I always knew I’ve been at ease in the ever-changing role of the stranger: he who’s always coming from a mystic and distant place called elsewhere; he who’s always passing by, running away, out of place and out-rooted. The stranger is like a flower in a vase, you can carry it around, keep it in the sun or hide it  in the shade.

If being a stranger were a job it would be filled with alibi. As a stranger it’s easier to live with the fact no one understands you, of being the other one, identified with a luggage, with the fact you should go home at some point, of being always at a certain distance from something or not being able to speak the language, of not having friends, of being the one missing, of walking alone with the wind.

When you live in your own context/place I think it is a bit more difficult to truly recognize yourself in a role. As a stranger instead you are guaranteed at least of one exclusive point of view. You will have a small part in the scene, you wont be left out, lost in the outskirts with dirty shoes because at any given moment you are entitled to raise and declare: “Wait a minute! I am the stranger!”.

“If being a stranger were a job it would be filled with alibi”

But of course there are downsides too. First of all because you are by definition a minority, a minority who might become unicity, you’re alone, uno, single, with an identity that decides on behalf of you, with an accent that leaves no room for doubts and raises tonnes of misunderstandings. At first sight we might be this or that but the moment we speak out we’re done! Exposed! Exposed to the curse all the strangers: the stereotypes.

Poetry in your shoes

When you least expect it the fair of silliness begins: the racisms, the gestures, the way of saying, the  “you’ve lost that game…”, the “is it true that people from…” and on and on and on up to the point you’ve been identified with those stereotypes, and a stereotype is like a ghost you’ve never met in person, but he stays there with you, disturbing, slipping into all the conversations, a fly in your ears. Yes, it is true that from time to time that curse might give you a hand, and being the other is a positive thing. Somehow that ghost is a representation of a long line that goes back straight to your roots and has to do a lot with something called belonging, with all the steps done by somebody before us, with the place you were born and the blood; with having traditions and poetry in your shoes.

It takes time to learn how to be a stranger, in understanding a tenth of the information around you and yet still surviving, in living with the weight of the distance on your shoulders and the smell of absence in your heart. It takes art to be your own island in unknown waters. It takes art to reach out for reference points even though you’re lost, because the stranger will always be a flower in a vase, an uncomfortable and fragile vase at times but in the end of the day the stranger knows that vase has to become Home. Home for your short roots.

To be continued…

More from this author: http://24east.tumblr.com

Our family of mixed couples is growing bigger and bigger. The Latitudes Cross-Cultural Couples series is a testament to the intermingling of cultures that makes this world a more interesting and colorful place. Are you a mixed couple and would you like to be featured on Latitudes? Do you have an extraordinary tale of love that surpasses cultural boundaries and geographical borders? Then e-mail us at info@latitudes.nu!

El Salvadorian Edward and Vietnamese Chi

This time we meet El Salvadorian Edward and Vietnamese Chi who live in Saigon, Vietnam. During the interview the couple constantly comment on and complete each other’s sentences. They seem very much in tune with one another, like they have known each other for decades, but still maintain their own characters and quirks. After studying together in Switzerland, they now run a restaurant. It’s a nice place with good food. This is their story.

Please introduce yourselves, what are your names, where are you from and where do you live?

Edward: ‘My name is Edward de Carle, I’m 29 years old. My roots are in El Salvador, but my younger brother and I were adopted by an English couple. So I lived in London, England nearly all of my life. My father also had two sons and a daughter from a previous marriage.’

Chi: ‘My name is Phan Kim Chi, I’m 33 years old. I’m from Vietnam and have two sisters. I’m the youngest. I’ve lived here almost all my life, except when I went to study overseas in Switzerland for a couple of years. We live in Saigon, Vietnam.’

Edward and Chi and their little boy

How did you meet and where?

Chi: ‘We met in 2003 in Switzerland at school, we were classmates.’

Edward: ‘We studied hospitality at the Glion Institute of Higher Education. It’s an international hospitality management institution.’

How did your relationship evolve?

Chi: ‘We started as friends and were a good team. We backed each other up. Then I started to help him with his studies.’

Edward: ‘Because I hate studying. Chi would always push me. Our friendship evolved into a relationship after about four months.’

Chi: ‘Then we fell in love and I pushed him more to study.’

Edward: ‘Which made me love her even more.’

Chi: ‘We graduated and did our six months internships. I did an internship in Switzerland and he went back to London to do an internship, so we did have some time apart.’

Edward: ‘After that we had some family issues. My folks passed in 2004. She’s been through the difficult times with me. I realized there wasn’t much for me left back in England, except for my brothers and sister. So I called her and said: Let’s go to Vietnam. I went over to Switzerland where she was finishing her work. Early 2005 we packed all our stuff and moved over here. Really just for six months, to travel and visit. By then we were engaged. My folks already had given us their blessing so that was all right. The main thing was to meet her parents and get their blessing as well.’

The couple got married in 2006

Chi: ‘After travelling around the country for one year, we started working and my parents said okay you are together now. We got married in 2006.’

Edward: ‘Two of my brothers and a couple of good friends came over for the wedding. The rest of my family couldn’t make it, because they were too busy. It was a great wedding because of the whole buildup. We made a huge trip all over the country to take photos for our wedding. You know the fifties, cheesy style they like. We also made a film. We had photos of her and me as babies, growing up in stages, which they showed together. It was pretty cool. They don’t really do that in the West.’

What does it mean to your relationship to be of two different cultures?

Edward: ‘It’s weird in the beginning, getting used to the changes. Coming from a western society, getting into an eastern society is quite a change. Some things you do completely freely in the west are frowned upon here. Like holding hands, cuddling and kissing in public, all that palaver. I annoyed a lot of people, it was good fun. Chi is more westernized anyway, because she has lived in Switzerland. So it’s a lot easier for her. How was it for you to adept to the western society?’

Chi: ‘I observed and I was learning. I like the style and I like the relationship between parents and children. When the children are 18, they move out and make decisions for themselves. But we still have to stay with the parents until we get married. So what else?’

Edward: ‘I don’t know. I think you like the fact that we have more freedom when we are young.’

Chi: ‘And the education. In Asia we learn a lot of things, we learn like crazy, but when we finish school we have almost nothing in our heads. You just forget everything, which is not so practical. But he still remembers what he learned.’

At the wedding...all smiles

Has it ever caused any problems or miscommunication?

Edward: ‘Sometimes. We’ve had our arguments.’

Chi: ‘Like the language, communication. He always laughs at my English. Sometimes I don’t pronounce a word correctly and then he starts teasing.’

Edward: ‘O yeah, brilliant. I’ve got a great story. That was brilliant. In Vietnamese the translation into English of the roots of your hair, is the feet of your hair. One day, she pulled out one of my hairs and said oh, I can see the foot of your hair. You what? The foot? My hair has got feet and they all jump around? I really enjoyed making fun of that. She always says I don’t like you bea (beard) and mustard instead of moustache.’

Chi: ‘I always mix them up. I don’t know why.’

Edward: ‘Until today, even though you majored in English.’

Chi: ‘And I studied overseas and I still make mistakes. It’s still a second language. Sometimes when we have an argument it’s difficult for me. I try to advice him or explain things to him and even though my English is really good, some terms, I can only explain in Vietnamese. Then I’m really desperate for the words. Sometimes I get stuck. But all in all we communicate well together.’

Edward: ‘Sometimes I get annoyed if I want to know what the staff is saying. I know she is going to be annoyed about me continually asking. If you don’t want to tell me, that frustrates me.’

Chi: Sometimes I talk with the staff and it has nothing to do with you. And you keep asking, what’s that, what’s that. But we are just telling a story.’

Edward: ‘I want to know what story.’

The bride deserves a kiss

How did your surroundings react to your mixed relationship?

Edward: ‘My parents really liked Chi when I brought her over to my parent’s house. They got along really well. You said in the beginning you were a little shy, a little uneasy.’

Chi: ‘Of course.’

Edward: ‘I wasn’t. But you’re shyness was maybe caused, because I said don’t be like this and don’t be like that, especially with my dad. Although, he was a good laugh, a tease like me. But, don’t cross him, basically. I remember one time, my brother’s girlfriend had done something completely stupid and he blew a fuse. He was yelling at her and I was wow, that’s one thing I have to remember.’

Chi: ‘His mom went to her friends and talked about me. Then I met the family and friends and they said oh I heard a lot about you. I said oh really?’

