Chineseness in Sino-Malay printing: a triptych of self-criticism

ABSTRACT

From late-colonial times, Chinese-Indonesian writers began formulating competing notions of belonging and diasporic identity. Two political ideologies coexisted. The first and oldest was rooted in the ideals of the 1911 Revolution and encouraged the Indies Chinese to devote themselves to the “fatherland.” This movement attempted to resinicise those culturally hybrid Peranakan families in particular. The second group perceived the Indonesian archipelago as its home and advocated for more integration into the Indies society, often in solidarity with Indigenous people. The resulting tensions manifested themselves on the pages of vernacular publications. This article juxtaposes journalism, fiction and poetry as mutually reinforcing platforms to articulate, problematise and debate Chineseness. These genres and the slightly different messages they produced reveal evolving worldviews and a lack of consensus as key Indies Chinese experiences. Periodicals started exhibiting a greater diversity of opinions by the 1930s. A similar tendency is seen in novels and short stories in which pro-China and pro-Indies factions were often criticised in roughly equal measure. These fictionalised debates offer valuable insights into society’s faults and fissures. Fiction is relevant as it grappled with otherwise elusive social taboos, such as romantic encounters between different communities. Lastly, poetry was the genre par excellence to express frustration, aided by the rhetorical devices of sarcasm and translingual creativity. Across these genres, language proves crucial to understanding society’s conflicting expressions of Chineseness. While most of the discourse took place in vernacular Malay, acculturation through profuse borrowing from Hokkien helped to forge a discourse of identification and belonging.

KEYWORDS:

• Sino-Malay printing
• Indonesia
• Chinese identity
• vernacular literature
• journalism

Introduction

Indonesia offers valuable insights to global discussions about Chineseness. What were once widespread concepts—such as overseas Chinese, the Chinese diaspora and even the notion of Chinese itself—are increasingly considered inadequate to capture the diverse lived experiences of Chinese-descended Indonesians (Ang 2001; Sai 2016). Their unique cultural practices have attracted various alternative labels, of which creolisation and the Sinophone gained the most traction, including elsewhere in Southeast Asia (Bernards 2015; Shih 2007, 2013; Skinner 1996). In addition, a vibrant discourse has emerged within Indonesia’s Chinese communities, largely but not entirely detached from the international academic arena.

This article highlights Indonesian articulations of Chineseness from 1920 to 1941. The vernacular Malay media, in which Chinese entrepreneurs played a crucial role, formed the centre stage of these debates. This Sino-Malay print culture grew more politicised around the 1911 Revolution. Journalists for the periodical Sin Po, collaborating with the Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan (Chinese Meeting Hall) and other chauvinistic institutions, started promoting a resinicisation movement in which they reinvented themselves as overseas Chinese (hoakiao). Following centuries of indifference towards Chinese populations abroad, Beijing began espousing similar Pan-Chinese views from the 1900s. The Sino-Malay texts from this period have informed discussions of Chineseness as well as scholarship on this topic. Previous scholarship has shown that China-oriented activists sought to unite the Indies Chinese and improve their communal position through a Confucianist, masculinist brand of nationalism. They took issue with the colony’s segregationist settlement policies, obligatory sartorial markers, travel restrictions, lack of educational opportunities, imposition of Dutch subjecthood and the prospect of military service (Chin 2021; Coppel 1981; Rieger 1995; Suryadinata 1981; Tjiook-Liem 2009; Williams 1960). By the mid-1920s, a more Indies-oriented narrative found its way into the Sino-Malay press. Spearheaded by Kwee Tek Hoay (1886–1951) and other critics of the existing Sinocentric discourse, the Chinese organisations in the Indies and the slow progress in China itself, these authors envisioned a future in the archipelago through Indies citizenship and emancipation within the colonial system. Especially from the 1930s, the Indies Chinese landscape featured a variety of pro-Dutch, pro-Republic of China (ROC), pro-Indonesian and neutral organisations (Coppel 1977b; Rieger 1995; Suryadinata 1981).

