Translation:Max Havelaar/27
Prologue -
Chapter 1 -
Chapter 2 -
Chapter 3 -
Chapter 4 -
Chapter 5 -
Chapter 6 -
Chapter 7 -
Chapter 8 -
Chapter 9 -
Chapter 10 -
Chapter 11 -
Chapter 12 -
Chapter 13 -
Chapter 14 -
Chapter 15 -
Chapter 16 -
Chapter 17 -
Chapter 18 -
Chapter 19 -
Chapter 20 -
Chapter 21 -
Chapter 22 -
Chapter 23 -
Chapter 24 -
Chapter 25 -
Chapter 26 -
Chapter 27 -
Chapter 28 -
Chapter 29 -
Chapter 30 -
Chapter 31 -
Chapter 32 -
Chapter 33 -
Chapter 34 -
Chapter 35 -
Chapter 36 -
Chapter 37 -
Chapter 38 -
Chapter 39
Havelaar received a letter from the Regent of Tjanjor. He wrote that he wished to visit his uncle, the Adhipatti of Lebak. This message was very disagreeable to him. He knew that the chiefs in the regencies of Preanger display great wealth and that the Tommongong of Tjanjor would not undertake such a journey without a train of hundreds who all had to be lodged and fed, including their horses. He preferred to prevent this visit, and without result he thought of means which could achieve that without insulting the Regent of Rangkas-Betoeng, since this man was very proud and would be deeply offended if his comparative poverty had been given as a reason to cancel the visit. An when the visit could not be avoided, it would definitely mean that the people had to bear a heavier burden.
It must be doubted whether Havelaar's speech made a permanent impression on the chiefs. For many this was not the case, and he had not expected that. But it was sure that there was a rumour in the villages, that the toewan who was in charge in Rangkas-Betoeng wanted righteousness, and even if his words had lacked the power to keep them away from crime, the gave the victims courage to complain, although they did so secretly and reluctantly.
At night they stole through the valley, and when Tine was in her room, she was often surprised by a sudden noise. Through the open window she saw dark figures which stole by with shy feet. Soon she was not surprised any more, for she knew what it meant when those people haunted around her house, searching for protection with her Max! She beckoned them and he stood up to call the complainers in. Most came from the district Parang-Koedjang, where the Regent's son-in-law was chief, and although that chief certainly did not omit to take his share of the wrested property, it was not a secret that he usually robbed in the favour of the Regent. It was touching to see how those poor chaps counted on Havelaar's chivalry and were convinced that he would not call them the next day to repeat in public what they had said the previous night in his room. It would have been mistreatment and for may people even death! Havelaar wrote down what they said and ordered the complainers to go back to their villages. He promised that right would be done, if they did not prevent it, and did not fly away, as most of them intended. Usually he arrived a short time afterwards on the place where the injustice had occurred. Yes, often he had been there earlier to investigate the case – usually during the night – before the complainer had returned to his home. Thus he visited that large department, villages which were twenty hours from Rangkas-Betoeng, and neither the Regent nor even the Controller Verbrugge knew that he had been away from his capital. Thus he intended to prevent the danger of revenge and also to spare the Regent for the shame of a public investigation, of which he knew that under him it would not, as previously, end with a withdrawal of the complaint. Thus he still hoped that the chiefs would repent from the dangerous road where they were wandering such a long time, and in that case he would have been satisfied with requiring a restitution for those who had been robbed – if a restitution would be possible at all.
But every time he had been speaking to the Regent, he became more convinced that the promises of better behaviour were idle, and he was bitterly sad about the failure of his attempts.
We shall now leave him alone for a while, with his sadness and his hard labour, and tell the reader the history of the Javanese Saïdjah in the dessah Badoer. I chose the name of the village and the Javanese from Havelaar's notes. It will be a story of extortion and robbing, and when one – as far as concerns the main intention – wants to deny the power of evidence to a story, I can assure you that I am able to mention the names of 32 person in only the district Parang-Koedjang, of whom within a month have been taken 36 water buffaloes for the benefit of the Regent. Or better, I can name 32 persons from that district who had the courage to complain within a month, and whose complaints have been investigated by Havelaar and found to be correct.
There are five such districts in the department Lebak ...