Edward: ‘Oh you are that lady are you? Well done, he was a really bad boy before. You sat him straight. It is true I was very cheeky, very naughty and she sat me straight. My other girlfriends always were a bad influence.’

Chi: ‘None of his girlfriends pushed him to study.’

Edward: ‘Or made me quit smoking.’

Chi: ‘Because we worked together, we passed the exam together. I got my honors and he passed, which his parents really talked about.’

Chi: ‘My parents were happy with him. My dad speaks English, my mom doesn’t. But they loved him from the beginning. He just went straight into the house and there we go, I’m your son-in-law.’

Edward: ‘That’s western isn’t it? That’s our style. Hi, I’m here, if you don’t like it, tough luck.’

Chi: ‘Yes, that’s the difference, here in Asia when you go to a girl’s family; you have to buy the mom something and try to persuade them. He’s totally different. They just have to accept our relationship. Even in the film of the wedding, he said I like your daughter, I want your blessing. He was very straightforward.’

Edward: ‘But in Vietnamese society they are also very straightforward. They can be blatant. For example, if they don’t like you, they will say it. My first introduction was with your nephew. We got off the plane, he spoke Vietnamese to my wife and I asked her what he said. He said you are very fat. Oh yeah thanks. I don’t know you, but thanks, good observation. It was a bit of a shock really. It’s amusing after a while and you get used to it. In the beginning, I didn’t speak Vietnamese that well. You were meeting your friends and dragged me along. In the beginning they would be nice with the English they knew and of course then it was all Vietnamese for the rest of the evening and I’m sitting there like a lemon. I might as well just have been a lemon. Now I can get by in Vietnamese and I understand a lot more than I used to. I studied it for three months on and off and I had tuition.’

Chi: ‘I think there is still a barrier for them, even though they like him, but they are not so fluent in English. But if we get together with our friends who studied overseas, we’re good together.’

Edward: ‘Yes that’s true, but then it’s all back to Vietnamese.’

Chi: ‘Sometimes his friends come over to Vietnam or sometimes we go back to England.’

Edward: ‘It’s easier for you, because you speak English fluently.’

Chi: ‘Yes, but I still have to have all my ears out to understand, because they speak fast, make jokes and use slang.’

Edward: ‘She does say that when I’m with my friends, I talk really fast, I use a little cockney and slang. That’s confusing.’

What are the biggest challenges you had to overcome?

Edward: ‘Exams, I hate studying. We did nearly break up on that.’

Chi: ‘No, not break up; I just got really angry with you, mad at you. If you don’t study then let me be, I tried to drag you along and you’re not even trying to push hard.’

Edward: ‘Yes that’s right. She was very angry with me.’

Chi: ‘Because I studied hard to get my honor certificate. It was really hard for me already and I also tried really hard to push him.’

Edward: ‘I guess that’s one of the reasons we are so good together. We balance out the seesaw. If she gets stuck with something and I can do it, I do it and if I get stuck with something she helps me.’

Chi: ‘I guess because we started out as friends, that’s our foundation.’

Merry Christmas!

When they first started out in Saigon, Chi was the Sofitel restaurant manager at Sofitel L’Olivier. Edward was a restaurant chain manager for Juice Bar in charge of staff training and quality control. After a while they both quit their jobs.

Edward: ‘I kept an eye on my old boss and then he opened another restaurant. In 2007 he called us and asked if we wanted to open up a franchise. We jumped at the opportunity. At that time we were already planning to open up a restaurant. We were very excited and pretty naïve. We put a lot of time and effort into it.’

Chi: ‘It was a franchise, so you’re the owner, but you can’t make decisions if things go wrong and you want to make changes to adept it to the environment. We had limited authority to fix things.’

Edward: ‘We were situated in a non-western area but the menu was all western food.’

Chi: ‘That doesn’t work. In two years it didn’t work out, so we pulled out.’

Edward: ‘We started here two years ago, in 2010. I am a Chef. Chi does the accounting and bookkeeping, the hiring and firing. I do the firing as well, sometimes. She’s more the sensible one. I’m more the idiot.’

Chi: ‘You said it, not me.’

Edward: ‘Well, I like to be a clown. My staff knows it. They can have a laugh, they can do what they want, within reason, but once they push that boundary, they know it. I’m still a hot blooded Latino. I’ve knocked heads with them a couple of times.’

What are the best things that this relationship brings you?

Edward: ‘We still like to tease each other and have a laugh. We’ve got a little boy who’s five. He’s a joy.’

Chi: ‘He’s fluent in both languages.’

Edward: ‘He’s so fluent I sometimes ask him to translate for me to the staff. It’s actually quite amusing. When I’m angry I tell him to tell it to the staff and he imitates me. The tone of his voice gets really angry.’

Chi: ‘We bring the best of our country and our traditions together. For the education we chose the west. For some of the politeness and the behavior we chose the east.’

Edward: ‘He’s still a very cheeky little boy. I love him. But I always told my staff and the nanny: never clean up after him. If he makes a mess, he cleans it. Like sitting down and eating. I can’t stand children running around with an old woman running after them with a spoonful of rice. Sit the kid down and let the kid eat. That’s western upbringing. Another thing is that the boys are the king of the castle. They always make a fuss over the boys, with the girls it’s just whatever. If he falls over or hurts himself, if he’s not bleeding from his ears, he’s okay. If he bumps his head, oh dear, he will learn not to do it again. You don’t run over there and smother him with your love and affection, because he’s going to grow up being wet boy. When educating our son, you don’t like the way I’m strict on him. I’m very military like my father was on me.’

Chi: ‘I try to bring that down.’

Their little boy is fluent in two languages

What language do you speak with one another?

Edward & Chi: ‘English.’

Are religious differences an issue between you and your partner? How did you solve these?

Edward: ‘I’m Christian. You’re not really religious, but you’re parents are Buddhist.’

Chi: ‘Not really, but technically we are Buddhist. We go to the pagodas every beginning of the year to get our blessings. There’s a difference but we don’t make a big deal out of it. We both adapted.’

Edward: ‘Later on I would like James to have a religion. Just like my parents did. I had no religion until I was 12, old enough to make my own decision. So I went with my mother’s side who’s Church of England. My father was Christian Scientist. The Church of England is more modern. My brother did also join, but now, he can’t be bothered. There’s no Church of England here. I have asked around, but no one has found it. I miss it. If I go back to England I will probably go to Church to catch up. I haven’t received my communion since I’ve been here. I want to let the big man know I’m still here, still thinking about them. Otherwise we really don’t have an issue. I’ll tag along to the pagodas.’

Chi: ‘He does all the procedures and the praying. It’s pretty cute.’

Edward: ‘I’ll do the bowing, the incense and all that, but I don’t know if they know what I’m trying to tell him or should tell him.’

Chi: ‘Talk from your heart.’

Edward: ‘I just go along with it, if it keeps everyone happy. Religion is religion. You can be extremely strict with your religion, but you have two points of view here.’

What are your future plans?

Edward: ‘I want more restaurants and hotels and I want a daughter. I’m really happy about my little boy, but I also want a girl now. James already said he wants a sister.’

Chi: ‘Did he?’

Edward: ‘Oh yeah, he told me: I want a sister. Catch up, he wants a sister.’

Chi: ‘I’m a little bit superstitious, so I keep telling him it’s not a good year for a girl yet, maybe in two years. I’m also getting back in shape and if I get pregnant I would blow up again. Let me enjoy it first.’

Edward: ‘I’m not into that superstition palaver, I go along with it, I wouldn’t argue it, but I don’t believe in it. I’m trying to think about James as well. The older he’s going to get, the further the distance is going to be between them.’

Chi: ‘I also want more restaurants, to build it up for the family. But I like to make a steady move, I don’t want to expand now, and not be able to control it. A lot is going to fall into my hands, because I speak both languages. Slow, but steady, is better than fast and collapse. He’s really pushing and I’m the one who’s slowing it down. If we would go his way, it would be mistake, mistake, mistake. But if we do it like I do, too conservative, we would never develop. Again, it’s a balance.’

Edward: ‘This year we were meant to open up a restaurant, but we’re nearly at the end of the year and we still haven’t found a place. The excuse? We’re losing weight, so instead of going to look for a restaurant, we’re going to the gym.’

Do you have any tips for other mixed couples?

Edward: ‘Don’t take it too seriously. You have to have a laugh, you only live once. You have to understand each other, that is the main thing. Basically you have to know each other first. It took us two years at University, and on top of that one extra year here, to really get to know each other. We were friends almost straight away, we just clicked. You also have to find your strengths and weaknesses and make your weaknesses your strengths.’