The competing expressions of Chineseness that emerged in this period were strongly encapsulated in language. While linguistic proficiencies differed between individuals, many Indies Chinese were multilingual. As I aim to demonstrate, vernacular Malay text are most informative on internal debates on Chineseness. Because the Chinese language media were generally of a pro-China orientation and the Dutch media of a pro-Dutch one, neither reveal the same wealth of illuminating disagreements. The Malay adopted by Indies Chinese journalists, novelists and poets was peppered with Hokkien, the heritage language of most Chinese-Indonesian families (Hoogervorst 2021b). These loan words provided the epistemic foundations of a burgeoning discourse on identity and belonging.¹ The terminology for Chinese people provides a case in point. Traditionally, the most common term for someone identified as Chinese was “Tang person” (Tenglang, Thunglang).² The Malay word “tjina” was also used both for the country and the people, yet gradually acquired pejorative connotations. From the early twentieth century onwards, “Tionghoa” became the more polite alternative and was widely adopted by journalists (Coppel and Suryadinata 1978; Hoogervorst 2021b, 33–35).

While linguistic proficiencies, cultural orientations and political allegiances were somewhat fluid and did not always neatly map onto each other, the Indies Chinese displayed great internal differences. Two commonly distinguished subgroups were Totoks and Peranakans. The former had arrived more recently and maintained closer connections with China. Those categorised as Totok, “full-blooded,” invariably spoke Sinitic languages and observed Chinese customs. A partly overlapping term was “sinke” (new guest), which carried connotations of poor adjustment to life in the Indies. Conversely, the Malay word “Peranakan” referred to someone born—“di beranakin” in colloquial Malay—outside their ethnic homeland, often of mixed ancestry, and thus, belonging to the archipelago. A Peranakan man was also known under the name “baba.” While Peranakans were the dominant group in Java, many other islands had a Totok majority. An important marker of Peranakanness was proficiency in Malay and/or other local languages. Some Peranakan women also adopted Indigenous styles of dress and chewed betel, a local intoxicant. A person’s place of birth also mattered. In the novel Toea Bangka! (Old Sod), for example, a son of Totok parents was categorised as a Peranakan because he grew up in the Indies and spoke Malay without an accent:

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Sasoenggoenja djoega A Kioen ada saorang toeroenan Tionghia-totok, tetapi ia sendiri soedah masoek peranakan, kerna ia terlahir di Tasikmalaja. Iapoenja papa dan mama masih 100% Tionghoa-totok, tetapi ia sendiri soedah djadi baba dengen omongnja poen tida beda sebagi pranakan. (Pouw 1936, 9)

In fact, A Kioen was of Totok Chinese descent, although he had become a Peranakan himself, since he was born in Tasikmalaya. His father and mother were still 100% Totok Chinese, but he had become a baba himself and his speech did not differ from that of Peranakans.

This study foregrounds Sino-Malay texts that articulate (self-)critical notions of Chineseness. It does so through three genres of print culture—journalism, fiction and poetry—written in the same type of vernacular Malay, often by the same authors and circulated through the same distribution networks. The first section inspects pro-Chinese journalism from the 1920s and 1930s (when the movement had already lost most of its momentum), which were replete with anxieties about cultural decline. The second section zooms in on published stories and their ability to capture conflicting notions of Chineseness through fictional disagreements between characters. The obsession of many authors with interracial love reveals some of the fissures and fault lines within the community. The third section centres on a book–length poem (sair) that criticises both the ROC and the Indies Chinese, fusing moralistic meddling, witty observations and linguistic creativity. By bringing these three types of excepts into conversation, I demonstrate that the China- and Indies-oriented factions were willing to adjust their views, strike middle grounds and admonish their own ranks, yet never completely outgrew their ideological differences. From the vantage point of the Sino-Malay press, Chineseness was subject to constant negotiation, localisation and self-criticism.

Conquered slaves, Malay ghosts and opium addicts

Some of Indonesia’s most lively discussions about Chineseness were held on the pages of Sin Po and Hoakiao. The former periodical, based in the capital Batavia, was founded in 1910 as one of the first Netherlands Indies newspapers to adopt an explicitly anti–colonial stance, albeit in a non-interventionist way. It became one of the most popular Sino-Malay newspapers. The latter, based in Surabaya, had considerably fewer subscribers but featured similar ideological positions. While chiefly written in vernacular Malay—with recurring sections in Chinese and Dutch in Sin Po—both periodicals advocated for a progressive nationalism consisting of unity between Totoks and Peranakans, the patronage of Chinese products and the boycott of Japanese ones. They encouraged the Indies Chinese to reconnect with their imagined homeland and combat Westernisation and assimilation into Indonesia’s Indigenous mainstream.

