Chapter 9
WHERETO?
[91] For the second time I left Padang bound for Europe. My first journey was undertaken in 1913, and now it was 1922. What a difference there was in the motivations of these two departures, and how different was my state of mind. Not even the journey itself was free from the controversy surrounding my world outlook, my politics, and my preceding two and a half years’ work.
Several Indonesian employees of the Dutch East Indies government were traveling in first class. (I was only a third-class passenger.) At first they tried to make contact with me, but the Dutch passengers, most of whom were Tuan Besar, soon put a stop to that.
Once, when the moon was full and calm waves were only faintly visible through evening mists, a student traveling with us to the Netherlands was telling me of his plans. We were approached by a sergeant of the Koninklijk Nederlandsch Indische Leger who butted into the conversation looking for an argument and began shouting loudly, apparently according to a plan.1 We did not wish to answer him, let alone debate his challenges, particularly as his motives smelled strongly of gin. Suddenly, from out of nowhere a young, very tall Dutch sailor appeared. Grabbing the barracks bully, he said: “Don’t do that with Tan Malaka. It would be better to argue with me. But do not forget there’s an ocean down there.” The effect of this admonition was that for several days the sergeant did not appear on deck. He told his friends that a Dutch “Bolshevik” had wanted to throw him into the sea when he was “talking” with Tan Malaka.
[92] My tall young friend turned out to be a member of the NIS, a syndicalist trade union in the Netherlands.2 Later another sailor, older but still strong, said to me: “We know about your situation. There are only four of us here who share your views. Most of the other sailors are social democrats. But even though we are only four, you have no need to fear.”
One night, after midnight, I was awakened by the student and asked to come up on deck. There I was met by several Chinese sailors who worked as stokers. Their leader offered me a jacket, saying: “Tomorrow morning we dock in Colombo. Wear this sailor’s jacket and go ashore. We will entrust you to our friends there. We frequently help Sun Man (Dr. Sun Yat-sen) in times of difficulty.”3 For a moment I stood there amazed at the steadfastness, solidarity, and readiness to help of these Chinese friends. Evidently they had noticed that I had been closely watched by Dutch and Indonesian police agents in the Jakarta and Padang harbors. And most Chinese sailors were faithful followers of Sun Man (Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s alias among the sailors). They immediately understood what had happened and were ready to aid a comrade in the struggle. Indeed, in later days I was helped more than once by the followers of Sun Man as I was traveling back and forth between China and Indonesia.4
I told the leader of the Chinese seamen: “Don’t think that I am to be jailed in the Netherlands. I am only being exiled there. From the Netherlands I shall try to find someone whom I have long wanted to meet, namely Sun Man. But thank you very much.”
Precisely on the first of May I arrived in Rotterdam.5 Dr. van Ravesteyn of the CPH (Dutch Communist party) suggested that I attend the May Day celebration in Amsterdam, which was being organized jointly by the Communists and syndicalists.6 Wijnkoop, the head of the CPH,7 gave me time to speak at the rally, and my analysis was well received by the crowd.8 Afterwards several members of the CPH proposed that I be a candidate for the party in the coming parliamentary elections. It would be the first time an Indonesian had run.
[93] The Netherlands elections are conducted on the basis of proportional representation, which means that representation accords to the number of voters supporting a given party. For instance, if every one hundred thousand voters are entitled to one representative, and if party A gets five hundred thousand votes and party B gets one million votes, then party A is entitled to five parliamentary representatives and party B is entitled to ten. The voters give their votes not to individuals, but to the party with which they agree, by voting for the party’s entire slate of candidates. It is the party that decides who shall be number one on the slate and therefore the party’s representative if it receives one hundred thousand votes, and so on down the list. The voters can, if they wish, cast a preferential ballot by assigning their votes to a particular candidate on the list. But if that candidate is number four or five on the list and if the party’s votes do not warrant that number of representatives, then the votes assigned to that particular candidate will be reallocated to help fill the quotas for the top candidates on the slate.
Even though in 1922 it was unlikely that the number two candidate of the CPH slate would get elected, I, who was to represent the sixty million Indonesian people, was placed number three on the slate. From the beginning we knew there was no hope of my being elected.9 And in any case I had no intention of remaining in the Netherlands. I only accepted the proposal to be a candidate because of the opportunity it presented to propagandize about the situation in Indonesia, to explain the arbitrary nature of the exorbitante rechten of the governor general of the Dutch East Indies, and to push the CPH into supporting Indonesia in its struggle against Dutch imperialism.10
The results of the elections were very satisfying, reflecting the concern of the Dutch proletariat and progressives for the Indonesian people. This concern was demonstrated by the fact that many voters assigned their votes directly to Tan Malaka. In fact I received more of these preferential votes than any other candidate in any of the parties.11 And this was achieved even though my speeches were mostly limited to Amsterdam and Rotterdam.12 But the number of votes for the slate as a whole was not sufficient to put me into the Dutch Parliament. As a pioneering experiment for future Indonesian candidates, however, the elections were indeed hopeful, and it was a good and practical example. Later on there were always Indonesians in the Dutch Parliament, and if I had been placed number two on the CPH slate in 1922, the first Indonesian would have entered it that year.13
[94] I continued my journey by going to Germany. Space does not permit me to describe all that I witnessed with my own eyes in “Deutschland über alles.”14 What a lot of bragging, humbug, and arrogance is in that slogan, but there is also a good deal of truth in it. Even though Germany has a population of only seventy million, or about 3 percent of the world’s population, it has twice threatened the entire world, and only the opposition of the whole world could defeat it. If one measured humanity merely on the basis of qualities of the mind—such as skill, willpower, and superiority in science, discipline, and organization—then it is the Germans who would have to get the laurels for achievements made in the last seventy-five years, especially in the fields of science, military science, and organization. But human beings need other qualities apart from those required to subjugate other nations, and the most needed quality is genuine humanitarianism.
When I was in Berlin, in mid-1922, the people were suffering greatly as a result of the policy of German militarism. Germany had lost the war; the Allies had heaped reparation debts on the country; the economy was falling into ruin; some regions were still under enemy occupation; finances had collapsed and the value of money fell day by day, until it had hardly any value at all. With this decline in German political and economic power, the morale of the Germans also fell, as could be seen from many standpoints, including that of the much boasted morality of German women. But with its healthy climate and strong, skillful, united, and optimistic people, with its existing basis in science and technology, Germany could not easily be pushed around by foreigners. The Germans bent under all the pressures put on them by their former enemies and patiently awaited the time for their re-emergence.
In Berlin there were lessons to be learned left and right, and all kinds of books available at ridiculously low prices. It was not surprising that this city captivated a young person like Darsono, who was eager for learning and knowledge. However, the shortage of revolutionary forces in Indonesia compelled him to leave his books, magazines, newspapers, and mass meetings. I spent two months with Darsono in Berlin, and then we parted and have not met again since.15 He left for Indonesia and I for Moscow.
Russia in 1922: it was