Chi: ‘Understand each other and respect each other. You have to find the middle ground. We have been through difficult times when his parents passed. Then we came here and we travelled, we have experienced things together and that is tied up in the relationship. Now we are trying to lose weight together. We are a good team when we need to. We share the work and when there’s a difficulty, we help each other.’

Latitudes: In the Mix

In this series we talked to people with a mixed Asian background. Have these
colorful roots entangled them? Confused them? In what way has their heritage
formed their identity, how do they look at the world & how does the world looks
at them? In the next weeks we will re-publish this series, because the
articles and interviews were very well read at Latitudes.nu. And because
it's so nice to see all these couples again.

On April 30 this year — one day before Indonesian National Movie day – there was a screening of Anak Sabiran di Balik Cahaya Gemerlapan (Sang Arsip) directed by Hafiz Ranjale, a well-known documentary director and video curator in Graha Bhakti Budaya, TIM, Jakarta. The movie is a collaboration between Misbach Yusa Biran and movie makers in Forum Lenteng, Fuad Fauji, Hafiz Rancajale, Mahardika Yudha, and Syaiful Anwar “Paul” and reflects upon movie archival strategies for almost 30 years in Sinematek.

Sinematek is located in Jakarta and is the first film archive in Southeast Asia, invented by Asrul Sani and the late Misbach Yusa Biran in 1975 and the movie was screened to tell the story of Sinematek and the importance of its preservation.

The Chronicles of Sang Arsip

From the start, the concept of using movie archives as a representational heritage was contested on many levels and with various approaches. In the opening of the film, we hear the voice of Misbach Yusa Biran reading a letter and his discussions and conversations with Hafiz Rencajale about how documentaries should be made, thereby exposing us to the techniques, concepts and process of film-making.

The film unfolds in showing the abandoned environment in Sinematek, located in the Hajji Usmar Ismail Center, on Rasuna Said Street in Kuningan, South Jakarta. Rather than providing narration about Misbach Yusa Biran and his artwork, the documentary presents insights into the careful preservation of movie archives under Yusa Biran and illustrates his ideas and concepts for saving the national heritage which dates from the 1920′s to the present day.

At Sinematek, most of the films, scenario archives, photographs, and storage rooms are in poor condition and the moviemakers show the state of disrepair as they walk between the aisles in the sombre rooms.

In order to characterize and understand the urgency of archiving, the movie focuses on three aspects. First is the issue of conditional funding. Since the government is not permitted to fund Sinematek, it is subject to financial crisis and employees are forced to economize as they figure out how to provide management of the organization and keep it alive. Second is the spirit of Misbach, and viewers are shown his characteristics and role in the movement through interviews with people in the film industry. Third is a narrated visual of the methods used by Sinematek in providing access to thousands of movie archives and the encouragement of widespread use of a collection of historical documents.

“Misbach is one of the living proofs of the history of Indonesian cinema and we see the dire situation of the erosion of film history Indonesia,” said Mahardika Yudha, a media artist and curator based in Jakarta. “Sinematek and Misbach Yusa Biran provide historical knowledge which should be ‘frozen’, or at least written about so that it can be analyzed and developed for a new perspective in looking back at the history of Indonesian cinema by the next generation”.

The Role of Forum Lenteng

Forum Lenteng is located in Lenteng Agung in southern Jakarta and uses audio-visual mediums to examine and convey ideas. Before producing Sang Arsip, some of the founders produced Dongeng Rangkas and Naga Yang Berjalan di Atas Air, which are feature-length documentary films with Indonesian titles.

“Bahasa Indonesia was used for the purpose of communicating with Indonesian viewers but it would be better to use the exact Indonesian language” said Hafiz. “While the issues can be understood, we are always looking for the best way to describe what kind of movie it is to the audience. For international festivals, we use English subtitles in the films so they can be understood by an international audience”.

All films made for Lenteng Forum are intended for educational purposes as well as to provide value and knowledge to participants. There are similarities between local culture and institutions making movies, which can be seen in three of the movies. In Naga Yang Berjalan di Atas Air, there is a collaboration with Komunitas Djuanda, an institution that initiated the development of alternative media to the public and increased awareness of its members to social and cultural issues in South Tangerang. Their first movie production, Dongeng Rangkas, working together with Saidjah Forum, focused on community work and community development through the medium of text, video, archives and local socio-cultural studies in Rangkasbitung West Java.

“Working with the community provides experience in making professional documentary features as well as education about how to process the content,” said Hafiz. “Lenteng Forum has a strategic position in Indonesian cinema as we encourage people to be part of the development of culture in this country. We are not paid for our work and only provide production facilities for equipment. We put into practice the concept of mutual assistance in producing documentary features”.

In addition to making documentaries, Lenteng Forum provides education to people through their “world cinema” and documentary screenings every Monday.

“For us, movies are very important tools,” said Mahardika. “They don’t just talk about the historical development of cinema but also interpret it as an attempt to examine our own cinema. Interestingly enough, if you look at development films in third world countries, you’ll see they have been able to find a cinema language of their own. This is where the greatest function of the world cinema exists — that they are not used as examples in the making but used as reference works to find our own language of Indonesian cinema”.

Movie Archives in Sinematek

Sinematek was founded in 1975 by Misbach Yusa Biran and Asrul Sani, both of whom are highly regarded in the Indonesian movie industry. Asrul Sani was a writer and film director who died in 2004 at the age of 77. Biran quit film directing in 1971 to show his lack of support for the film industry at the time and founded Sinematek. His most well known film which which was the inspiration for Hafiz’s documentary is Di Balik Cahaya Gemerlapan which was made in 1966.

Under Ali Sadikin’s government in the1970′s, Sinematek was funded by the government in an attempt to protect the national heritage and movies of Indonesia. Today, Sinematek has thousands of archives containing 2,714 film titles, including 632 master copies and 318 screening copies as well as 1,615 documentary films in 35 mm and 16 mm formats. Unfortunately a 2001 law banned the government from giving funds to nonprofit organizations, including Sinematek and the financing stopped.

The poor condition of the archive does not stop there, according to Sinematek employees. “We have to use chemicals to maintain the quality of celluloid movies but we have to use recycled water and old chemicals because we have no money to purchase new materials,” said one employee. Hafiz shows this process in his film and explains the importance of preserving celluloid in order to protect movies from the past. While colors were originally bright and transparent in the films, they are now seen to be fading and less vibrant due to this lack in funding and new equipment.

“Archival of movies is among one of the most important features of film, in addition to production, criticism and distribution” said Mahardika Yudha “In Indonesia, we do not have a good film archive so, as a result, films may not be produced in Indonesia putting us in danger of losing our historical culture”.

Anyone who missed the documentary and may be interested in viewing it can check the Forum Lenteng website for screening dates, or contact them directly since they will probably be happy to make it available for screening in your neighborhood or at your own festival.

Time for another instalment of In the Mix! In this series we talk to people with a mixed background. Have these colorful roots entangled them? Confused them? In what way has their heritage formed their identity, how they look at the world and the world looks at them? Feel free to join in and tell us about your mixed roots. Just e-mail info@latitudes.nu and we’ll send you some questions!

Today we meet Danny Smith, a guy with  common last name, but less common roots. A wonderful mix of Vietnamese, Japanese and American genes add spice to his life, as well as his palate.

1. Who are you and what’s your mix?

My name is Danny Smith. I was born in Vietnam and I’m 39 years old. My father was Caucasian and my mother is a mix of Vietnamese/Japanese. I currently live in Oklahoma, USA.

Danny Smith, part Vietnamese/Japanese, part American

2. What’s the story of your parents?
My father met my mom while serving in the military. We left Vietnam before I was a year old, but didn’t come to the USA until I was six. We spent five years living abroad as my father worked, in Saudi Arabia, Iran, and several African countries.

3. When did you become aware of your mixed background?
As far as I can remember I was always aware that I was racially different. We lived in many places where neither of my races were prevalent so my ethnicity stood out.

4. Have you ever felt that you don’t belong? How have you overcome that feeling?
I think everybody has those feelings at times in their lives. On occasion I have felt like an outsider growing up, but for the most part I’ve always surrounded myself with people who accepted me for who I am…

5. With which ethnicity do you identify most?
I don’t think I identify with one more than the other. I just a mix of both and that’s how I see the world.