A common practice was the humiliation of those perceived as unpatriotic or pro–Dutch. For instance, in a 1926 article titled “Kabanggahan Kosong” (Empty Pride), Sin Po’s editors scoffed at the attempts of Indies Chinese men to enhance their self-esteem using Western suits, walking canes and glasses and by ingratiating themselves with the ruling classes, buying half a dozen cars and erecting large buildings so that “the white faces won’t look down on us Chinese people” (pek bien tida djadi kwaboh sama kita tenglang) (“Kebanggahan kosong” 1926). Predictably, the only editorially acceptable way to improve their communal position was to pledge full loyalty and support—both financially and through voluntary service—to the ROC. Those who failed to defend the ROC physically and intellectually or adopted Indies citizenship over the Chinese nationality were deemed complicit in turning their race into conquered slaves (bong kok nouw). The Peranakans, with their acculturated habits, were particularly liable to such disciplinary tropes. Perceived as out of touch with their Chinese heritage, they could be dismissed as not Chinese (m si Tenglang), neglecters of their roots (bong-poen) and Malay ghosts (malaijkoei) (“Bahaja pemisahan” 1929; Liok 1941). A common way to describe Chinese people who had assimilated into the Indigenous community, typically through marriage and conversion to Islam, was “becoming a foreigner” (djip hoan). This term is related to the word “hoana,” which was used—often in a casually derogatory way—for Indigenous Southeast Asians (Hoogervorst 2021b, 35–36). As will be explained later, the frequent conflation of Peranakans with Indigenous people was anything but innocent; it was contrived to castigate them for not being Chinese enough.

One of Sin Po’s regular contributors, writing under the initials S.O.S., displayed a particular grudge against Peranakans. In one article, the author belaboured that Totoks were stronger and more adventurous than Peranakans, regretting the latter’s reluctance to seek their fortune away from home (S.O.S. 1927). The attribution of superior physical strength to Totoks was common in the Sino-Malay discourse, as in the contemporary European discourse, with pseudoscientific explanations blaming the Peranakans’ Indigenous blood for their alleged indolence. The tradition of travelling abroad, known in Sino-Malay as “going out” (djoet-gwa), was among the many admirable Chinese traits the Peranakans stood accused of having abandoned. In the author’s own words, “the skill to go from one place to another has apparently been burned to a crisp under the Southeast Asian sun” (sifat mengoembara kaliatan soeda kering kabakar matahari di Lam Yang) (S.O.S. 1927, 552). A degree of cherrypicking is palpable here; long-distance travel while one’s parents are still alive would have contradicted rather than epitomised Confucian values.

In another op-ed, S.O.S. took issue with the burgeoning view that Peranakans belonged in Indonesia and were destined to develop a distinct culture. The author condescended that these babaisten (“babaists”) can never create a civilisation beyond the universally ridiculed traditions of lower-class Eurasians. What the Peranakans considered their culture was, still according to S.O.S., a nauseating medley of shrimp paste and vulgar theatre:

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Dari cultuurloosheid tjoema bisa kaloear “kasopanan stamboel” atawa “cultuur trasi” seperti djoega dari bangke tjoema bisa kaloear … blatoeng … Dalem marika poenja cultuurloosheid si baba djadi seperti vuilnisbak; cultuur Tionghoa jang dikenal tjoema beroepa semangkok bami atawa saboengkoes samkiok; dari cultuur Djawa ia tjoema bisa ambil over doekoen semboer, sirih dan lontong rames; dari cultuur Blanda marika sering tjoema ambil over dansa mesoem dan sjempie. (S.O.S. 1930)^3

Culturelessness can only bring forth a “stage-show civilisation” or a “shrimp-paste culture,” just like a corpse can only bring forth … maggots … In their culturelessness, the baba is like a waste container; the only Chinese culture they understand consists of a cup of noodles or a deck of “three chrysanthemums”; from the Javanese culture they can’t adopt anything beyond shaman paediatricians, betel and mixed sticky rice; from the Dutch culture they only tend to adopt obscene dancing and champagne.