On might choose to assume that he number of robbed water buffaloes was less in the regions which did not have the honour to be under control of the Adhipatti, and I can admit this, although it remains to be questioned whether the cheek of other chiefs was equally well based, even if they were not related. For example, the district chief of Tjilang-kahan on the South shore could, not having a feared father-in-law, support on the fact hat it was hard to complain for poor people who had to cover 40 or 60 poles before they could hide in the valley near Havelaar's house. And then there were many who hit the road but never reached that house, and those who never left from their village, frightened by their own experience or when seeing the fate that other complainers had. Therefore I think that it would be wrong if one thought that multiplying that number by five would produce a too high number for someone who inquired after the statistics of the number of water buffaloes that is stolen every month in those five districts, only for the needs of the household of the Regent of Lebak.
And not only water buffaloes were stolen. That wasn't even the most important thing. In particular in the Indies, where forced labour is still legal, less cheek is needed to call the people illegally for forced labour than to take property. It is easier to tell the people that the government needs their labour without wanting to pay for it, that that it would require their water buffaloes for nothing. And even if the fearful Javanese would dare to investigate whether the so called forced labour, which is required, is according to the regulations, it would still be impossible since one does not know about the other so he cannot calculate whether the number has not been exceeded by a factor ten of fifty. Where the more dangerous and easy to discover crime is done, what shall we think of crimes which are easy to do and are not so easily discovered?
I said that I wanted to tell the history of the Javanese Saïdjah. But first it is needed to show one of the deviations which can hardly be avoided when describing circumstances with which the reader is unfamiliar. I shall also use the opportunity to show one of the obstacles which make it so hard to explain a situation in the Indies to a European.
I repeatedly spoke about Javanese, and this may seem natural to the European reader, but it may seem like an error in the ears of the readers who know Java, The Western residencies Bantam, Batavia, Preanger, Krawang and part of Cheribon – together named Soendah islands – are assumed not to belong to Java. And apart from the strangers which have come from overseas, it must be said that the native population in those areas truly differs from the population in the Middle of Java and the so called East Corner. Clothing, culture and language are so different from the East that a Soendanese or Orang Goenoeng differs more from a General Javanese than an Englishman from a Dutchman. These differences often give rise to a different opinion when judging the matters of the Indies. If one remembers that Java has thus been divided in two unequal parts, without regarding the many further divisions, one can calculate how great the distinction must be between tribes which live further away and are even separated by the sea. Whoso thinks that the Dutch Indies are equal to Java, will never have a right idea about the Malayan, the Ambonese, the Battah, the Alfoer, the Timorese, the Dajak, the Boegie or the Makassaar, as if he had never left Europe, and for someone who had the opportunity to see the differences between those peoples it is often amusing to hear people talk – funny and also saddening, to read the speeches! – of people who learned in Batavia or Buitenzorg about the matters of the Indies. Often I was amazed about the courage some people have, for example a former Governor-General, when they speak in the Chamber of Parliament and claim to have experienced and seen everything in the area. I esteem the knowledge which has been obtained by studying in a library, and I am amazed about the knowledge some people have about affairs in the Indies without ever setting foot on its shore. As soon as a former Governor-General claims to have obtained his knowledge in that way, one needs to respect him who is the fair wages of many years careful and fruitful labour. Even greater be the respect for him than for the scholar who had fewer difficulties, because he was far away, without seeing, and did not run the risk to fall into an error which would be caused by a casual glance, which was undoubtedly the case with that former Governor-General.
I said that I was amazed at the courage some people display when they speak about the matters of the Indies. They must know that their words are heard by others, who know that it is insufficient to have lived a few years in Buitenzorg to know the Indies. They must know that those words are read by those who witnessed incapabilities in the Indies, and who are amazed about the boldness of a person, who recently attempted in vain to hide his innocence under the high rank he got from the King, suddenly speaks as if he rally knows about the affairs.
Again and again one hears complaints about unauthorised interference. Again and again this or that fact in the colonial economy is objected by denying the authority of the person who represents that fact, and perhaps it were not unimportant to start a careful investigation to the properties which make a person authorised to judge authorisation. People often vote about an important question is checked, but not about the case self, but about the value one assigns to the opinion of the man who speaks about it, and while this man is usually a specialty, for example someone who had a very important task in the Indies, the result of an election can only be that it is coloured by the errors which appear to stick to such important tasks. If this already happens where the influence if such a specialty is only exercised by a member of the parliament, what can be the results if the influence is linked to the confidence of the King who was forced to appoint such a specialty as the chief of the Ministry of colonies.
It is a strange phenomenon – perhaps it comes from a kind of slowness which shuns to judge for himself – that one too easily trusts a person who appears to know more, as soon as his knowledge can come from sources which are not available to anyone. The cause is perhaps this, that the amour propre would be less hurt by recognising that the other person knows better, than would be the case if one had been able to use the same resources, so that a kind of rivalry exists. It is easy for a member of Parliament to disregard his feelings as soon as they are fought by someone who can be expected to have a better judgment, not because the opponent is a superior – which is harder to recognise – but because he has been in particular circumstances.