6. How do others react to you? Have you ever experienced derogative comments? Do a lot of people ask you about your background? I’ve never had any negative remarks.  Most people can tell I have some sort of ethnic background, but usually don’t ask. If I am questioned about it, it’s usually other Asians that can see it in me and want to know where I’m from.

7. Do you feel your identity has been partly formed by your mixed background? If so, how?
I usually think of myself as a guy who loves to travel, cook and write. I think the love of all those things came from my colorful background. My father gave me the love of travel. My mother’s cooking made me want to be a chef. Combine those two and you have my love for world cuisine (check out Danny’s Facebook page Global Plate to get a taste of his passion for cooking!)

8. What does it mean to be multi-cultural or bi-cultural?
To me it means living with a beautiful mix of life. I have so many more things to take pride in, to celebrate, because I have two cultures to be proud of. I try not to forgo one for the other.

9. Has your multi-cultural background influenced your worldview?
My worldview is different not so much because I’m mixed racially, but because I have lived so many places. I’ve lived in Iran, Saudi Arabia, several countries in Africa, and many states here in the USA. I try to see the world from all sides and listen to what people think about issues..

10. Do you have a partner? Is he/she mixed or not?
Yes I have a girlfriend and she is Caucasian. She loves all the delicious food from around the world I cook!

11. Do you think in the future everyone will be of mixed origins? 
I think the world is fast becoming a smaller place, so in the future everyone will be more racially mixed. It’s inevitable.

12. Any last words? Your personal mixed mantra?
Just to be open to the world and to yourself. Experience life! Travel. Taste exotic things. We are only here for a little while, so enjoy this beautiful world while you can!

Latitudes: In the Mix

In this series we talked to people with a mixed Asian background. Have these
colorful roots entangled them? Confused them? In what way has their heritage
formed their identity, how do they look at the world & how the world looks
at them? In the next weeks we will re-publish this series, because the
articles and interviews were very well read at Latitudes.nu. And because
it's so nice to see all these couples again.

Photo by Merzzie at Shutterstock

I boarded a worn-out, noisy bus in Tawangmangu, hoping for a decent seat where I could relax and take a nap on my trip to Solo. But, within minutes, the woman next to me started chattering in my ear and my idea of getting some rest rapidly vanished.

“My son is dating a girl from Brunei Darussalam”, she said proudly and proceeded to tell me all about him – how he works in a motorcycle shop in a tiny, wealthy state in north Borneo, makes good money in his after-hours job and is now about to take part in an intercultural marriage (with prospects of a possible larger fortune).

“My neighbor married a Dutchman and they have been living next door for more than five years,” she continued. Her following comment irked me. “Before her marriage, she had nothing. Now she owns several houses and land, some of them in Tawangmangu”.

Economic interests

Photo by Maridav at Shutterstock

Intercultural marriage in Indonesia is sometimes a direct consequence of globalization. Like the woman in this story, many Indonesians seem to view intercultural marriage as the best way out of their economic marginalization. The Chairman of the Indonesian Trade Chamber, Mr. Suryo Bambang Sulistyo, recently told the Jakarta Post that more than 8.4 million Indonesians were unemployed last year and that the rate of unemployment is steadily increasing every year with 2.91 million jobseekers competing for approximately 1.6 million new jobs. The problem is exacerbated since only 5.7 percent of the jobseekers possess a bachelor degree or higher. In order to accommodate all Indonesians, Mr. Suryo said, the country needs to grow by eight percent every year, instead of the present rate of 6.5 percent.

Meanwhile, government-friendly reports on economic growth encourage an increasing number of foreigners from around the world to try their luck in Indonesia. Various online resources estimate there are more 83,000 foreigners currently living in Indonesia. Manpower statistics showed a working expat population of 45,981 on May 2010, showing a huge increase from 15,205 expats in 2008.

Based on nationality, statistics show that European workers are at the top of the list (after Asians) totaling 1,485 people. Americans come second with 1,316; followed by 1,196 Australians. In April 2012, Bali’s Ministry of Manpower reported there were more than 2,062 foreigners working on Bali, mainly in the tourism sector. This melting pot of cultures sometimes ends up in intercultural marriages but statistics are hard to come by.

Do intercultural marriages stem from economic considerations? Ms. Ries Woodhouse, the patroness of Srikandi, an association of Indonesian women in multinational marriages, acknowledges the possibility but believes couples stay together primarily because they are in love.

“Every woman has her own reasons for engaging in intercultural marriage, but the relationship should develop naturally,” Ms Woodhouse was quoted in Surabaya newspaper Jawa Pos. “But not all marriages are born out of love as there is sometimes economic motivation and personal satisfaction at play.”

Help for intercultural marriages

Photo by Creativa at Shutterstock

Indonesia is becoming more and more open to foreigners, who are welcomed with open arms.

In setting up Srikandi, Ms. Woodhouse intended to provide a location for members to meet, share ideas, raise funds, arrange charity bazaars and host coffee mornings to assist women interested in intercultural marriages.

More 400 Indonesian women are part of this organization and, in 2005, Ms. Woodhouse set up Keluarga Perkawinan Campuran Melalui Tangan Ibu (KPC Melati—Mixed Marriage Family Through Mother’s Hand) with her friend, Ida Friggeri. Now a world-wide organization, KPC Melati has branches across the world and provides a place for intercultural couples to receive support in the form of ideas, experiences and materials.

KPC Melati publicly advocated dual citizenship before the Indonesian legislation passed a bill on intercultural marriage in 2006 which also allows mothers to keep their rights over their children.

According to Ms. Friggeri, there are many similar organizations dealing with intercultural marriage which have their origin in KPC Melati. There’s the Indo Mixed Couples (Indo MC) in France, and Couples of Cross Culture Club (C4) in Jakarta. They can be contacted through Ms. Marilyn Ardipradja at 0816-1459347 or marilyn.ardipradja@yahoo.com and Ala Sulistyono at 0817-119128 or alas@cbn.net.id.

Another cross cultural organization is Diana, which stands for Dialog Antarbangsa (Dialogue Among Nations) and focuses on Indonesian women married to German men. In 2008, Masyarakat Perkawinan Campuran Indonesia (Perca – Mixed Marriage Society of Indonesia) was launched and Aliansi Pelangi Antarbangsa (APAB – Among Nations Rainbow Alliance) is a coalition of various groups involved in or concerned with mixed marriages within and outside Indonesia. For more information, contact marilyn.ardipradja@yahoo.com.

Indonesian writers have also entered the arena in providing useful information on the subject. Ten of them compiled their articles in Nikah Sama Bule (Married to a Foreigner) outlining the joys and sorrows of mixed marriage and Richard Miles, an Australian tourist, shared his views in Bule Juga Manusia (A Foreigner is Human Too), published in 2010.

Latitudes: In the Mix

In this series we talked to people with a mixed Asian background. Have these colorful roots entangled them? Confused them? In what way has their heritage formed their identity, how do they look at the world & how the world looks at them? In the next weeks we will re-publish this series, because the articles and interviews were well read at Latitudes.nu. And because it’s so nice to see all these couples again.

Indonesian Man by Komar

Fighting against the stabbing pain, the woman in the bed wrinkled the skin on her forehead. Her eyebrows were sparse, gnawed on by chemotherapy. Twisting her face into a grimace, withstanding the pain, her nose looked sharper. Then she closed her eyes behind drooping eyelids. No traces were left to show that once, curling eyelashes had grown there. These had been the subject of never-ending praise from her husband, Abdullah Peureulak, who now sat speechless at the side of the bed.

Wanting to share her pain, Abdullah gently placed his hand under his wife’s, taking up her fingers and threading them between his. In her husband’s grip, the woman’s fingers became warm. It was only the warmth brought by her husband’s blood that flowed through his fingers. Abdullah knew that his grip was nothing more than an expression of sympathy. How painful the disease was, only his wife knew. At the edge of the bed Abdullah was no more than a husband slowly losing his mind. He didn’t know how to share this pain with his wife.

The smell of chloroform and the glare of the sun caught in the opaque windowpane surrounded Abdullah, who leaned forward and kissed his wife’s cheeks and lips for the hundredth time.

Those eyes. His wife’s eyes . . . ah, he still remembered the first time he embraced his wife and beheld her eyes, closed, hiding her bright round irises, thirty years ago. Those eyes had their own contribution to their life together. Those eyes had never ceased to be a source of amazement, to the point that Dewangga Suciati, the woman who became his wife, became awkward before her husband, not knowing how to respond to the shackles of praise and flattery that, whispered, fell in a torrent from her husband’s lips, even later, when both their children had grown to adulthood. But, now those eyelids, those eyebrows, those round irises that stirred his soul were the only remainder of her struggle against the disease that had tortured her for the past two years.

