From Jail to Jail. Tan Malaka
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remnants of Sabaruddin’s own battalion, and not the Macan Kerah.
The group of five walked through the mountainous jungle for two days and nights. Tan Malaka, of long-standing poor health, found the going rough and developed a limp in his right leg. They moved down from the jungle to the rice fields below. At about four o’clock one afternoon they saw a main road and a food stand about a kilometer and a half away. Sukatma was ordered to go and buy some food. Initially he refused, fearing to arouse suspicion. Their torn and dirty cotton trousers made it obvious that they were on the run. However, remembering his duty as a soldier, he obeyed orders and headed for the food stand, bringing back six pieces of fried banana. Captain Dimin ordered him to return for more. On doing so, Sukatma was accosted by a group claiming to be from the Macan Kerah.
“Where are your friends?” they asked. I had no choice; they had guns on me. I showed them the way, and they took all five of us back to the food stand and then to a house in Parangan where we were held for the moment. They asked us not a single question. At about 7:15 P.M. Tan Malaka asked me to find him a masseur, as his right leg was in pain.
Around eleven or twelve o’clock a platoon or so of soldiers arrived at the house. Four of them entered, behaving respectfully as if to their superiors. “Bapak, we have been ordered to take you away tonight.”76 And I heard Tan Malaka reply, “If you’re going to take me away and kill me, get an authorization or ask permission from President Sukarno,” and I saw his hands shaking. “We’re only following orders,” they replied, and they took him outside, where they had a litter prepared for him, for they knew that we had carried him through the rice fields. “All right, all right, I’m coming,” said Tan Malaka. I tried to see which way they were taking him, but I was pushed away from the door. I don’t know where they took him; whether they killed him and, if so, what they used to do it with; whether they jailed him and, if so, where. I know nothing more after we were parted that night.
The next morning the four remaining members of the group were taken to Bogem. At dawn the following day they were moved again, this time to a small village alongside the Brantas River about a kilometer away from Bogem. They were placed together in a house, and then three of them—Captain Dimin, Pak Ali, and Sukatma—were moved to another house, leaving Teguh behind. Sukatma had just sat down on a bamboo cot when he heard the noise of a Johnson machine gun. All three were afraid it might be enemy (Dutch) troops about to capture them.
But someone said, “Don’t be afraid. It’s normal here. That’s the Dutch firing on the other side of the river.” I was calm again. About five minutes later someone came and took all three of us back to the other house. Teguh was no longer there. From outside we heard the order: “One of you come out.” Just like that. The one that went was Captain Dimin. We heard him cry out for help, begging for mercy. Then we heard words of abuse and the sounds of stabbing—tjok, tjok, tjok—dragging, then no more voices, only moans—aduh, aduh. . . . And then there was the sound of gunfire again. They came back. “One of you come out.” This time it was Pak Ali. He didn’t resist at all. They walked away, and then . . . more gunfire. Now I was the only one left. I remember it was about 5:15 or 5:30 in the morning.
There were people with ropes, clubs, hoes. I thought to myself, “If they tie me up I shall surely die. Just let them not tie me.” Again I heard the order, “One of you come out.” I didn’t want to die. I prayed to God not to let me die. Not because I had faith, but in the hope that God wouldn’t let me die just like that. “Move along.” “Yes, I’m coming. I don’t have to be shoved. I give in. I’ll do whatever you want me to.” I was taken to the edge of the river. I looked around. Yes, it was indeed a Johnson. It was braced against a small coconut palm so as not to shift. “Kneel,” they ordered. And with that I jumped into the river. I jumped as though I had been thrown, three-quarters of the way across the river. As I jumped I was hit—by two bullets in the back of my head and three in my bottom. I felt my head. It was not slippery. That meant there was no blood. Only a small wound. I was not going to die. I went underwater again. As I did so, I noticed they were coming after me in boats. I don’t know how many of them there were. But the first boat overturned, and the second had to help them. So I managed to get away. I was near a village, and I hid amongst the sago palms.
NOTES
Preface
1. On 28 March 1963 President Sukarno issued Decree No. 53/1963 recognizing Tan Malaka as a hero of national independence (for a complete text of this decree see Introduction, n. 93). The tenuousness of this belated recognition is indicated by the fact that no monuments or highways bear his name: I have found only an alleyway in South Jakarta and a back street in Padang. Tan Malaka is yet to be the subject of any of the myriad biographies of heroes published in Indonesia.
2. Sekolah Rakyat (People’s School). For details of these schools, the first of which was established by Tan Malaka in Semarang in 1921, see Volume I, pp. 58-59.
3. Persatuan Perjuangan (Struggle Front): the name of the united front established by Tan Malaka in January 1946 to advocate the course of perjuangan (struggle) for the Indonesian revolution, as opposed to the course of diplomasi (diplomacy) pursued by the government. For details see Volume III, chapters 9 to 14.
4. For details of the Partai Murba, see below, pp. cxiii-cxv. For discussion of the term murba and its relationship to the term “proletariat,” see below pp. xci-xcv.
5. For details on this romantic body of literature relating to Tan Malaka, see below, pp. lxxii-lxxiii
6. See, for instance, his farewell to Hong Kong, Volume II, p. 52.
7. PARI (Partai Republik Indonesia: Republic of Indonesia party). This was the political party founded by Tan Malaka in June 1927, following the destruction of the PKI in the wake of the 1926-1927 uprisings (see Jarvis, Partai Republik Indonesia (PARI), and Poeze, Tan Malaka, chapter 10).
8. Letter from Hasan Sastraatmadja, 3 October 1981. According to Paramita Abdurrachman, Tan Malaka was a proficient typist and used a Baby Hermes. She herself typed the manuscript of Madilog and recalls typing some episodes from Tan Malaka’s life story, presumably sections of this text, although she does not recall the details (interview, Sydney, 26 May 1982).
9. Interviews with Paramita Abdurrachman, Jakarta, 24 October 1972, and Sydney, 26 May 1982.
10. See Poeze, Tan Malaka, pp. 416-17. This point has been subsequently pursued in personal discussions and correspondence. Poeze (letter, 19 December 1980) quotes Panghulu Lubis of Yogyakarta (who apparently was involved in the publication of the stencilled versions of Tan Malaka’s writings) to the effect that Tan Malaka saw the published books and that it is not possible that any substantial part was lost. I stand by my interpretation of the lacuna.
11. Discussion in Jakarta, September 1980; Tan Malaka, Thesis.
12. Suzuki, “The List of Writings of Tan Malaka.”
13. In referring to the different editions I have used the following codes: Solo, Wakaf Republik, Widjaya and DT (copy with Djamaluddin’s annotations).
14. This widespread occurrence of poor typography was hardly surprising in a country experiencing revolution and occupation and emerging from a period of wartime scarcity of resources. With Jakarta under Dutch control through much of the revolutionary period, even less access to existing printing facilities was available to the burgeoning number of political writers anxious to get their ideas into print. Lack of skilled personnel only exacerbated the situation.
15. Reynolds and Wilson, Scribes and Scholars, pp. 150-62.
16. Robert Halsbrand, “Editing the Letters of Letter-Writers,” in Art and Error: Modem Textual Editing, ed. Ronald Gottesman and Scott Bennett (London: Methuen, 1970), p. 130.
17. Here discussed only as regards the problems of translation. For further comment on Tan Malaka’s use of language and his style, see below, pp. xxxiv-xxxvi.
18. For an exposition of various issues involved in the development of modern Indonesian, see Alisjahbana, Language