, bukan doa jang salah. Tuhan berkahilah sorga dibumi, agar kami tidak berbuat dosa. Sekarang saja tidak hanja berdoa sadja, tetapi saja dan semua anak ketjil jang dulu berdoa disudut-sudut gelap ditempat tidurnja karena takut azab neraka berbuat. Berbuat, berdjuang, untuk tertjiptanja sorga dibumi. . .

When I had grown up and could think about it, I understood that my prayers, and those of all fathers and mothers, were not wrong. God give us heaven on earth, so that we don’t sin. Now I don’t just pray, I, and all the other children who used to

201. . . kalau mbok puasa tidak kuat mencuci dan menyapu. Kalau sore lemas tidak bisa setrika. 202Kalau wak puasa tidak kuat mengangkat alu, tidak bisa menumbuk padi. Tidak kuat mengendong bakul ke pasar. 203Kau puasa sekali setahun, tetapi saya saban hari puasa. Tiap hari hanja makan sekali sadja. RED RELIGION 343

pray in dark corners near their beds in fear of the tortures of hell, act. Act and struggle to create heaven on earth. . .

Even if we see that the story is highlighting how the idea of sin favours the rich over the poor, it is diﬃcult to argue that the story is putting forward atheism as an alternative, or that the story is attacking religion in general.

Islam and Communism

Parties and organisations of the right, both before and after 1965, presented the PKI and the communist movement in general as anathema to religion, especially to Islam, the religion of the large majority of Indonesians. While not eschewing its strong secularism and commitment to freedom of belief, the PKI itself never presented itself as an atheistic party, and did seek to recruit and retain religiously committed individuals. This is not to say that individuals in the party, as in the case of the other secular parties, may not have been non-believers, but the party and the movement more generally does seem to have gone to some lengths to draw links between religion (above all Islam) and communism.204 Several Kebudajaan stories show positive characters with religious concerns in passing. So, for example, it is the Sarbupri activists in “Charity and Corruption”205 who ﬁght to get funding from plantation owners to repair their mosque (langgar), even after the formal religious leader of their community (and anti-communist) has given up on the issue. Several stories, including “Charity and Corruption”, are concerned with struggles for Lebaran rights, so that workers can properly observe this central Islamic celebration. In “Charity and Corruption”, Sarbupri is running a campaign demanding a Lebaran provision the equivalent of one month’s pay, and some meat for each worker. Similarly in “Strike for a Year!”206,

204This sort of politics had a well established history in nationalist politics, stretching back to the PKI’s involvement in the Sarekat Islam (The Islamic Union), Indonesia’s first truly mass modern political organisation, and figures such as Hadji Misbach. See McVey (1965, p. 171-177); Shirashi (1990, Ch. 4 & 7); and Hiqmah (2008), amongst others. 205Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/6/53 and 20/6/53 206Saibun “Mogok Setahun” HR 19/6/54 and HR 26/6/54. 344 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION there is a dispute over Lebaran bonuses, which management sees as optional, but which “the work agreement says is compulsory”207. In “You Wanted to Know: How We Make Tyres”208 workers are struggling for the payment of Lebaran money. The company is arguing that this money (which had been paid out consistently in previous years) is simply a bonus (gratifikasi). The narrator argues that the bonus is essential, for religious reasons: “Lebaran money is a necessity for us that cannot be negotiated away. As Muslims we must celebrate Lebaran”.209 A number of stories also have characters who are both firm in their Is- lamic faith and either communist or sympathetic to the communist cause, or become so in the story. A case of the latter is “My Comrade’s Wife”210, where a wife struggles with her husband’s communist leanings, which she believes are antithetical to Islam. His father had been a religious teacher (Kijai) and she is a strong Muslim. Since he has become active in his union it appears that his religious practice has declined—for example, he no longer prays five times a day, and does not fast during the fasting month. She asks him: . . . mengapa kau sekarang sudah murtad tak mau sembahjang lagi. Djangan2 sebentar lagi sudah mendjadi orang tak mengenal Tuhan lagi, memang kau mau djadi orang Komunis? Saja tak akan membiarkan mempunjai suami jang sudah mulai menempuh djalan sesat.

. . . why have you become an apostate who doesn’t pray anymore? I just hope that you are not about to become someone who does not know God. Have you actually become a Communist? I will not let my husband go down such a dead end path.

207. . . dalam perdjandjian kerdja ada disebutkan keharusan mebajar itu. . . 208N. Juwono “Saudara ingin tahu: Bagaimana Kami Membuat Ban” HR 31/12/55. See the discussion of this story above in this chapter. 209. . . tundjangan lebaran adalah kebutuhan kami jang tidak bisa ditawar lagi. Sebagai umat Islam berkewadjiban untuk merajakannja. Ramadhan and Lebaran also form important background elements to many stories, much as Christmas does in countries with a Christian tradition. See, for example, I. Imaesih “Pentjuri Dihari Lebaran” HR 26/9/53; Kesuma “Kenangan” HR 22/5/55; Siswa Patria “Dikendurian malam puasa” HR 22/5/55. 210Jadi “Isteri Kawanku” HR 26/2/55. See the discussion of this story earlier in this chapter. RED RELIGION 345

Her husband tries to discuss the issues with her, arguing that Islam and communism are not opposed, but she is insistent: “Communists to me are still people who are anti-God and ant-religion, end of story!”.211 Eventually they can come to some agreement, but she is still insistent in her anti-communism. His husband begins to avoid sensitive issues, but nevertheless his wife is curious enough to attend a talk given by PKI leader D.N. Aidit in a local cinema. She goes by herself, and sits at the front. Aidit talks about the PKI’s programme for women, and about polygamy (to which the PKI is strongly opposed). He also makes repeated calls for unity between the three key currents of Indonesian politics—Communism, Nationalism, and Islam. The wife is impressed, especially by the PKI’s stand on polygamy:

Sekalipun didalam adjaran Islam soal poligami itu dibenarkan, tetapi bagi isteri bung Idrus sendiri tak dapat membenarkan . . . Sedjak pulang dari rapat itu mulailah hilang sjakwasangkanja terhadap PKI. . . Even though according to Islamic teaching polygamy is acceptable, for Comrade Idrus’ wife herself it was unacceptable . . . Af- ter returning home from the meeting her prejudices against the PKI began to disappear. . .

She overcomes her antipathy to the communists, and with it the idea that communism and Islam are mutually incompatible, but she does not join the PKI. Neverhtless, she does decide to join the communist-aligned women’s organisation, Gerwani. If communism and Islam seemed to be natural enemies to the wife in “My Comrade’s Wife”, in “The Awakening in the River City”212 the narrator meets a santri (orthodox Muslim) farmer who is also a committed communist. Many people in his area apparently support the communist party, and attended the recent one million strong PKI rally in Solo (Surakarta). The farmer comes from Pedan, and when the narrator asks “Isn’t Pedan an Islamic area?”213, the farmer quickly responds “Yes, it is. I myself am a hadji”.214 211Orang komunis tetap sebagai orang jang anti tuhan anti agama bagi saja habis perkara! 212Namikakanda “Kebangunan di kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55 213Bukankah Pedan daerah Islam? 214Pedan memang daerah Islam. Saja sendiri hadji. 346 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

When the narrator follows this up with: “Do you still pray five times a day?”, the farmer patiently continues: “Why wouldn’t I? That’s a matter of my belief in One Supreme God.”215 When the narrator finally asks why (as a practising Muslim) the farmer does not support an Islamic party like Masjumi, he says simply “The P.K.I. fights for our land . . . They [Masjumi] oppose our demands”.216 He then adds that he supports the communists because they are moral: “Communists are not allowed to hit their wives, let alone be polygamous. They are not allowed to prostitute themselves, or to gamble”.217

What Makes a Good Communist?