Weak voice

Suddenly the woman lying flat on the bed stirred. She glanced to the side as if to assure herself that her husband was still waiting at her bedside. That glance made Abdullah strengthen his grip, warming her hand in his. With a quavering, weak voice that could still persuade with its tone, the woman spoke: “I am still strong enough to listen. I will never regret. Tell me, Bang. Things will be better now.”

The request made her husband’s neck droop. For two weeks Dewangga, lying in bed and deathly pale, had waited for her husband’s throat to unclamp, to stop hesitating to say what he needed to say. In Abdullah’s heart, he regretted the words that had jumped irrevocably from his mouth two weeks earlier: that he, with his wife’s permission, wanted to say something that throughout their marriage he had kept hidden. Two weeks ago Abdullah had made the promise at the side of her bed, when his wife was at the peak of her resistance against the cutting blade of her disease. But, the words remained stuck in Abdullah’s throat. His desire had not been achieved. The words were frozen on his tongue. Abdullah felt like he was sinning to say what was in his heart, because he knew the buried words, if uncovered, would worsen his wife’s suffering as she laid stretched out and fading before him.

But seeing how hard his wife was struggling against the disease, and how narrow her hopes of survival were, as the cancer brought her closer to death, Abdullah made the decision to swallow his doubts and be honest with his wife, who had been his companion for the past thirty years. “Now! I must say it now!” his heart screamed out. Whatever would happen, Dewangga, his beloved wife, could not die carrying a betrayed promise. If she had to go, it would be with a clear blue sky trailed by wisps of clouds as white as cotton.

So Abdullah slid his chair closer, bringing his lips to his wife’s ear. He spoke in a slow voice, like one who was unpacking an old secret, swearing a new confession that even the walls of the hospital, white and damp, were not allowed to hear. Because of his gentleness, from the ceiling it seemed as if Abdullah was offering praise, spilling out all of his longing for a lover he had not met for years, who upon meeting, he finds stretched out and alone, fighting against a disease in a hospital bed. The tremble in Abdullah’s voice could he heard as he whispered, linking word with word to tell his story…

1965-1966

The political enmity between the army and the Left resolved itself after a group of soldiers captured and killed several generals who were accused of treason and harassing women. But, for reasons unknown, the leader of the kidnapping lost his decisiveness and did not know what to do after the battle had started. This hesitancy that he could not shake opened an opportunity for the allies of the generals to hit back, which they did bloodily. They extinguished their enemies, and communists and leftists were accused of being behind the attempted coup d’etat. What followed was a battle against thousands of citizens, including children and nursing mothers, mostly in villages and small cities. If saved from death, they were forced into concentration camps or jails, or exiled to small wasteland islands for crimes that required no evidence. This is the abuse of humanity in this country that will never be forgotten, with random victims and indiscriminate cruelty of incomparable baseness in the history of this people.

Abdullah, who was born and raised in Peureulak, had good fortune. He was only held for a year at an army base in Jakarta. When he was captured, there were no signs that he was still in touch with friends who were deemed to be involved in “the reds’ efforts to regain their strength and rise again.” Two sheets of paper ripped from a schoolboy’s notebook were saved in his wallet. There his father had written in his unique scrawl, learned as a schoolboy under the Dutch. The flow of his letters indicated simplicity but tenacity. The pull of the lines didn’t change from the first letter to the closing salutation.

Gravestone

The letter explained that his father, along with his mother, was going on pilgrimage to Mecca by boat and that it would take the same amount of time as it would for three full moons to rise from behind the coconut fronds. As all pilgrims had done before them, they were going on this trip fully prepared for death. Holy death. They might be buried at sea, sunk with a heavy stone, or buried in the barren Arab land with no gravestone, no name. The letter also explained how their possessions were to be divided among Abdullah and his siblings.

The divine intention of his parents was already in action before the ink on their last will and testament was dry. By the time the two pilgrims set out, ready for death on God’s road, upon leaving Uleuleu harbor, the letter had already become a lifesaver for their son, Abdullah Peureulak, roving far away on the island of Java.

Abdullah was confused. He couldn’t understand the relationship between the political beliefs that had had him thrown into military prison and religion. Though the long debate with his parents still rung in his ears, he had been determined to establish an organization of film workers. On this path, he had been sure that he would easily be able to enter the world of the silver screen. His parents had given in, accepting his will, with only one message that to his ears sounded like an order: “All right, but don’t forget to pray.”

The interrogators took his father’s last will and testament as proof of their assessment: this was a young man of average height, wavy hair and eyes that protruded a bit from his skull with a sharp gaze, thin lips and a slightly pointed nose, and who made no attempt to hide that he had been a part of a film organization under the influence of Communists. There was no need to keep him in prison. He would just be a waste of sandy rice, the daily provision of nutrition to maintain prisoners so they could still suffer torture as punishment for the ‘political evil’ that they had committed.

Army

“Dul . . . you can go. We don’t want to know where you go. Go home to Aceh, to your mother’s lap, or to the house where we first caught you. We don’t care. Just remember, you have to report to us once a week. You don’t need to ask until when. We’re the army, and this is the decision. Don’t try anything again. Shiftless bastard. You’re lucky we’re letting you go. Got it?!” With that he was led out of the camp.

The decision was so unexpected that his heart leapt and pounded upon hearing it. The sudden reality of it made him nervous. Of course he could not refuse it. Would he rather be accused as an enemy and be tortured?! His heart was torn. He would have to leave his friends who were facing the same political misfortune. The decision of the military authorities was part of their tactic to crush his spirit. He was deliberately separated from his friends. He had to go out into the open world, with no one and nothing. Everyone he knew had been taken into camps or prisons, and if they weren’t dead he had no idea where they were. His heart ached to think of his friends still cooped up in prison, while he was released, sauntering about free. Many among those he left faced torture and disease. Two days earlier he had heard that at least ten prisoners had died of cholera in Tangerang prison, and the epidemic was still raging. The guards didn’t care. He heard also that they weren’t given medicine. The prison families had to take care of their own, trapped within those walls, husbands, wives, children or close friends, smuggling in medicine for each other.

A hundred steps after leaving the camp, Abdullah Peureulak wanted to turn, to look back. But no. Now he had to struggle to find an answer to the one question that dogged his life in the freedom that had just been handed to him: Where should he go? Like a newly released bird flapping it swings, where should he perch after being let out of the oppressive concentration camp? Going to the house where he was originally arrested was not possible. Because it was the organization’s office, all of his possessions would certainly have been taken by the military. The same would be true for the other possessions of the organization; they would have been stolen by those who considered themselves the winners of the crisis that enveloped this country. His relatives were all too far away, across the sea. All his friends were hanging in suspense, waiting in jail with no end to the darkness in sight. Where will you go, unlucky man?

Orson Welles

Mosque by Aleksandar Todorovic

Finally he summoned up his courage and dragged his anxious steps toward the house where he had once rented a room, called Cikini. There he found that the only one left in the large house was the landlady. According to her story, one night all the residents were picked up by a few thugs and a fully armed military team. They were taken in a military truck to who knows where. Then, falling as if to kiss Abdullah’s knees, his former landlady begged him never to come back. Don’t tempt the military to return, to confiscate this house. For the safety of the owner, for the safety of the neighbors, for everyone, don’t come back again.

Abdullah was silent for a moment. He no longer felt like a young man in his prime, carrying a bundle of two sets of clothes, his only possessions in the world. He felt like an old depraved leper who must be kept out of sight. With a shriveled heart, he left the landlady.

He started this unimaginable adventure when he resolved to leave Peureulak to try his luck in Jakarta, to be a film actor. If he couldn’t be as good as Orson Welles from Hollywood, he could at least be like Zainal Abidin in Si ‘Anak Medan. But the life that he found was not full of parties. He spent his nights in broken-down freight cars left unrepaired in Manggarai, Jatinegara or Beos, or next to the shacks rented to hookers in Galur, Planet Senen or Kota Paris. For months he lived by a canal near the National Monument. A few times he was arrested in police operations against vagrants and prostitutes, only to be dumped out again at Serpong. Abdullah and dozens of other human beings, treated as if they were worth no more than spare change, were left to crawl back along the edges of asphalt or graveled roads, giving themselves back up to the streets of the capital city—where else? This was their only choice.