To their credit, Sin Po and the other China-oriented periodicals facilitated a broader range of opinions than the vacuous pomposity exemplified above. A journalist writing under the name Miss Naoh (chiefly for Hoakiao) arrived at an opposite conclusion: the obsession with “pure” traditions was not a sign of laudable conservatism but of deplorable retrogression. She believed Chinese people lagged behind because they still pretended to live in the era of Confucius. She complained that Chinese men wore pyjamas like pork butchers while women dressed like Indigenous people and walked around barefoot. Miss Naoh hastened to add that Chinese women should resist the sartorial preferences of Europeans: “White people can walk around the main roads stark naked. That’s none of our business” (Orang koelit poeti boleh telandjang boelet di straat besar. That’s none [sic] our business) (Miss Naoh 1927, 26). Instead, she argued that true progress was made in the realm of radical change. Attempts to achieve it slowly had kept the Chinese spirit akin to that of an opium addict (aphiansian). Here rings the voice of a seasoned reformer, choosing concrete action over historical self–aggrandisement.

Kwee Hing Tjiat (1891–1939), another frequent contributor to and editor of Hoakiao, was among the Peranakan authors who had radically altered their views over time. He had been uncompromisingly pro-China during his early years, yet his sympathy dissipated when he actually had to live there (Salmon 1981, 201–202). He found China’s tough living conditions prohibitive for the Indies-born Peranakans. Thus, their hollow neo-Confucianism, Sinophilia and gullibility of a type he may have once espoused himself began to bother him. In an article written during his exile in Shanghai, he railed against their conservative attitudes—masqueraded under the guise of civilisation—which had previously damaged China. Just as Bernard Shaw wielded his pen to correct the behaviour of the English, Henry Louis Mencken that of the Americans and Hu Shih of the Chinese, Kwee Hing Tjiat proclaimed to take issue with the “village idiots” obsessed with nationalism (gong-kok): “China currently tries to imitate Europe, so why are Overseas Peranakans imitating the manners of noodles salesmen?” (Tiongkok sendiri sekarang lagi tjoba tiroe Europa, bagimana Hoakiauw peranakan maoe tiroe tjaranja toekang bami?). He despised their meaningless slogans, “Long live China!”, pointing out that “China will live fine without you!” (Tiongkok vivra bien sans loe!) (Kwee 1930, 4).⁴ On the oft-proclaimed Totok excellence, he observed:

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Katanja, orang Tionghoa peranakan ada males, bodo dan pengetjoet serta boros, hingga tjoema bisa djadi klerk sadja, sedeng orang Tionghoa totok ada tjerdik, himat, radjin dan taba, hingga dari djoeal katjang goreng achirnja ia bisa djadi millionair. (Kwee 1930, 4)

They say that Peranakan Chinese are lazy, stupid, cowardly and wasteful, so that they can only become clerks, while Totok Chinese are smart, frugal, diligent and tough, so that they can start from selling roasted peanuts and eventually become millionaires.

While Kwee Hing Tjiat had come to loath such supremacist tropes, he was quick to admit that their rags-to-riches “roasted peanuts” mentality had indeed sustained Totoks in the past. However, their work ethos was irrelevant in the era of aeroplanes and radios. Even Kian Gwan, the world’s largest Chinese trading company, now employed Western-educated Peranakans instead of Chinese-educated Totoks. Kwee Hing Tjiat insisted he had nothing against the latter community: “Among the Totoks we find many honourable and nice people, while among the Peranakans there are many ‘sinkes’, just as there are many white ‘kaffers’ in Amsterdam” (Antara kaoem Tionghoa totok ada banjak orang moelia dan tjakep, sementara antara kaoem Tionghoa peranakan ada banjak “singke,” seperti djoega di Amsterdam ada banjak “kaffers” poeti) (Kwee 1930, 4).⁵ Indeed, the term “sinke” was commonly used as a swearword.