The Santri activist from Pedan emphasises good moral character being at the core of what it means to be a “good communist”. The importance of the moral character of communists was important in many stories. This occurs usually in passing, but I found eight pieces that had communist models and morality at their heart.218 Some, like “The Death of Tanja”219, are simple propaganda, with a straight-forward message: the best way to remember activists who are gone is to continue the struggle. Others present diﬀerent models. Pak Parman in “The Harian Rakjat Newspaper Wall”220 is a local hero. Everyone calls him “Bapak” (“Sir”, “Father”), but it is not because he holds some high status position, like being mayor. He has respect because of the sacriﬁces he makes for others. But he himself is embarrassed by his poverty and appears largely unaware of the extent of the respect he enjoys. A number of other stories feature moral redemption, or morality as being

215Mengapa tidak? Itu adalah keyakinanku terhadap Tuhan Jang Maha Esa. 216P.K.I. memperdjoangkan tanah untuk kami . . . Ia[Masjumi] menentang tuntutan kami. . . 217Orang Komunis tidak boleh menempleng isterinja, apalagi berpoligami. Melatjur dan berdjudipun tidak boleh. 218All but one appeared in the year leading up to the general elections (and the one outside this period was still within sixteen months of the elections). 219Zein D. Datu “Gugurnja Tanja” HR 26/3/55 220K. Sunarjo “Tjerita pendek: Dinding koran Harian Rakjat” HR 10/07/54. RED RELIGION 347 central to communism. For example, “Comrade Umar”221 sees communism as having saved him from degeneracy: Kalau dahulu saja suka memaki-maki orang, sekarang saja dengan sabar menjadarkan, menasehati, membantu mereka itu. Kalau dahulu saja suka berdjudi, sekarang malam2 saja bertekun membatja, mempeladjari theorie2 perdjuangan revolusioner. Kalau dulu saja mabok-mabokan, sekarang saja keluar masuk kampung, kursus dan bekerdja giat untuk organisasi. Kalau dulu saja suka djadi kelelawar—artinja suka ngelojor malam2—sekarang djadi suami jang betul2 manusia seratus persen. Dan itu semua Bu, saja jakini setelah saja ditempa oleh Party saja. Saja terus men- goreksi diri sendiri, apakah saja ini sudah pantas mengaku orang komunis. I used to swear at people, whereas now I patiently explain, give advice, and help people. I used to gamble, whereas now I spend my nights diligently reading, studying theories of revolutionary struggle. I used to get drunk all the time, now I am in and out of various kampungs, attending courses and working for organisations. If I used to be a “bat”—that is I used to stay out late at night—now I am a husband who really is 100% a human being. And that is all, I am sure, because I have since joined the Party. I am continually trying to improve myself, to prove that I am worthy of calling myself a communist.

Now Umar’s wife is much happier. They do not ﬁght anymore. He used to hit his wife, but now they discuss everything. His wife used to scold him if his work did not go well, but she does not anymore. Umar says that he used to think that “communists are wild, rabble- rousers, thugs, Godless people”.222 But after he was forced out of his house by the government to make way for new buildings, he came across a certain Bung Pidjo, who encouraged Umar and his community to organise themselves. Pidjo was then arrested for “incitement” and “corruption”. Not long after this, Umar goes to a PKI meeting and decides to put his name down for PKI membership. He says:

221Sugijarti Siswadi “Kawan Umar” HR 26/2/55. 222. . . komunis itu buas, tukang menghasut, tukang pukul, orang tidak ber-Tuhan . . . 348 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

. . . saja dahulu bermimpi, lari dari penderitaan dengan mentjari kesenangan untuk waktu sekedjap mata, melupakan kesedihan dengan berdjudi dll. itu. . . Saja sadar bahwa saja harus memperbaiki tjara hidup saja dahulu. Bukannja bermimpi dan melupakan penderitaan, bukannja memindahkan penderitaan kepada isteri saja ...... I used to dream of running from my suffering by seeking out transitory pleasures, trying to forget my sadness through gambling and other things. . . Now I realise that I have to improve the way I live first, not by dreaming and forgetting my troubles, not by shifting the suffering on to my wife . . .

He says that he has left behind such “sinful behaviour” (perbuatan mak- siat). Now he feels he has to work to be a model for others.

Rumah tangga orang komunis harus djadi tjontoh . . . Bukan karena ia mau beres sendiri, tetapi bagaimana rumah tangga itu dapat memberi sumbangan kepada masjarakat, dapat berbakti dan mengabdi kepada rakjat. A communist household needs to be a model . . . Not because they want to be better than others, but rather the question is how that household can make a contribution to society, can serve and help ordinary people.

Like “Comrade Umar”, the interlocutor (a peasant activist) in “The Awak- ening of the River City”223 emphasises the importance of a communist being morally upstanding: “Communists are not allowed to cheat on their wives, let alone be polygamous. They’re not allowed to prostitute themselves or gamble, either”.224 While “Comrade Umar” and the communist veteran in “The Awakening of the River City” emphasised the importance of communists being morally upstanding, Pak Wirjo in “Pak Wirjo, the Old Communist”225 emphasises the importance of courage and resistance to power:

223Namikakanda “Kebangunan di kota Bengawan” HR 7/5/55. 224Orang Komunis tidak boleh menempleng isterinja, apalagi berpoligami. Melatjur dan berdjudipun tidak boleh. 225Zein D. Datu “Pak Wirjo Komunis Tua” HR 18/6/55 RED RELIGION 349

Sedjarah Komunisme di Indonesia . . . adalah sedjarah kepahlawanan jang tak ada taranja. Berat tapi gemilang . . . [Pemberontakan tahun 1926] . . . adalah saksi segala djaman bagaimana perwiranja klas pekerdja kita . . . Partai Komunis . . . djuga paling ditakuti oleh Belanda dan kaki tangannja. Ja . . . orang2 komunis adalah patriot2 jang tak kenal takut . . . The History of Communism [sic] in Indonesia . . . is a history of incomparable heroism. It was diﬃcult, but glorious . . . [The rebellion of 1926] . . . was evidence for all time of the bravery of our working class . . . The Communist Party . . . was also the group most feared by the Dutch and their lackeys. Yes . . . communists are fearless patriots . . .