His brain was not yet petrified, he was still looking for a way out so that he would not die of starvation. Applying to a film company was impossible. He could be reported as a PKI infiltrator, an accusation that would get him tossed back into jail or get his throat cut. He had already decided to say that by the age of twenty-five, he had acted in only one film, and that one just a black and white. The door was closed tightly on those dreams. The talent that was given to him, in the form of a handsome face with clear eyes and a captivating stare, and enough intelligence for an actor, would have to give in to the situation handed to him by the march of time.

Daydreaming, watching the commotion of people entering and exiting Senen Market, he offered to carry bags for overloaded shoppers. Scared, hesitant, his heart raced the first time he offered to help to a middle-aged woman carrying two bags full of vegetables. Maybe because his eyes were honest, the woman received him with a friendly smile and allowed him to carry her shopping bags. He followed behind the woman’s steps. Crossing the railroad tracks, turning in and out of small alleys, they reached the neighborhood of Bungur. The woman lived in a small house located on a busy street. She supported herself with a small cafe in the front of her house. There were only two people living there, the woman and her daughter.

Heart Beat

The good fortune of that one shopping trip was incalculable for the unlucky actor washed up in the corner of the market. The woman from Bungur was not like most. Besides giving him some money for his services, she also served Abdullah a plate of food. Not ten times had he helped the woman carry her shopping bags from the market, and his heart was already tethered to that small cafe. Quietly, he stole glances at the mirror to enjoy the reflected image of her daughter’s eyes as she offered him a plate of rice and a glass of hot sweet tea. There were no flies buzzing, no grit on the tabletop. One morning, the girl’s bright eyes shone at him from the mirror with a calm, piercing look. She looked as if she was offering more than rice. Glancing sideways, persuasively, she whispered, “What you feel, I also feel. If you wish, take me wherever you are going …”

Holding those eyes with his own, the saliva dried up in the young actor-turned-vagrant’s mouth. As if to hold back his shame, he dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn’t believe life was as easy as the girl in the mirror said. Love always offered a forked road, faithfulness or betrayal. Which one would triumph in the end? His heart fell in confusion. But don’t misunderstand. This did not mean he would refuse her. The eyes of the serving girl were too good to neglect, her gaze too charming not to return, impossible to ignore. He had beheld thousand of eyes when he was still in school and while shooting films. But those eyes, with the beautiful hand covered in soft delicate hair, that offered him breakfast, were round and challenging, bright and perfect, like a fragment of divine inspiration reflected in the mirror.

His eyes were still nailed to the floor. His heart beat. He was made so awkward by the look in those eyes that he left suddenly, without a thank you, without a goodbye. He must now start the second part of his struggle after being let out of jail. Would he answer those awe-inspiring eyes, or forget them? And give in to being a coolie, carrying packages every day for the woman from Bungur? But, for a sailor who for months had been bobbing up and down with no hope, there was nothing more promising than a mirage of dry land, somewhere he could sink his anchor. So, on the forty-first day, the man from Peureulak was seen sitting together with the girl, the couple leaning against each other, when the last customers left the cafe.

On the sixtieth day the couple, drunk with love and romance, flew in a pedicab towards Situ Lembang Park. There the girl’s eyes could not escape his gaze, his praise, his embrace, while the two pairs of feet splashed in the lake that whispered to the leaves of the bamboo stands, bent by the wind. Dewangga let herself be swept away in the current of his adoration. When she closed her eyes, as if to give herself up, the longing in the heart of that young man from Peureulak reverberated inside him even more. He wanted to fly her away, lift up that girl who was sprawled on his lap, take her anywhere. . . .Love should be limited to this, gentlemen. But yet, the young couple was not able to resist. On the seventieth night, as her mother traveled home to Muncar, East Java, they were swept so far out in loving and answering each other’s love that the boundaries collapsed. They let themselves burn with passion, while love was left behind. Afterwards, drops of bridal blood, that village myth, were nowhere to be found on the even blue sheet. But, Abdullah didn’t think anything of it. Where, and who, had already thrust through that delicate membrane never fostered any suspicion in his mind. For Abdullah, that was Dewangga’s personal right, his lover who had given her heart as his safe harbor. There was no authority anywhere that could claim that right from her. Abdullah instead gave her the warmest, longest kisses and whispered words of love as they lay exhausted, falling from the peak of pleasure. No woman would ever find this from a man who simply uses her for his own release.

East Jakarta

Jakarta by Joyfull

When for two months Dewangga had no need for sanitary napkins to keep the dark red flow from staining her underwear, and early in the morning was taken ill and suddenly vomited, her mother was beyond happiness. She was so please she hugged Abdullah Peureulak long and hard. Abdullah interpreted this as a sign of welcome to this small family. He felt that embrace was not a demand that he be responsible for what had happened to Dewangga. He considered it a decree that must be followed and love that must be returned.

Dewangga’s mother called a painter. The whole house was repainted, including the front cafe. A few members of her family came from Muncar. The cafe was closed for a whole day and used for the simple wedding ceremony between Abdullah, son of Peureulak, and Dewangga, daughter of Muncar. When his mother-in-law offered to buy him a coat for the ceremony, Abdullah gently refused. He wanted to wear a light blue long-sleeved shirt and black trousers, which he bought himself. By then, besides helping Dewangga’s mother, he had also started selling used books and other goods on Kramat Raya Street, about two kilometers from Bungur.

The cafe, the mother, and Dewangga, her daughter, were a blessing for Abdullah. Hunger had become a thing of the past. The house that doubled as a cafe became his safe haven. His life was slowly crawling upward. It continued as such until one day Abdullah ran into a film actor on the street who invited him back into the world of movies. After thinking long and hard about his safety, he accepted the invitation. In the beginning, he worked as a script boy. A few years later, he was trusted to write scenarios for movies or television shows. His confidence seemed slowly to restore itself, even though he still had to report to the military base once a month. This obligation he fulfilled without his wife’s or his mother-in-law’s knowledge. He was able to buy, on credit, a simple house in East Jakarta. Abdullah, his wife, their two daughters, and his mother-in-law, now old and frail, lived there together. The cafe had been rented out. Abdullah was able to take full responsibility for these four human lives.

The change in their standard of living blew in a fresh breeze that occasionally raised questions. Dewangga, his wife, often encountered things that raised her suspicion. After the collapse of the regime that had ruled for thirty-two years, Abdullah was frequently visited by guests, and from their conversations it seemed that they were old friends. Once he received a visit from a close friend by the name of Sibarani, a music conductor who had studied in a conservatory in Germany. Another day a man named Agam Wispi, a poet, came to call, a man who had been abroad during the political crisis of 1965, and had been forced to remain in the Netherlands. Once there was a telephone call from a man named Sobron Aidit. At least three people called to give news of the death of the actor Zainal Abidin. Many other visitors made Dewangga doubt who exactly her husband Abdullah Peureulak was, the young man adopted by her mother from Senen Market, the handsome tramp with a good heart. Not once but twice, when Dewangga was offering snacks and drinks to her husband’s guests, she noticed Abdullah communicating something with his eyes to his guest, a request not to continue talk of certain politics, looking out of the corner of his eyes at Dewangga, an order not to let his wife hear that kind of talk. Because she was someone else, from a different group. What group, he didn’t know.

But Dewangga never aired her concerns to Abdullah. For her as a wife, there was nothing more that he needed to prove: her husband provided for her and showed her his love everyday, even when their children were grown. Starting the first time their eyes met in the mirror in the cafe in Bungur thirty years ago, Abdullah was always faithful and affectionate to Dewangga, with her eyes that never failed to enchant him.

PKI

The series of strange visitors reminded Dewangga of one episode in their life as a family. Once, because of a school assignment, one of their daughters asked to be taken to Lobang Buaya Museum. After walking through the exhibits, looking at the dioramas of the battle of the generals in 1965, their daughter concluded, “The PKI was so cruel!” Dewangga nodded her head calmly. Abdullah, however, seemed to answer in a cold, small voice, as if he wanted to correct his daughter. A stutter could be heard in his voice, “yes, yes . . . cr . .cruel.”

It didn’t occur to Dewangga to investigate what was in her husband’s heart. She didn’t want Abdullah’s love and faithfulness to waver because of that kind of suspicion.

The dim neon bulb, the stark white walls, the opaque windowpane, and the smell of chloroform in the hospital room pressed down upon them. Coming to the end of his story, still at his wife’s side, Abdullah Perueulak stroked Dewangga’s hand and kissed her eyes, which had been closed the whole time he spoke.