Echoing the findings of his colleague, Miss Naoh, Kwee Hing Tjiat concluded that Chinese people could only catch up with other nations if they modernised their ways. No more nonsense about Chinese boxers who could hear the wind and catch bullets with chopsticks. None of that impressed the Indies Chinese girls, many of whom, he observed, preferred European or at least Westernised husbands these days. Perhaps Europeans have nicer faces and bodies than Chinese? (Kwee 1930, 5) The author’s cynicism evidently offered a conduit for his mounting frustration with uncritical Chinese nationalism.

Not Chinese, not quite Muslims and failed Dutchmen

Tan Boen Soan (1905–1952), also writing under the pseudonym Chen Wen Zwan, was a journalist and novelist whose writings grappled with societal injustice (Salmon 1981, 314–315). His 109-page novel Baba Fantasie, set in Java during the 1930s Great Depression, recounted the story of the impoverished Peranakan Liem Ing Han. This Dutch-educated protagonist saw his former classmates achieving bright futures; all doors were open for Europeans, Javanese aristocrats obtained lucrative positions within the colonial system, and even Totoks often managed to claw their way out of poverty. Broke, jobless, swindled, imprisoned and eventually exiled, Ing Han’s hardship symbolised a growing anxiety among Peranakans of being outmanoeuvred by all other groups. Nevertheless, while Tan Boen Soan portrayed Chinese poverty as a disproportionate injustice, he was by no means blind to the fate of the Indonesian masses. During his detention in the penal colony Poelo Hantoe,⁶ Ing Han had a long conversation with his fellow detainee, Dirdjo, after which he realised that Chinese and Indigenous Indonesians had a lot in common even though their interactions were typically restricted to the economic sphere (Tan 1939, 74–80).

The novel also explored the vast differences within the Peranakan community. The exclusivist upper class was embodied by Sie Eng Seng, Ing Han’s arrogant classmate who liked to dance, spoke Dutch and dressed European. He embodied the cultural archetype of the Chinese dandy, a common staple in Sino-Malay fiction.⁷ To Eng Seng, traditional notions of Chineseness were mere posturing. He berated his female classmate, Giok Lian:

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Tionghoa? Ha! Ha! Ha! Kaoe orang memang ada Tionghoa jang bagoes. Kaoe ngabatjeo dalem laen bahasa, pake pakean laen bangsa, tapi tida betjoes bahasa sendiri, masih ngakoe Tionghoa! (Tan 1939, 19)

Chinese? Ha! Ha! Ha! You people are great Chinese indeed. All you do is talk in other languages, dress like other people, fail to speak your own language, while still calling yourself Chinese!

The verdict of this unapologetically Westernised Peranakan partly overlaps with the resinicisation discourse—the Indies community had become culturally orphaned—although their solutions differed. Eng Seng’s mimicry of Westerners prompted him to kiss Giok Lian on her cheek, enraging her Totok father, A Hong. “You whitewashed baba, crazy baba, Dutch-obsessed baba!” (Baba-tjat, baba edan, baba gila Blanda!) A Hong exclaimed while chasing his daughter’s unwelcome suitor from his porch. “You old sinke!” (Singkhe toea!) replied the cocky youngster, again demonstrating the word’s pejorative power (Tan 1939, 19). Eng Seng eventually realised the error of his ways, renounced his Western values and embraced his roots. He apologised to A Hong and disclosed his ambitions to move to China. The chauvinistic A Hong believed that “it would be best for us Chinese not to end up like the Jewish people, who are chased from one country to another, with nowhere to take shelter, and when they die it’s unclear where they should be buried” (Baeknja kita orang Tionghoa belon djadi bangsa Jahoedi jang dioeber dari satoe ke laen negri, zonder ada tempat boeat menedoeh dan djikaloe mati tida taoe moesti dikoeboer di mana) (Tan 1939, 41).⁸ His advice to Eng Seng epitomised the disparity between Totoks and Peranakans:

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Kaloe maoe hidoep di Tiongkok moesti boeang adat baba. Tjara royal-royalan dan maen perlente tida kena di Tiongkok, sebaliknja moesti hidoep sanget himat dan makan seadanja. (Tan 1939, 69)

If you want to live in China, you have to get rid of your baba customs. Extravagant spending and stylishness won’t work in China, where you’ll have to live very frugally and eat whatever there is.