All of these stories are effectively giving generic advice to activists, but that advice is embodied in male “characters”. But, as we have already seen, Kebudajaan also published stories with female characters as models, the most obvious examples being “Ningsih, a BTI activist” and “Tinah, a Member of Sarbupri”.226 “Ningsih” provides a model of a woman overcoming adversity (an arranged marriage at twelve to a cheating and polygamous husband) and then finding her own voice as an activist in a militant women’s organisation and a peasants’ union. In “Tinah”, an activist is undermined by her husband but—with support from fellow unionists—finds the courage to persevere, despite losing both her husband and her job. Both stories show women actively engaged in political life, taking on assertive roles with or without the support of the men in their lives. “While her husband was in Exile”227 shows a woman in another role: that of supportive political wife. The woman who is the subject of this biography was supportive of her husband who was sent into exile in the notorious internment camp at Boven Digul in West New Guinea following the 1926 communist rebellion against Dutch colonialism. Initially she followed her husband to Boven Digul, but had to leave for the sake of their children. Despite substantial pressure from her family, she refused to push her husband to betray his comrades in order to get freedom. As a result she had to work extremely hard simply to survive and raise their children

226A. “Ningsih, aktivis BTI” HR 11/6/55 ; Hasan Raid “Skets: Tinah. . . anggota Sar- bupri” HR 2/1/54. 227Surtiati “Selama Suami di Pembuangan” HR 2/7/55. 350 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION without her husband’s help. And then, of course, she had to cope with the way society at large marginalised both her and her children because they were related to a communist. If we consider these stories as one body, we can compose a list of key qualities they identify with model communists: fortitude and perseverance, courage, morality, modesty, and patriotism. All of the stories centred on women models had a strong focus on fortitude and perseverance. In “While her Husband was in Exile”, the wife remains strong, despite the hardships that befall her as a result of her husband’s arrest, exile, and continued political intransigence. In “Tinah, a Sarbupri Member”, Tinah stands ﬁrm, despite her husband betraying her, while in “Ningsih, a BTI Activist”, Ningsih endures the hardship of single parenthood, rather than staying with a man who treats her poorly. Interestingly, in the “The Death of Tanja”, the little girl is told not to cry at the death of Tanja, but to carry on her struggle (so, again, the message is one of fortitude and forbearance). Likewise in “The Harian Rakjat Newspaper Wall”, Parman is a model because he is prepared to live in such poverty to maintain his struggle. Pak Wirjo’s stories in “Pak Wirjo, the Old Communist” are also often focused on the fortitude of the communist movement, especially when he talks about the 1926 rebellion and the subsequent exile of communists to the Boven Digul camp in West New Guinea. Closely related to the value of fortitude and perseverance is that of courage. This is clearly the case in Pak Wirjo’s stories. Many readers of “Ningsih, a BTI Activist” would no doubt have admired the courage she showed in asking for a divorce, rather than continuing on in a rotten marriage, and in moving on from that experience to become active in the women’s and peasants’ movements. Likewise, Tinah in “Tinah, a Sarbupri Member” showed a lot of courage in being prepared to carry on despite her husband’s betrayal. The story of Umar in “Comrade Umar” is clearly a story of redemption, and identiﬁes communism with a certain kind of morality. The reasons the orthodox Muslim communist in “The Awakening of the River City” gives for supporting the PKI rather than Muslim parties like Masjumi are based on RED RELIGION 351 moral, as well as pragmatic political, arguments.

Good Haji; Bad Haji: The Representation of Islamic Leaders

While positive treatment of religion in general seems to have been close to universal, this is not the case with religious leaders, who appear in both negative and positive depictions in Kebudajaan. One particular negative stereotype is prevalent: the rich, hypocritical and immoral Haji, who is often a local Masjumi leader (never a Nahdlatul Ulama leader, or a local leader of any of the smaller Islamic parties). An example of a good religious leader appears in “A Story from Rural Indonesia: Mrs. Sima Becomes a Ghost”228, where a former Imam229 returns to his village in East Java to find that people believe a ghost is haunting the local cemetery. The Imam, who is also the narrator, is sceptical. He is very much the modern man, and believes in reason, rather than superstition. As a respected religious leader, he volunteers to investigate the matter, and finds that the “ghost” crying in the village cemetery is actually a pole cat (musang) with a stomach ache. “One Night at a Feast during the Fasting Month”230 contains models of “good” and “bad” religious leaders. The story is set around a feast (kendurian) held during the fasting month of Ramadhan. Men at the feast begin a political discussion, with a lanky civil servant and a fat Haji being the main contributors. Debate between the two continues for some time, and it is revealed that the lanky civil servant is a PNI member, while the Haji is a local leader of Masjumi (the narrator is a PKI supporter). During the debate an old Haji (the “good” Haji in this story) criticises the fat one for being free and easy with terms like murtad (apostate) and kapir (infidel), by which time everyone in the room is following the discussion. The Fat Haji tries to defend himself, saying that “we” [presumably Masjumi] do not just “throw

228I. Imaesih “Kisah dari desa Indonesia: mBok Sima djadi hantu?” HR 26/9/53. 229In this context: an Islamic leader competent to lead a community in prayer. 230Siswa Patria “Dikendurian malam puasa” HR 22/5/55. 352 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION around” the term kapir, [we] use it for communists, and [we] have read their teaching and books. When the narrator asks him what teachings and what books he is referring to, the Haji has to admit “I myself haven’t read them. But I have heard about them from teachers and ulamas [religious teachers] that I trust as my leaders”.231 This leads the old Haji to ask to which teachers he is referring. The old Haji knows them and pays them some compliments, but then adds that they seem to be getting very rich lately and: Belum lama diperajaan maulud baru2 ini kudengarlah si Rasad dan si Sudin pidato . . . uch . . . kotornja pembitjaraan . . . Dalam perajaan maulud memaki-maki golongan lain? Pikirlah! Not so long ago during the celebration of the Prophet’s birthday I heard Rasad and Sudin [two of the teachers] give a speech . . . argh! . . . it was so oﬀensive . . . during a celebration of the Prophet’s birthday to be abusing another group? Just think about it!

The fat Haji is, of course, not happy with this account, and accuses the old Haji of slandering Rasad, which is a sin. In support of the old Haji, a middle aged lebai (Mosque registrar) pipes up to say “I myself know of Communist Party members in my kampung that know more about religious issues than the people who appear to be religious experts”.232 By the time the PNI supporter says “Nowadays people are using religion just as they please”233 the fat hadji and several other Masjumi supporters have had enough, and they leave the feast. It is easy to see the contrast that the writer is drawing here. On the one side, the old Haji is well respected, tolerant, and does not play party politics with Islam. On the other the fat Haji is associated with illegal proﬁt-taking (hoarding), with divisive and intolerant attitudes, and with the use of serious religious terms (kaﬁr and murtad) for political ends.

231Saja sendiri belum pernah. Tapi saja dengar dari pembitjaraan2 guru2 dan ulama2 jang saja pertjajai sebagai pemimpin saja. . . 232Saja sendiri ada tau anggota komunis dikampung soal2 agama dari orang2 jg keli- hatannja anggar agama itu sendiri. . . 233Sekarang ini memang orang memperalat agama seenaknja sadja. RED RELIGION 353

The majority of Hajis in Kebudajaan are presented negatively. This is not surprising, given the close association of the pilgrimage to Mecca with wealth and prestige, and especially given the fact that in the 1940s and 1950s going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land was much more prohibitive relative to average incomes than it is in comtemporary Indonesia. Consequently it makes sense that Hajis often appear as negative figures—the wealthy are much more likely to be Hajis, and so it likely to be common that owners of factories, absentee landlords, etc., etc. (i.e. those figures most likely to be at odds with the PKI) are Hajis. In other cases, Haji characters are more than simply wealthy characters, they do also have clear religious roles. In “Charity and Corruption”234, Haji Umar is the local naib-kadhi (a low-level religious official empowered to register marriages) in a plantation area. But he is also an opponent of Sarbupri, and this is at the root of his negative role in the story. A number of other stories depict rich local Hajis playing a negative role in rural areas. In “I am Prepared!”235, a local Haji supports the eviction of farmers who have been squatting on former plantation land. The popular Lurah who supports the farmers suggests he “is a big shot who is hated by the people”, and people in the area call him a “traitor” as a result.236 Similarly, in “Stand Firm”237, a rich hadji is monopolising water resources. Mustari, a poor farmer, cannot get enough water for his fields, because Haji Achmad is taking water from the channel for his reservoir. Mustari meets with ten of his neighbours, and they decide to re-route the water themselves. They then guard the channels in shifts. However, it seems that “a traitor must have told Haji Achmad that people were ’stealing his water’.”238 Haji Achmad, who is angry that there is not enough water for the goldfish that he was keeping in his reservoir, comes to Mustari’s house and demands to know who has taken his water. Mustari says simply that “If you think I am