“I’ve said what I wanted to say. Forgive me if I have deceived you. Forgive me if you feel tricked. I had just gotten out of prison for being part of the September 30th Movement when I met you, ‘Ewa.” Abdullah seemed to struggle to pull breath into his chest. For a few moments he was as still as stone, waiting for his wife’s response, as she lay stretched out on the hospital bed.

Dewangga cocked her head a bit and raised her eyelids to look at Abdullah. There was no sadness in those eyes. She looked at him firmly, with resolve. With a smile, she said, “As long as I have known you, you have always been preoccupied with my eyes. Thank you.” Weakly she removed her hand from Abdullah’s grip, and slipped her fingers to her deflated, flat chest. “Take this pendant. I never showed you before, there is a clasp here. Open it and look,” she said.

Abdullah was surprised. His hands shook as he held the ornament. When he opened the clasp, there appeared a kind of green crescent moon. But it looked as if there was a kind of handle at one end of it, the whole design nicely placed on a red medal face. That symbol seemed to have its own charm, forcing Abdullah to bow his head. He remembered that this was the symbol of a farmers’ movement that was launched to demand basic agrarian rights, to limit landholdings to five hectares per person. Landholdings any larger than that were to be seized by landless farmers. The farmers’ movement had banners with this kind of crescent symbol. The movement had led to violent village battles between those with vast expanses of land and the suffering poor.

Chloroform

Boy by Dmitry Berkut

“I felt my father’s kind and loving fingers fasten this necklace with its silver pendant on my neck when I was seventeen. My father never came home again. It was 1965, and an executioner sent from the landlord came to rip him away from us. After that, my mother and I also were arrested. Our freedom was given in return for my body, after the camp commandant forced himself upon me.”

The words themselves made Dewangga’s narrow, emaciated chest tremble, her heart racing when she remembered that most painful time in her life. She wanted to bite her lip until she tasted blood when the memory returned of the figure of the camp commandant who suddenly tossed his green uniform into the corner of the interrogation room and grabbed her, stripping her with the devil in his heart. Dewangga, who had only just become a woman, muffled her scream when the evil authority drove his hard flesh, the same thickness as his big toe, into her groin. He left her, humiliated, sobbing in the corner, when he was finished. She held back drops of blood and stinging pain between her thighs and a stabbing pain behind both her black eyes, the result of refusing the uniformed man’s angry invitation. Tears streamed down her cheeks, strengthening the truth of what her father had once said: how dark the world is, constantly under the threat of violence. Dewangga closed her eyes. And when she looked at Abdullah, waiting like a stone at her side, she knew that the cruelty of that uniformed man could never be compared to the sincere tenderness she had always felt from her husband. In the hands of her husband she had truly been adored as a woman. How honorable Abdullah had been, every time he approached Dewangga with love. He would give himself to her, holding himself back so that they could reach climax together, not allowing either one of them to be disappointed. . . .Uncountable times her husband had kissed her toes, bathing her with kisses until dawn, stroking her whole body after their far travels through love when night fell. Dewangga’s body became flushed remembering all that, comparing this most essential love with the cruelest heartlessness.

The smell of chloroform and the weak neon glow sunk their hearts even further in that small hospital room.

Dewangga looked deeply into her husband’s eyes. She brought his hands, prayer-like, to her chest. “Forgive me, my husband. Forgive my mother as well. And believe me, I am proud to be your wife. I have never regretted it. Never. Not even as much as a strand of hair, split into a thousand.”

Outside, the slowly falling dusk began to spy on them. Dewangga closed her eyes.

First published in Latitudes Magazine

On June 7, 2013 history will be made as Indonesia host the Netherlands for the first time ever in a FIFA International Friendly Match. Louis van Gaal promised to bring his best team to Jakarta for the event, which includes Robin van Persie, Wesley Sneijder, Dirk Kuyt, Arjen Robben, Klaas Jan Huntelaar, and Rafael van der Vaart. Aside from the friendly match, there will also be a couple of exciting supporting events: an open training and a meet and greet. It all takes place at the Gelora Bung Karno Stadium in Jakarta.

For more info and special offers for expats see

http://www.ina.or.id/events/upcoming/inas-events

Dutch Indo Writer Marion Bloem, By Ivan Wolffers

(Introduction) The loss of their soil of birth and enforced emigration meant the beginning of a diaspora of Indonesian Eurasians, in the former Netherlands Indies better known as Indos (from Indo-Europeans).

Dutch attempts to restore colonial rule between 1945 and 1950 had proven the rearguard of a declining colonial power. The defeat of the dictatorial and aggressive regimes Nazi-Germany, fascist Italy and imperialistic Japan left behind a new world order in which there was no room anymore for colonialism. Instead, the self-determination of nations would be the new mantra. In part 2 the author covers the next generation of the Indos.

Indo diaspora is the result of a decolonization process. The colonial background still influences today Indos in diaspora. The dramatic and traumatic experiences of the Japanese occupation, Bersiap period and the involuntary migration abroad are collective issues of nowadays Indos. The never paid salaries of civil servants during wartime and the remembrance of a Dutch government long time trying to prevent Indos coming to the Netherlands are sculptured in Indos’ memory. The need to share feelings, experiences and personal stories is a never ending need. Maybe more than ever Indos start weblogs, websites, organize historical theme sessions, workshops and come together in peer groups. The first generation immigrants had physically experienced the dramatic war an decolonization period. Anxious of an Indo past and ethno-cultural heritage in oblivion, passing on information to next generation created a sense of urgency. The second generation was the first one focused on fully integration in the recipient societies with leaving behind essential Indo cultural elements as the Malayan language, the knowledge of the genuine Indo cuisine, skills like massaging and typical Indo features as belief in supernatural phenomena. In the Netherlands around the mid-eighties of last century this generation began to wonder why their parents kept silent about their life in former Netherlands Indies. A first Indo “revival” started and young writers like Marion Bloem or artists as Ernst Jansz used Indo elements in their works. When a third generation Indos had become adolescents or adults they found themselves amidst a lot of other ethnic groups with distinctive own (sub)cultures and often the same common feature of a darker skin. Searching the social, cultural and ethnic roots, is a way of understand your personality and social position.

Diaspora

A people in diaspora is not only a community of common history, nostalgia or shared traumatic events. Since the first generation repatriated from Indonesia the next generations emerged. Some features of the diaspora like nostalgia and direct traumatic experiences are not te be find anymore among the younger members of the community. These are still regular inhabitants of the country they live in. Second generation Indo immigrants don’t speak or understand Malayan at all. The same in the Netherlands and Australia. The youngest generation Indos is part of a global community and thanks to modern digital social media a direct access is possible to resources of information about Indos past and present. The missing of grandparents to tell stories about the Netherlands Indies is compensated this way. Data, stories and pictures of the Netherlands Indies their grandparents and ancestors enter your screen with some mouse clicks. Indos in diaspora can be connected closer and even create the possibility of an entire Indo community in connection and of a new Indo identity.

More than ever the Indos in diaspora are an imagined community. Going back to the lost country Netherlands Indies is impossibility but instead Indos created a new entity based on memories, shared values and experiences as a substitute of the homeland lost. In a certain way the desire to go back to the (It’s true: imagined) Indies. Thanks to e-mail, the internet and social media like Facebook Indos are a step closer to one Indo community in diaspora.

Racial conscience

Van Halen Family

A last but critical note about Indos and an ethnic or racial conscience. Apparently Indos during their long history had a difficulty with talking openly about the item of skin colour in the colonial and post colonial era. Indos identification was with the white (“totok”) Dutchman, their dreamed role model. Once established in their new homelands Indos never explicitly considered themselves as a different ethnic group. The focus was on finding a job, a house and good education for the children. In general the integration in the recipient societies went well and Indos behaved like Americans or Dutch, and people accepted them as colleagues, friends or neighbours. But in the inside their own community Indos maintained the Indo lifestyle. Eating, dancing and listening music together and sharing experiences did them feel being home in the former Indies.

An example of Indos in diaspora is the Van Halen family. Jan van Halen was n Amsterdam born professional musician who moved to Indonesia after World War II. Looking for new opportunities he faced the increasing anti-Dutch atmosphere in the young, new nation. Fortune did not let him down when he met his later wife Eugenia van Beers, an Indo woman born in the West-Java Lebak region.