This is hardly the place to divulge the disastrous aftermath of Eng Seng’s journey to China, a place increasingly portrayed as “the Other” in Sino-Malay fiction.⁹ More relevant is the theme in Baba Fantasie and other contemporary fiction of romantic encounters between different groups: Chinese and non-Chinese or Totoks and Peranakans. This discourse was emancipatory in its refreshing take on Chinese men marrying Dutch women (Hoogervorst 2021a, 118–122). At the same time, the notion of Chinese women dating outside their race remained almost universally frowned upon, especially if such a union prompted her to abandon traditional Chinese values. Most widespread were relationships between Chinese men and Indigenous women. In particular, affluent Chinese men “kept” one or more Indigenous women (piara Hoana-po), which was largely condoned if they had already married a Chinese woman.

The 1937 story Anak Mangsat! (Damned Kid), published in serialised form in Sin Po, is remarkable in its endorsement of interracial marriage. Its author, who used the pseudonyms Pek Djit (The Sun) and Sunnyside, regularly published short stories in Sin Po from 1937 to 1941. In Anak Mangsat!, a conservative family received a letter from their youngest son stating his intent to marry an Indigenous actress and convert to Islam. After a barrage of stereotypes in both directions and numerous attempts to sabotage their relationship, love eventually persevered. However, before it did, the paterfamilias, Souw Tiam Hoe, complained to his childhood friend, Gouw Soe Hoat, about his son’s lack of filial piety (poethauw) causing him to feel ashamed (siauwlee). Somewhat unexpectedly, Soe Hoat jumped to the couple’s defence and justified their relationship:

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Loe ini salah, Hoe, goea bilang loe salah. Apa djahatnja orang kawin sama Hoana, atawa sama Holan, atawa sama Thunglang? Goea sih pikir orang kawin paling perloe dia bisa hap, bisa idoep-roekoen, abis perkara. Perdoeli apa sama Hoana atawa sama Thunglang? Sama Thunglang djoega kaloe bee-hap apa goenanja? (Pek Djit 1937, 4)

You’re wrong, Hoe, I’m telling you you’re wrong. What’s so bad about marrying Indigenous people, or Dutch people, or Chinese people? I think marriage only requires being compatible and getting along, that’s it. Who cares if it’s with an Indigenous or Chinese person? If it’s with a Chinese but they’re incompatible, what’s the point?

Another happy interracial marriage was narrated by Thio Tjin Boen (1885 to c.1940), who had made a name for himself as a journalist, novelist, translator, editor and editor-in-chief (Salmon 1981, 337–338). His 1921 novel, Anak Siapa? (Whose Child?) celebrated the love between a Chinese man, Tjan Mo Seng, and a Javanese woman, Soekmi. In this instance, the mother had to be appeased while her husband was sympathetic from the beginning. After all, as Mr Tjan pointed out, the true differences between Indigenous and local Chinese women were negligible:

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Na, potong gigi, mengoenja siri, pake kain kebaja, ngomongnja Soenda, bahasa Tionghoa sepata tidak betjoes, ada apa lagi jang djadi laen? Jaaa, ada, jaitoe makan babi sama tida, itoe sadja bedanja. (Thio 1921, 80–81)

Well, they file their teeth, chew betel, wear a long-sleeved blouse, speak Sundanese, are unable to speak Chinese, is there anything they do differently? Yeah, there is, eating pork or not, that’s the only difference.

In a moment of epiphany, Mrs Tjan scrutinised the traditional Chinese attitudes towards women and realised the particular depravity of mistreating daughters-in-law.¹⁰ She also took issue with her people’s endless complaining about Indigenous Indonesians. If we dislike them so much, she questioned, why do we choose to live and die in their country? (Thio 1921, 112). This was a common way of thinking: the Chinese were guests, indissolubly connected to China and inhabiting someone else’s country (hidoep di negri orang). Simultaneously, it was obvious how vastly Peranakan families had drifted away from the so-called authentic Chinese. Echoing the advocates for Dutch subjecthood, Mrs Tjan started wondering whether the Peranakans could not become a distinct population:

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Maka akoe sering pikir, kita ini sebetoelnja djadi bangsa apa? Dikata Tionghoa, kita tjoema mirip-mirip sadja, maoe dikata bangsa Djawa, djoega boekan. Apa bisa djadi, jang kita orang Peranakan di Hindia Olanda aken djadi soeatoe bangsa sendirian? (Thio 1921, 111)

This often makes me think: what kind of people are we supposed to be? We’re said to be Chinese, but only look like them; neither can we be called Javanese. Would it be possible for us Peranakans in the Netherlands Indies to become a separate people?