234Siswa Patria “Amal dan Sogok” HR 13/6/53 and HR 20/6/53. 235Dal Suharman Wirosudarmo “Saja rela. . . !” HR 9/10/54. 236See the discussion of this story earlier in this chapter. 237Sesongko “Tetap bertahan” HR 28/5/55. 238Rupa2nja ada seorang pengchianat jang memberi tahu pak Hadji, bahwa tadi ada jang “mentjuri airnja”. 354 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION stealing your water, just tell the village head”239. He then adds that it is the dry season, and that the water should be “shared out in a just way”.240 Haji Achmad responds angrily: “You talk a lot . . . You know I’m going to call in the village head, don’t you?”.241 That night Haji Achmad visits Mustari’s house with a group of men, including the Lurah. Mustari is not intimidated. He argues that the water does not belong to anyone, since Haji Achmad has not paid a water tax, or bought water from the government. The channels were all built by the villagers themselves, not the government, not Haji Achmad, and not the Lurah. Whenever the channels have needed repair, it was the villagers who repaired them. This makes the Lurah angry. Eventually he leaves, spitting out that “It’s pointless talking to an uneducated person”242. Haji Achmad is closely identiﬁed with the authorities, but is also presented as being focused on his own interests, rather than the communal good. The Haji in “The Haji’s Family”243 is also not a formal religious leader, but rather a local rich man who lords it over other members of the community. He also happens to be the leader of the local branch of Masjumi. He is rich because of inheritance, which included a lot of land. He has three children, two girls and one boy, and they function in the story as extension of him. He is given no name in the story, only being referred to as Pak Hadji (“Mr. Hadji”). While the Haji is busy campaigning, constantly calling his PNI and PKI opponents kapir and pengchianat (traitors), his children are going oﬀ the rails. His daughter begins a relationship with his secretary, and they are seen to be holding hands , and even kissing but “not as passionately as we have seen with Errol Flynn and Olivia De Haviland on the silver screen”.244 She becomes pregnant as a result. Her brother, meanwhile, is spending time

239Pak, kalau saja dianggap mentjuri air bapak, bilang sadja kepada pak Lurah. . . 240dibagi-bagi setjara adil 241Banjak omong, kau... Aku akan panggil Lurah, tahu?! 242Pertjumah ngomong sama orang jang tidak makan sekolahan. . . 243Joel Noeniek “Keluarga Pak Hadji” HR 4/6/55 244. . . tidak semesra seperti terlihat dilajar putih ala Errol Flynn dan Olivia De Haviland. RED RELIGION 355 in the city on business, where he is morally corrupted:

Dikota, anak jang melenggok dengan pakaian you can see nja; dia tidak tahan lihat lenggang ala Marilyn Monroe, djuga tidak bisa tahan napsunja melihat tetek jang ditondjolkan kemuka seperti Jane Russell. In the city, girls sway their hips in their “you can see” clothes; he could not control his passions after seeing hips swaying like Marilyn Monroe, and breasts thrust forward a la Jane Russell.

He begins to see prostitutes, and ends up with an STD. A third child runs away with her poor boyfriend, after the Haji repeatedly insults and rejects a number of suitors, including a PKI youth, whom he calls an “inﬁdel” and “a damned insolent scoundrel”.245 Meanwhile, like the Haji in “Charity and Corruption”, the Haji has decided to take a young wife: the daughter of a farmer who has an unpaid loan with him. Everyone in the village is invited to the wedding, excepting, of course, the PNI and PKI members (who are kapir). On the day of the wedding, however, Giman, a PKI member, falls from a coconut tree and dies. The Haji is normally responsible for leading funeral rituals in the village, but he refuses to do so for Giman, saying that Giman is kapir. Gradually more and more Masjumi members arrive to pay their respects at Giman’s house, despite lobbying not to do so from the Haji and his supporters. People lobby the Haji to do his job, but he still refuses. Eventually someone else volunteers in his place, and Giman is buried with respect. On the way home from the funeral people hear a commotion at the Haji’s house. It turns out that he has found his daughter’s letter announcing that she has run away with her boyfriend. People also hear his son’s cries—and they know the cause. . . The story also seeks to use his children as an extension of the Haji, suggesting that while he is busy passing judgement on others, he is not taking care of his own responsibilities—all of his children “stray”. He is also portrayed as being extremely callous—even though Giman is dead, his political beliefs are still held against him and his family.

245. . . keparat djahanam jang tak tahu diri. . . 356 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

From these stories we can easily make a list of key characteristics of bad Hajis in Kebudajaan stories: abuse of opponents with serious religious terms like kaﬁr; generally divisive behaviour; polygamy, and seeking to acquire young wives using wealth and power; cheating and/or exploiting other members of the community.

Religious Tolerance and Intolerance

Issues around religious tolerance and intolerance appear in many stories. The most common issues around this theme include the need for unity within religious diversity, the divisiveness of religious name-calling, religious tensions in intimate relationships and the cruelty and religious fanaticism of the Darul Islam rebels. This section will briefly survey them. Several stories contain calls for religious unity for the sake of the national struggle. For example, In Hassan’s “Notes from the Djero River”246 the author reports that communist-aligned organisations, above all the BTI, are arguing strongly that the people of the Djero valley need to “put aside each others’ religious differences”.247 Similarly, in “I Go Home”, Isnandar P. writes “[i]n facing common problems, they put aside problems of difference in religious beliefs, problems with difference in party affiliations, and other differences”.248 In other stories, existing religious harmony is depicted as a model. For example, in “Sunday Morning”249 the narrator refers to the diversity and harmony of the community on his block: “A variety of families live in the row of rental houses next to me. There are Javanese, Chinese, Muslims, and Protestants. But whatever the case, we have always lived in harmony with one another”.250

246Hassan “Tjatatan dari Bengawan Djero” HR 19/6/54. 247mentjampingkan perbedaan2 kejakinan agama masing2. 248Kalau menghadapi persoalan bersama, mereka mengesampingkan soal kepertjajaan agama jang berlainan, soal perbedaan partai dan lain2 perbedaan lagi . . . Isnandar P. “aku pulang” HR 4/12/54. 249AS. “Minggu Pagi” HR 30/10/54. 250Ber-matjam2 keluarga mendiami deretan rumah sewaan disampingku. Ada jang Djawa, Tionghoa, ada djuga jang islam [sic] ada djuga jang protestan. Tetapi bagaimana- pun djuga, selama ini kita hidup bertetangga baik. RED RELIGION 357