4 March 1953 the newly weds repatriated to the Netherlands as staying in Indonesia meant a too insecure career perspective. Their first child Alexander Arthur (Alex) was born 8 May 1953 followed by Edward Lodewijk (Eddie0 26 January 1955. Father Jan earned his living as a free lance musician and was much appreciated in the jazz scene. In 1960 the Netherlands Royal Airforce offered him a job in its official band. Raising two young children he accepted this opportunity in order to secure their future.

However the adventurous and restless Jan van Halen and his wife in 1962 decided to immigrate to sunny and warm California. The enthusiastic and tempting stories of family and friends immigrated to California made the poky, narrow –minded Netherlands with its cold, grey and wet climate, a place to leave as soon as possible.

Handful of dollars

Rockband Van Halen

With a handful of dollars (thirty is said) the family headed for California and settled in the Pasadena region. As so many immigrants there were no nice jobs or a house waiting, but the willingness to do every job, live a sober life and the conviction of working steadily towards welfare and prosperity made the Van Halen family one of the so many successful immigrants.

Indo boys Alex and Eddie van Halen are archetypical symbols of as second generation immigrants who were enabled by their parents to become legendary with their hard rock band Van Halen.

The emigration story of the Van Halen family fits well in the diaspora framework. Leaving a hostile Indonesia while they rather preferred staying in the nice climate, but the securing their own future was a higher priority. The reasons the family left the Netherlands soon are to be found in many other cases of Indo families “transferring” to other countries like United States, Canada, Brazil, Australia and Spain.

As new immigrants the majority would be successful and well integrated in the new fatherlands. Indos also continued to exist as communities with an authentic identity. The Indo subculture of gatherings with their favourite keroncong, Hawaiian or country music, and of course the legendary Indo food nowadays is a vital phenomenon.

See also www.indischhistorisch.nl

Obtaining a US permit

The loss of their soil of birth and enforced emigration meant the beginning of a diaspora of Indonesian Eurasians, in the former Netherlands Indies better known as Indos (from Indo-Europeans).

Dutch attempts to restore colonial rule between 1945 and 1950 had proven the rearguard of a declining colonial power. The defeat of the dictatorial and aggressive regimes Nazi-Germany, fascist Italy and imperialistic Japan left behind a new world order in which there was no room anymore for colonialism. Instead, the self-determination of nations would be the new mantra.

Although the Netherlands and Indonesia agreed to constitute a commonwealth of two independent states, president Soekarno in 1950 started a policy of confrontation. The former coloniser was declared an enemy and the relations between the two states deteriorated fast. This development precluded the massive leave of Europeans in Indonesia. Especially the Indos was made clear their place would not be anymore in Indonesia. Soekarno realized very well the (Indo-) Europeans were indispensable for good governance and business, but he needed the classical instrument of pointing an external enemy in order to hold his multi-ethnic and vast country together. Beside a profound economic crisis as a result of ten years of war had left behind a devastated country and an increasingly dissatisfied population. A disintegration of the young state was really at stake.

Status as Europeans

Dutch captured by Japanese soldiers

Although having the status as Europeans most of them felt the Indonesian archipelago was their natural home and habitat. Indos never had dreamt of living in the land of their cultural and social reference. But now  Indonesia being an independent country the termination of their colonial prerogatives was to be expected. Colonial social stratification and relationships based of the colour bar had become outdated.

Initially in early 1950 Dutch and Indo-Europeans believed Indonesia would give them the same social-economic position in the newly established state. Because of this optimism most of the Indos had opted warga negara or becoming an Indonesian national. That belief proved to be naive and a great mistake. As soon as the (white) Dutch left the country, Indonesia tried to undermine the Indo position and prerogatives. Indonesians claiming an equal position overall in society took over their jobs, possessions and rights. Most Indos realized Indonesia was becoming a hostile environment where Indos, who declared themselves as non-Asians, were treated as foreign elements and anjing (bloodhounds) of the Dutch. Indonesia considered them as hostile, colonial remnants and, grotesque, spies of the imperialistic enemy.

California

Between 1945 and 1965 about persons left Indonesia, almost the complete European community, in five big “waves”. The majority went abroad in this period. Main destination was the Netherlands and some directly went to the United States (especially the “Sunshine” state California), Australia or Spain.

The emigration of Indos is a diaspora according to scientifically based characteristics:
1) An often traumatic dispersion away from the original centre towards peripheral regions. A majority of the Indos were not able to maintain themselves in the hostile atmosphere in Indonesia, their homeland. Not only the first generation of migrants but also their children and future generations are included in the diaspora. Periphery means her: abroad and in most cases the Netherlands and United States.
2) A collective memory, vision, history about the mother country Netherlands Indies.
3) The presumption the recipient country will not fully accept them or even not at all. This causes a feeling of alienation and isolation.
4) The ancestors’ homeland as the ideal place where they will go back to.
5) A strong ethnic conscience.
6) Transnational connections: even long after leaving the homeland people are sending letters and presents and having contacts by phone, telegraph or internet with family and friends left in the homeland. Later, when airline tickets became affordable Indos started spending holidays there.  Transnational connections are strong factors in shaping and preservation of collective identities, in this case as Indo people in diaspora.

Indos dispersion over the world does not have all features of a diaspora:
1) Indos did not induce a troublesome relationship with the recipient society and neither did it emerge after a while. Because of their Western education and orientation Indos easily integrated.
2) The absence of feelings of solidarity with Indos in other countries. This aspect is difficult to determine as it is subjective and maybe overlaying trans nationalism. In general Indos like to recognize and meet other Indos, but to mention this solidarity would go too far.
3) The opportunity of establishing a distinctive, creative and enriching life(style) in the recipient countries. Maybe in a certain extent Indos had this opportunity in the Netherlands. As they mostly were oriented on Dutch values and lifestyle Indos got assimilated rather than being a new (sub)culture influencing the Dutch strongly.
4) Indos are not a cultural, political and ideological a homogenous group and as divers as the recipient societies.

To be continued.

Check www.indischhistorisch.nl

Abdication of Her Majesty the Queen and Swearing in and investiture of the New King Willem-Alexander

30 April 2013

10.00-10.30
Abdication of Her Majesty the Queen in the Moseszaal of the Royal Palace Amsterdam. Those present will include the Presidents of the Senate and the House of Representatives, the Council of Ministers for the Kingdom and members of the Royal Family, the governors and prime-ministers of Aruba, Curaçao and Sint Maarten.

The Queen will give a short address. The Director of the Queen’s Office will then read aloud the instrument of abdication to which the Queen will then give her assent by means of her signature. Finally the instrument of abdication will be signed by the witnesses.

10.30-10.50

His Majesty King Willem-Alexander, Her Majesty Queen Máxima and Her Royal Highness Princess Beatrix of the Netherlands appear on the balcony of the Royal Palace Amsterdam. Princess Beatrix and the King will both give a short address, after which the Wilhelmus will be played. Her Royal Highness the Princess of Orange and Their Royal Highnesses Princess Alexia and Princess Ariane will then join their parents on the balcony.

13.30
Opening of the joint session of the States General, following the entry of the members of the States General, the States of Aruba, Curaçao and St Maarten, the Council of Ministers for the Kingdom and the Council of State.

13.50
Princess Beatrix and other members of the Royal Family proceed to the Nieuwe Kerk.

14.00
The King and the main cortege proceed to the Nieuwe Kerk.

14.00-15.30
Swearing in and investiture of the King at the joint session of the two Houses of the States General in the Nieuwe Kerk. The King will deliver an address and be sworn in. The President of the joint session, Fred de Graaf, will deliver an address and make a solemn declaration, after which members of the States General and the States of Aruba, Curaçao and St Maarten swear an oath or make an affirmation.

15.30
The King and his retinue proceed to the Royal Palace Amsterdam.

16.30-18.00
Reception for royal and foreign missions, dignitaries and members of the States General and the States of Aruba, Curaçao and St Maarten, Council of Ministers for the Kindom, the Council of State, governors and prime-ministers of Aruba, Curacao and Sint Maarten and the Corps Diplomatique in the Royal Palace Amsterdam.

19.30
The Song for the King will be performed in the presence of the King and Queen, prior to the water pageant. This will take place at the EYE Film Museum via a video link with Ahoy Rotterdam.

19.45-21.30
The King and Queen will take part in a water pageant with their daughters on the River IJ. They will sail from EYE Film Institute past the Oever Park and the ‘Kop van Java’. At several places along the route they will be treated to a festive programme, including a ‘mini Sail’.

21.30
Celebration, hosted by the Prime Minister on behalf of the Council of Ministers for the Kingdom.