And without speaking about them "who had high tasks in the Indies" it is really strange how one assigns value to the opinion of persons who really have nothing to justify that assignment, except the memory of so many years in those regions. This is really strange because they who attach value to such evidence, would not really accept anything what could have been said about the economy of the Dutch state by anyone who had lived 40 or 50 years in the Netherlands. There are persons who stayed longer in the Indies without ever meeting the population of the native chiefs, and it is saddening that most of the Council of the Indies consists of such persons. It is even possible that the King appoint such a person to Governor-General.
When I said that the assumed skill of an appointed Governor-General includes the opinion that he must be a genius, but I did not mean to say that he genius should be appointed. Apart from the fact that it would mean that the vacancy would be open too long, there is another reason. A genius would not be able to work under the Ministry of Colonies, so he was unsuitable to be a Governor-General, which happens frequently with geniuses.
Perhaps I should have wished that the main failures, which I mentioned in the form of the progress of a disease, drew the attention of the ones who are called to appoint a new viceroy. Assuming that all proposed people are righteous, and that they are able to learn what they must know, I consider it the main thing that one can have confidence that they will at first avoid the presumptuous pedanticism, and in particular the apathetic sleepiness in the end of their government. I already said that Havelaar expected that he would be supported in his hard duty by the help of the Governor-General, and I added "that this opinion was naive". The Governor-General expected his successor: retirement in Netherland was near!
We shall see what this inclination to sleep meant to the department Lebak, to Havelaar, and to the Javanese Saïdjah, whose monotonous history – one of many – starts soon.
Yes, it will be monotonous. Monotonous as the story of the work of an ant who carries her winter stock up to the ump of earth – a mountain for her – which is on the way to the storehouse. Every time again she falls back with her burden, and every time again she tries whether she will be able to put a foot on that pebble up there – the rock on top of the mountain. But between her and the top is an abyss which must be circumvented, a thousand ants would not fill it. Therefore she must, hardly having enough power to drag her burden on level ground – a burden which is heavier than the ant herself – lift it up, and stay upright on a moving spot. She must keep her balance with her cargo between the forelegs. She must push it up, so that it lands on the punt which protrudes from the rock. She staggers, totters, collapses – tries to hold a half uprooted trunk which points downward – a blade of grass! She misses the support she seeks, the tree moves back, she falls in the abyss with her load. A moment she is silent, a second – that's a long time in the life of an ant. Is she unconscious with pain after the fall? Does she admit sadly that all her toil was for nothing? But se does not lose courage. Again she grabs her burden, and again she drags it upward, and perhaps she will fall down again, and again.
That's the monotony of my story. But it will not be about ants, whose joy or sorrow is beyond the perception of our senses. I shall tell about humans, creature who have the same movements as we. It is true, whoso shuns emotion and wants to escape tiring pity, will say that those people are yellow, or brown – some call them black – and for them the skin colour is enough reason to turn the eye away from the misery, or at least to watch it without emotion.
My story is therefore intended for those who are able to believe that there are beating hearts under those dark skins and that those who are blessed with a white skin and the coincident civilisation, generosity, knowledge of trade and God, virtue – that those people can use their white properties to other purposes than has until now been experienced by those who are less happy with skin colour and an excellent soul.
My confidence in pity for the Javanese is no so far that I – when I describe how the last water buffalo is robbed from the kendang by day, unashamed, under protection of the Dutch authority, when the ox is followed by the owner and his weeping children, when I let them sit down on the steps of the robber's house, speechless, expressionless and sunk down in sadness, when I let them chase away with scorn and slander, under threat of caning and incarceration ... behold, I do not require, I do not expect, o Dutchmen! that ye will be moved in the same way as when I told the fate of the farmer whose cow had been taken away. I add no tear to the tears that flow on the dark faces, nor noble anger when I speak about the despair of the robbed people. Neither I expect that you will stand up, take my book to the King and say: "Behold, O King, this happens in your empire, in the fair empire of Insulinde!"
No, no, I do not expect all that! Too much misery in the neighbourhood will master your mind, to leave so much mind for what is so far away! Are not all your nerves in tension when you need to elect a new member of Parliament? Isn't your torn soul between the famous merits of Nothing A and Unimportance B? And don't you need your expensive tears for more serious matters – but what more can I say! Yesterday your stocks went down, and the coffee prices lowered because of too much supply.