As we have seen in the discussion above, another common issue around problems of religious tolerance and intolerance is that of the use of various religious labels in political discourse, what you might call religious-political name-calling. The PKI’s (and the PNI’s) political opponents (above all Masjumi) are presented in Kebudajaan stories as frequently using divisive terms like murtad (apostate), kafir (infidel), and pengchianat (traitor). But the most extreme expression of religious (and political) intolerance depicted in Kebudajaan is that of the extremism of the Darul Islam rebels, which will be discussed below. While issues of religious tensions between political parties, or those caused by the Darul Islam rebellion, constitute meat and gristle for “big P” politics, Kebudajaan also depicts religious tensions in intimate relationships. For example, in “The Break Up”251 the relationship breakdown at the core of the story is based largely on disagreement over politics and religious difference. The narrator is a non-Muslim student activist, whose orthodox Muslim girlfriend wants to convert him to her vision of Islam. She feels that his organising is getting in the way of him leading a better spiritual life, and pressures him to give it away. He counters that “religion is a matter of individual needs”252 and “every individual has the freedom to choose their own beliefs according to their own spiritual requirements”.253 Eventually she breaks up with him, saying her parents have forced her to do so because they are not of the same religion. In “With a Storm Comes Thunder”254 a young woman runs away from a marriage to shelter with her relatively Westernised and definitely bourgeois “Uncle” and “Aunt”.255 When she arrives at their home, they ask her about her husband. She replies: “I never think about him anymore!”. The husband has left her three months ago, and her uncle tries to comfort her by saying

251Hassan “Perpisahan (fragmen kehidupan)” HR 24/7/54. 252. . . agama itu adalah kebutuhan tiap individu. . . 253Dan setiap individu mempunjai kebebasan untuk memiliki faham kepertjajaannja mas- ing2, sesuai dengan panggilan djiwanja. 254Putu Shanty “Sebuah fragmen dari: Datang angin, Datanglah petir” HR 2/7/55. 255Referred to in the story using the Dutch terms Oom and Tante. Both of these words are used to this day as general terms of address, so it is unclear whether or not these characters are actually the young woman’s uncle and aunt. 358 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION that he will be back—but she wants none of it. She is glad he is gone, because the marriage to him was forced. Apparently her parents found out that she had shown an interest in Catholicism, and so they forced her into a marriage with a Muslim. Angry at her parents, she says “something is lacking in parents’ love for their child if they don’t give their children freedom of thought”.256 In “With a Storm comes Thunder” and in “The Break Up”, the story seems to function mainly as a platform to make arguments for religious tolerance, and freedom of belief—a political attitude that is essentially liberal (in the European sense). The actual detail of the conflicts are not described and in both cases this conflict has been resolved before the start of the telling of the story with the separation of the parties in conflict.

Darul Islam

If Kebudajaan’s short stories promote religious tolerance and freedom of belief, they clearly also provide representations of religious intolerance. One key example of this was the representation of the movement’s opponents as divisive people who bandied around terms like kafir cheaply and insisted that others had to believe as they did (see the discussion above). Another, more extreme, form of religious intolerance from the movement’s point of view was the Darul Islam rebellion, which fought an armed struggle against Indonesian authorities throughout the 1950s and early 1960s to establish an Indonesian Islamic state (Negara Islam Indonesia–NII). The conflict was especially intense in Aceh, Sulawesi, and West Java, but existed to greater and lesser degrees in several areas of Indonesia that had a Muslim majority. In the case of West Java, this bought the conflict uncomfortably close to the capital. Darul Islam was strongly anti-communist and received some support from the United States. Moreover, the PKI’s main political opponents, Masjumi, had an ambivalent attitude to the rebellion, approving the aim of the movement while rejecting its methods, which included terrorist attacks on civilian individuals and communities. This all meant that while commu- 256. . . kesajangan kepada anak tidak sempurna djika siorang-tua tidak memberi kebebasan kepada anaknja dalam kejakinan. RED RELIGION 359 nist movement activists were targets of the rebellion, the rebellion was also an important element in the movement’s argument for a more liberal, secular Indonesia. It was the key example of the division and barbarity that might ensue if the anti-communist Islamists were allowed free rein.257 Representations of the Darul Islam rebellion appear at least thirteen times in Kebudajaan during the period. Some stories focus explicitly on religious tolerance. “On Christmas Eve”258, depicts soldiers calming a Catholic comrade by singing “Silent Night” with him as a sign of solidarity on Christ- mas eve. It also describes a indiscriminate TII (Tentara Islam Indonesia, “The Islamic Army of Indonesia”) attack, as is the case with a number of other stories. “Kasomalang”259, for example, is an archetypal example of a narrative set around a TII attack on a village. From the beginning of the story the TII troops are referred to as a gerombolan (“gang”)—a term later also used by the Suharto regime to refer to any rebels the regime wanted to discredit. The subsequent presentation of the TII troop is suitably villainous. The TII burns all the houses in the village, yelling “Kill. . . Burn!” (Bakar. . . Bunuh!) as they go, and also screaming “You are all infidels!” (Kamu orang kapir semua!). They attack grandmothers and pregnant women without discrimination, and the story goes to some lengths to get across the brutality of the group. They even steal dogs from the village (it is implied they do so to eat them). The story also brings attention to links between the rebellion and imperial interests—carefully mentioning the brands of guns being used by the rebels, which are US and British made. The narrator explicitly adds that the TII “defends the interests of large foreign capital, as well as prof- iteers; they only use Islam as a mask”.260 “The Blood of the People” is a similar story, both in terms of its focus and awkward propaganda approach. Apparently based on a true story, it centres on an attack by TII troops in a village near the Siur river in North Sumatra on the eighteenth of March

257On Darul Islam see van Dijk (1981) and Dengel (1986). On US connections to the rebellion see Kahin and Kahin (1995a, p. 68-71; 78-79; 88; 113-115; 132-136; 201-209). 258Soetopo Srisadono “Malam Kersmis [sic]” HR 24/12/55. 259S. “Kasomalang” HR 12/3/55 260. . . membela simodalbesar asing, djuga silintahdarat, tjuma sadja berkedok agama Is- lam. 360 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

1953. On that day eighteen villagers set off on a ronda (a civilian security patrol). They were only armed with machetes and sharpened bamboo poles, while the TII troops who attacked them had rifles and pistols. Initially the TII pretend to be police in order to get intelligence about the village, but the villagers become suspicious, and so the TII spy grabs the village headman, who has arrived to check on the guard post. The headman is injured, as are four others, including Mahmud Lubis, who fight off the TII. Mahmud, a member of the PKI-aligned Pemuda Rakjat (People’s Youth) group, dies shortly afterward, leaving behind a pregnant wife and four children. Five thousand people attend his funeral, and it fortifies them in their opposition to DI. Another story that focuses on a battle with the TII is “Born in the Battle”261, which was reprinted with some fanfare from the military magazine Angkatan Darat (“Army”).262 This story is set around the birth of a baby in the midst of a battle, with a negotiated cease-fire failing and the father of the new born being shot and killed.263 In “The Story of Comrade Hardjo”264 the focus is on DI’s impact on general economic conditions. Hardjo, already living in poverty following the

261SPO “Orok gerombolan” HR 29/10/55. The title literally means “Child of the Gang”, and is taken from what the mother of the baby born in the story cries out after she gives birth: Orok lahir, baji lahir (“The [TII] Gang is here, the baby is here!”). 262This was clearly seen as part of efforts to build links with the military. The story appears with an editorial introduction that writers in “particular fields or groups” (didalam sesuatu lapangan atau kalangan) needed to be encouraged, including the armed forces. 263Several other stories do not depict the actual military conflict involved in the rebellion, but rather focus on the various effects the conflict had on Indonesian society. These stories are focused on other themes but spend some time dealing with the Darul Islam rebellion in passing. For example, in “Fate’s Spectre” (Tisno “Hantu di dalam nasib” HR 9/5/53), the story is focused on “Pak Ijem”, whose political consciousness is raised by an anti-illiteracy campaign. Nevertheless, the author finds time to comment on the negative impact of the DI rebellion, referring to “terrorism, which destroys the security of people like him, who are working just to get enough raise to keep themselves going” (. . . teror2 jang merusak keamanan orang seperti dia jang hanja bekerdja utk sesuap nasi-menjambung hidup). In “Work Hard!” (I. Imaesy “Kerdja Keras. . . !” HR 06/06/53), the focus is on unemployment, but the story also spends time on the impact of the Darul Islam rebellion. This is because the reason why the narrator and his wife have moved to Djakarta is that their house in their home village was burnt down by pengatjau (trouble-makers, i.e. the DI rebels). The rebels also killed his first son, and even stole his wife’s better clothes. After this experience the narrator and his wife decide that they have to move to the city, even though they had been happy in their village. 264Widjaja “Kisah bung Hardjo” HR 12/2/55 RED RELIGION 361 death of his father and then his mother, has to deal with a degenerating economy because “farmers did not have the security they needed for planting their crops”. 265 The narrator of “Memories”266 starts his story by saying that he is writing in the middle of the fasting month (early April 1955). It is just before the meal preceding the dawn prayer (Sahur). But no one in the village is getting up, as would normally be the case. No one is preparing rice. The narrator’s wife has stopped fasting because their baby has diarrhoea. The dulag drums267 sound. The narrator thinks back to his own youth, when he and his friends would sleep in the mosque and wake people up by beating a dulag drum. But he does not know if young men sleep in the mosque anymore: “During the fasting month nowadays the D.I. rebels like to terrorise people at night, killing people, and burning buildings, including mosques”.268 The Darul Islam rebels are thereby associated in turn with stopping people from religious observance (fasting month cannot proceed properly), with brutality (killing people; destroying property, including desecration of mosques), and then finally with killing local heroes from the National Revolution. “The Bitterness of Going Home for Holidays”269 has a similar atmosphere of bitterness and nostalgia. The narrator is going home to his village, which is in a wealthy area, but also an area now known for Darul Islam disturbances. He begins to prepare, buying gifts for family and friends, but other expatriates from his village tell him not to go home, or at least not to spend the night. But he does not want to go to the refugee camp. On the way to the village, he comes across people fleeing towards the camp, and when he arrives, he finds the village almost deserted. People’s faces are sullen, and at sunset everyone runs around in a panic. As in “Memories”, the narrator contrasts this with the happier times of his childhood.

265. . . pak Tani tak dapat menanami sawahnja dengan aman. Teror D.I. jg pada saat itu se-ediologi [sic] dengan pemerintahan bung Kiman makin meradjalela. 266Kesuma “Kenangan” HR 22/5/55 267Mosque drums beaten in celebration and to wake Muslims during the fasting month 268Puasa sekarang ada D.I. jang suka mengatjau malam2 bunuh orang, bakar rumah, djuga surau2. 269Suganda Partasasmita “Pahit getir Liburan kekampung” HR 26/11/55 (Translation: Klara Akustia [A.S. Dharta]). This story was originally written in Sundanese. 362 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION

The communist movement was fervently opposed to the Darul Islam rebellion, as was the broader nationalist movement, on the whole. The stories in Kebudajaan seek to discredit and arouse antipathy towards the rebellion. In the ﬁrst place this was achieved above all by presenting the rebellion as brutal. Secondly, it was done by presenting the ﬁnancial and social hardship the rebellion caused. Finally, the stories sought to discredit the religious claims of the rebellion by showing the rebels interfering with the religious observance of others and implying acts that are not allowed in Islam (e.g. eating dogs). Conclusion

Short stories differ fundamentally from the other forms discussed in the previous two chapters. While Kebudajaan could publish reproductions of paintings, photographs of statues, and reviews of films or theatrical performances, these were all “second hand” reflections of the original work. In the case of short stories, however, Kebudajaan itself was the arena for the “performance” of works. The editors of the supplement approached the form with an attitude steeped in the politics of the communist movement, and developed an approach to publishing and encouraging such literature that appears to be unique in the period. They encouraged movement activists to write about their lives and the conditions around them in a straight-forward way that most often produced short prose works that varied from “personal statement” to autobiographical and reportage forms. These works provide us with important insights into what activists in the movement (and the editors of Kebudajaan) thought was happening in society from a variety of different perspectives. Writers reflected on basic living conditions such as poverty, unemployment, homelessness, and the working conditions of the millions of workers in low level, low paying jobs They also spent a significant amount of energy depicting the lives of lower-middle class and poor women, focusing on issues such as marriage and polygamy, working conditions, and the challenges faced by politically active women. Naturally, the struggle for better conditions was a common theme. Writ- CONCLUSION 363 ers tackled conflicts both rural and urban, with union organising being a popular theme. On this front, coverage of conflicts in plantation areas was a significant focus for writers in Kebudajaan. They covered both union struggles led by the SOBSI-affiliated plantation union (Sarbupri), and conflicts between squatters and plantation companies and their allies in government. Besides these themes, the stories often handled another issue that was of importance to anti-communist ideology at the time, but which became even more important in the New Order narrative of Indonesian history: that of Indonesian communism’s relationship with religion, especially Islam. The picture drawn by these pieces is not one of antagonism to religion in general, but rather of secularism and religious tolerance. No stories had atheism as a theme, and the dominant tendency was for a positive presentation of religion in general. Many stories had a strong moralistic tone, emphasising the need for communists to endeavour to be moral models for their communities. Having said this, the presentation of religious leaders was mixed, with contrasts in particular being made between good, tolerant observant Muslims and other religious characters, and characters portrayed as misusing religion for political or personal ends. There were a number of variations on the latter theme, ranging from exploitative rich land owners whose title as “Haji” was just another thing reflecting their relative wealth and power, to Masjumi-aligned religious figures (including teachers) who threw around serious religious terms like kafir (infidel) and murtad (apostate) recklessly as a means of gaining ground over political opponents (especially communists). Sometimes the modest and careful religious observance of positive religious characters was explicitly juxtaposed with the loud and aggressive self-righteousness and hypocrisy of negative religious characters. Overall, as one might expect, the concerns and themes of short creative prose in Harian Rakjat reflects those of the communist movement as a whole. But these themes and concerns are not those that have been portrayed in dominant post-1965 depictions of the PKI and the movement around it. The general approach in Kebudajaan was actually one that emphasised straight- forward and unadorned prose with a tendency towards biography and re- 364 CHAPTER 7. THE COMMUNIST IMAGINATION portage, with the focus on the conditions and struggles of ordinary Indone- sians, rather than the fetish of anti-communist presentation, i.e. atheism and opposition to religion, which did not feature at all. Chapter 8

Conclusion

The anti-communist killings, torture and imprisonments of 1965-66 indis- putably constitute one of the greatest human rights crimes of the twentieth century. They continue to cast a long shadow over the study of Indonesian history. Especially since the fall of the Suharto regime in 1998, increasing numbers of scholars and activists have turned to detailed evidence based approaches in order to come to better terms with the events of 1965, and those seen as leading to or associated with the cataclysm of 1965. They have done so not simply to improve the quality of public understanding of an important period in Indonesian history, but also in order to move past the ideology of the New Order regime and deal with this history in ways that are more sympathetic to the millions of victims of the violence and repression of the mid 1960s. Many of these researchers and activists have spoken or written of a need for pelurusan sejarah (“a straightening out of history”). This thesis is part of that movement. The high point of the study of the Indonesian communist movement was reached either side of the apogee of the PKI’s inﬂuence in Indonesian politics (i.e. immediately prior to its destruction in 1965-66). Writers in this period— notably Brackman (1963), Hindley (1964), van der Kroef (1965), Mortimer (1974), Törnquist (1984)—, all recorded cultural activity in the movement, especially with reference to Lekra, but none spent signiﬁcant time on the role of culture in the movement. This despite the fact that it was evident that the the young leadership of the party paid close attention to cultural issues,

365 366 CHAPTER 8. CONCLUSION even before they had clear hegemony over the party. The very formation of Lekra in late 1950 was an expression of this. By the 1980s some writers, above all Foulcher (1986), began to further investigate the role of culture in the communist movement, providing the first academic account of the history of Lekra.1 McVey (1986) discussed the problems faced by the communist movement in seeking to take part in the construction of a new national culture agreeable to its politics, drawing particular attention to the importance of Javanese folk theatre forms. Around the same time Groves (1983) provided the first—and to this point only—history of the daily newspaper of the Communist party, Harian Rak- jat. Interestingly, he chose to devote an entire chapter of his thesis to an analysis of short stories in the party organ. While this thesis is most definitely situated within a range of post-1998 works concerned with the period before 1965, it has also sought to build on the work of these earlier writers (and the many others mentioned in Chapter Two), especially the work of Keith Foulcher. It has sought to deepen our understanding of the role of culture in the communist movement, at least for the earliest period of post-revolutionary Indonesian history. It is a contention of this thesis that culture was clearly important to the leadership of the PKI, and the possibility that it played an important role in the party and movement’s remarkable recovery in the early 1950s warrants concerted investigation. Through a detailed study of the cultural pages of Harian Rak- jat in the early 1950s, this thesis has also sought to make a contribution to that effort. Studies of Indonesian communism have tended to hint at the importance of culture, but have provided little detail. Foulcher’s work provided more detail, but was still burdened by the fact that it sought to cover the entire period from 1950 to 1965, as well as including anthologies of Lekra work in both English and Indonesian, in an effort to makesuch work available to a wider audience. This thesis has built on that effort, providing more detail on the early period of the institute’s development. It has also sought to

1Ismail (1972) had earlier provided an account of the New Order’s narrative of the institute’s history, rather than a serious evidence-based academic work. 367 elaborate a key argument of Social Commitment in Literature and the Arts: Foulcher’s interest in what he called “reportage” fiction. Groves’ work also took an interest in short fiction published in Harian Rakjat, but his approach differed significantly from that of this thesis in that he focussed on a limited number of what he considered to be exemplary stories, all of which were published in the Guided Democracy period (1957- 65). In Chapter Seven, this study, in contrast, has taken a holistic corpus approach and has focussed on the early post-revolutionary period. Similarly, in Chapter Six this study has sought to fill in gaps left by key writing on the communist movement and folk theatre, especially McVey’s work and Peacock (1968). McVey drew a line between different forms of popular Javanese folk theatre and connected them with particular socio- political contexts and currents, but did not draw out detail, and—like most of the works cited in Chapter Two—focussed on the latter half of the period between the recognition of sovereignty and the fall of Sukarno. Likewise, Peacock’s excellent study of Ludruk in Surabaya is based on an ethnographic study conducted in the early 1960s, and focusses on that period. This work complements these earlier works by focussing on the early 1950s and bringing another source to the table: the cultural pages of Harian Rakjat. All of these efforts at building on earlier work conducted before or during the New Order period form part of wider efforts to move past the tropes promoted by the Suharto regime. Such efforts to “straighten out” Indonesian history have their own biases, some inherited, some new. Like most of the works cited above and many discussed in Chapter Two, there is a strong tendency to continue the focus on the 1960s, especially the events of 1965- 66. Given the horror of those years, it is understandable that a significant amount of corrective endeavour has focused on these traumatic events, or have related earlier history to those events. This thesis has taken a different approach, in that it seeks to avoid seeing prior events through the lens of the massacres. A key contention of this approach is that in order to move past the politics of violence and human rights abuse, the movements and activities of the victims need to be “normalised”. This means putting away images of communists and their supporters as a malevolent force intent on destroying 368 CHAPTER 8. CONCLUSION all that is good and proper. Instead they should be viewed as social actors like any others, with their own opinions, approaches, and understandings of what might constitute a better Indonesia and the “Good Life” more generally. Members of organisations in the communist movement clearly saw themselves as struggling, often at personal cost, for a better, more democratic, and fairer Indonesia. This thesis is part of exploratory efforts to expand our understanding of the history of the period between 1950 and 1965 through the intensive use of primary source material, in this case the cultural supplement (Kebudajaan) of Harian Rakjat. This focus on the detail of historical evidence has revealed surprising new perspectives—as well as elaborating some already existing— that have been hidden by the ideological blinkers of Suharto’s New Order regime and the cultural Cold War more broadly. Between its formation as the first Communist party in Asia2 in May, 1920, and its destruction in 1965-66, the PKI, alongside organisations and individuals with sympathetic politics, played an important role in the development of ideas and practices in the national liberation movement, and therefore in Indonesian nationalism as a whole. These contributions included significant efforts to develop ideas and practices in a wide variety of artistic endeavours that the PKI and organisations sympathetic to it felt would, amongst other things, help Indonesian society to build a new independent national culture that could move beyond the legacies of European colonialism. The communist movement’s “cultural turn” was especially important in the early 1950s, when a young leadership took control of a weakened and demoralised party. Even before the group around D. N. Aidit had gained control of the party, they had already established the Institute of People’s Culture (Lekra), possibly the largest non-state cultural organisation to have ever existed. As evidenced by references in Kebudajaan, Lekra stood at the centre of a rich network of organisations and activities that integrated cultural expression with the movement around the communist party, and integrated

2That is, outside the former Russian empire. 369 communist-sympathetic work with the broader world of cultural activity. The articles studied in Chapter Three give us greater insight into the range and extent of Lekra activity, including its reach into a variety of regions. It also gives a sense of Lekra’s move from the relative margins at the second Cultural Congress in Bandung in 1951, to centre stage at the third Congress in Surakarta in 1953. The emergence of the new leadership, the recovery of the communist movement generally, and the development of cultural organisation and activity in and around the movement, formed the backdrop for the development of ideas about ways forward for Indonesian culture in a post-colonial situation. In this situation, the evidence from Kebudajaan shows a number of leading cultural activists (above all Njoto, Joebaar Ajoeb, and A. S. Dharta) developing pragmatic approaches in their thinking. They did not show any particular predilection for aesthetic forms, but rather emphasised straight- forward principles aimed at shaping approaches to activity. They stressed the need for artists to memihak (take sides) in social struggles and to terdjun ke massa (go to the masses) by getting involved in campaigns and organisations. Not only this, they argued that artists needed to organise themselves to defend and promote their interests as a social group, as well as emphasising the need for organisations in the movement to pay attention to culture in their activities. In Part Three, specific case studies of different areas of cultural endeavour were explored through the evidence of Kebudajaan to improve our understanding of how the ideas outlined in Chapter Four were realised in a variety of contexts. Each of the three areas chosen presented different challenges and opportunities to cultural communism in Indonesia. In the first case, that of cinema, communist movement intellectuals and artists were confronted with a form of clear importance—a cutting edge form of the new international mass culture—which was nonetheless dominated by commercial productions from what in PKI eyes was the key imperialist power, the United States. Not only that, the local industry was weak and under- developed, in significant part because the costs and organisational requirements involved in production were prohibitive compared with other popular 370 CHAPTER 8. CONCLUSION art forms. Nevertheless, cinema was popular with audiences and simply leaving it to commercial films from the USA was no solution. Consequently, the approach of writers in Kebudajaan was nuanced. They used reviews of Hol- lywood films as a means of exploring what might constitute good cinema in Indonesia. They criticised what they found problematic or wanting; they praised what they thought was positive and worthy of emulation. These assessments included both political and formalistic or technical assessments, an important aspect of their writing in retrospect, since cultural communism has been portrayed as simply being crassly “political” in its approach. Hollywood films provided a means of exploring ideas for ways forward for Indonesian cinema, but did not provide a clear body of models that met the political ideals of the communist writers in Kebudajaan. This body of models was supplied by Italian neo-realism. This is a finding that might be unexpected based on stereotypes of communists as blind worshippers of the culture of the Stalinist countries. However, intensive study of Kebudajaan in the early 1950s reveals intellectuals working to develop models for Indonesian cinema in a pragmatic and undogmatic way—finding an ideal in the films of a European country recently ravaged by fascism and war, just as Indonesia was emerging from the legacy of colonialism, war, and the National Revolution. This enthusiasm for Italian films grew organically, just as did the passion for Czechoslovakian literature that resulted in a mass of articles and translations. Live performing arts provide a contrast to cinema, since it consisted of forms that were well established, had deep roots in communities that the movement wanted to reach, and could be integrated directly into political activity through events such as cultural nights at conferences and workshops, as well as performances at rallies. The two forms of live performing arts to receive the most attention in Kebudajaan were dance and folk theatre. Two communist movement choreographers led a wave of innovation in dance that was regularly performed at movement events: Bambang Sukowati Dewantara and Sunardi. These innovations were part of a broader renais- sance in Indonesian dance, and provided a key front in the cultural communists’ endeavours to modernise traditional or folk forms as part of the project of building a new national culture reflecting and promoting the politics of 371 anti-imperialism, social justice and self-reliance. Another key front in this work was a set of forms that often incorpo- rated dance: folk theatre. This suite of forms was still extremely popular in the 1950s and early 1960s, especially in Java and in areas of the Outer Islands with significant Javanese immigrant populations (e.g. Northeastern and Southeastern Sumatra). Politburo member and key communist leader, Njoto, was particularly vocal in his enthusiasm for folk theatre, and his reviews and those of other key writers in Kebudajaan provide significant insights into what produced such passion and what challenges such leading intellectuals felt confronted the modernisation of such forms to give them greater political impact in the new post-independence context. Chapter Six focused on two key exemplars of popular folk theatre forms in Dagelan Mataram in Yogyakarta and Ludruk Marhaen in Surabaya. The aspect of the work of these two groups that attracted the most attention in the supplement was their humour. Again, this is out of keeping with the image of the communist intellectuals as grey authoritarians wanting to impose a party line on artistic expression. But, of course, humour required the negotiation of fine lines, and Njoto was aware of this when he gently criticised Dagelan Mataram for being somewhat careless in their choice of targets for satire, and when he criticised Ludruk Marhaen for being a little too serious and “naturalistic”. Njoto and other writers were concerned with two key obstacles to the modernisation of folk theatre: so-called “feudal” tendencies (i.e. ideas that reinforced traditional hierarchy, rather than modern equality) and commercialism, which they saw as promoting sensationalism and low moral standards. Nevertheless, what shines through in Kebudajaan is an overwhelming and clearly sincere enthusiasm for these forms of theatre. The final case study focused on short creative prose, which provided yet another perspective, since it was actually “performed” in the supplement, rather than simply being reviewed and discussed. This gives readers insights not simply into communist movement approaches to one kind of cultural expression, but also into the way people involved in the movement viewed their activities and contexts in a wide range of areas: for example, poverty and the 372 CHAPTER 8. CONCLUSION conditions of ordinary Indonesians in both urban and rural environments, the challenges of organising to improve those conditions, as well as the conditions of ordinary Indonesian women and the obstacles faced by politically active women. Finally, it provides a significant amount of material on a key area of communist politics, especially given post 1965 representations: religion. The PKI has been presented in Indonesia since 1965 as an atheist organisation actively hostile to religion. But this certainly is not the picture that emerges from communist activists’ own imaginations, as expressed in the short stories, biographies, and other prose works published in Kebudajaan. These works often showed both good and bad models of religious behaviour, often contrasting the ostentatiously religious behaviour of the wealthy and powerful with the simple religiosity of ordinary Indonesians. What does emerge is a picture of clear secular politics strongly in support of religious diversity and freedom of belief, a perspective actively and forcefully opposed to the creation of an Islamic state in Indonesia (expressed, above all, in strong opposition to the Darul Islam rebellion). This study has been exploratory. It has not sought out definitive answers to the many questions surrounding the cultural history of the communist movement in the early 1950s, nor of the culture or politics of Indonesia more broadly in the period. But through moving away from the tropes of New Order regime, and of the Cold War more generally, it has hopefully contributed to the development of a richer, more human, picture of the people who took part in the movement. It has uncovered a number of unexpected phenomena (e.g. the movement’s apparent passion for Italian neo-realist cinema and Czechoslovakian literature, and dance), elaborated other areas that remain under-researched (e.g. the relationship between the movement and various forms of folk theatre). It has also contributed to the study of the politics of the period (for example, the importance of the 1951 August Raids, and drawing a more detailed and nuanced picture of the development of communist politics in this important early period). It has also raised many new questions and opened up several areas for further study. The focus has been an intensive study of Kebudajaan as 373 the key extant source of contemporary evidence of the communist movement’s engagement with culture in the early 1950s. This has uncovered many new perspectives, but more work now needs to be done with other sources, whether communist, sympathetic to the National Party (PNI), social democratic, modernist or traditionalist Muslim, or any combination of these or other important political tendencies of the period. This might help to develop a more sophisticated picture of a whole series of phenomena: for example, the dynamics of city-wide cultural fronts, such as the MSDR discussed in Chapter Three, or the emergence of communist movement activists as a leading force at the 1953 Cultural Congress, as well as the fallout from that event. Seeking out a wider range of contemporary sources will also help to build a richer understanding of phenomena such as the role of culture in the PKI’s re-emergence as a mainstream political power at the 1955 elections. The Cold War ended more than two decades ago, and the New Order regime fell more seventeen years ago. This year saw the fiftieth anniversary of the massacres of 1965, the seventieth anniversary of the declaration of Indonesian independence, and the ninety-fifth anniversary of the founding of the PKI. It is time to discuss Indonesia’s past in a way that does not demonise or erase from history the millions of people who were part of the communist movement. Their stories deserve to be recovered and retold objectively and fairly. 374 CHAPTER 8. CONCLUSION Bibliography

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