Thio Tjin Boen also explored the relationship between Totoks and Peranakans. His 1920 novel, Dengan Doea Cent djadi Kaja (Becoming Rich with Two Cents) told the tale of Lie Yoe Hok, a shopkeeper’s son (tauke khia), and his multiple tragedies: the loss of his parents, his family’s store and his wealth, his fraught relationship with an Indigenous prostitute, Idjah, and his opium addiction. Against all odds, the protagonist slowly rebuilt his fortune from scratch. One of the most insightful parts of this novel was a long conversation overheard by Yoe Hok between his elderly neighbour, Entjek Koen, and the latter’s unnamed guest. Both were Totok Chinese conversing in Hokkien, which Yoe Hok picked up as a shopkeeper despite being a Peranakan. Throughout the conversation, Entjek Koen defended his ill–fortuned neighbour while his guest incessantly came up with new ways to attack him. Despite Yoe Hok’s efforts to atone for his mistakes and his belated renunciation of opium, his detractor asserted:

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Ja, lantaran tida ada oewangnja. Kaloe ada, tentoe isep lagi. Begitoelah memangnja pranakan, makan maoe enak, pake maoe bagoes, kerdja tida maoe, soerat tida taoe, bahasa tida bisa, tjis, lebi tjilaka dari Hoana. Kebanjakan sinke tinggalin harta banda, si peranakan jang bikin abis … begitoelah saja poenja pemandangan atas peranakan, jang tjoema namanja sadja Tionghoa, tetapi saja maoe bilang Tionghoa boekan, Selam tanggoeng, Belanda poen oeroeng. (Thio 1920, 65–66, 70)

Yeah, only because he doesn’t have the money. If he did, he’d start smoking it again. That’s how Peranakans are, they like good food, nice clothes, don’t want to work, cannot write [Chinese], don’t speak the language, ugh, they’re worse than Indigenous people. Most sinkes create wealth, while Peranakans spend it … that’s my opinion about Peranakans, who are only Chinese in name, but I would say they’re not Chinese, not quite Muslims, and failed Dutchmen.

The latter statement feeds into the familiar trope of culturelessness.¹¹ However, the dialogue was more than a vulgar exchange of prejudices; it offered a metaphor for the tortuous internal dynamics of the Indies Chinese. In the eyes of Entjek Koen, Lie Yoe Hok was a virtuous man (taij tiang hoe), a suitable son-in-law even. Had he been a vagabond (oe lou bo tjoe), like a dog with no master, things would have been different. But this person, while broken, could be fixed (e tha tiap). The Peranakans, he reminded his guest, are like children to us. They would not exist if not for sinkes, who have grossly neglected their parental duties:

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Sesoedanja kita sinke tida maoe adjar anak sendiri bitjara Tionghoa, achirnja sesoedanja si anak atawa lebi betoel dikata si peranakan tida bisa bitjara kita, lantas kita kasi sala padanja? (Thio 1920, 71–72)

After we sinkes have been reluctant to teach our own children to speak Chinese, these children, or, more correctly, these Peranakans, ended up unable to speak our language. And then we place the blame on them?

According to Entjek Koen, this was chiefly a Hokkien problem; at least the Hakkas and Cantonese taught their children the language and sent them to China for their education. The Hokkiens, by contrast, allowed them to become lost—no wonder the Peranakans ended up hating them. Their “children” could hardly be accused of neglecting their Chinese origins; the establishment of Chinese schools (Tiong Hoa Hak Tong) was a Peranakan initiative. It had been their conscious choice to elevate Mandarin as the language of instruction, which is easier to learn than Hokkien (Thio 1920, 72–73).¹²

However, his guest rejoined, these modern schools do not teach classical texts. Their pupils do not learn about the Four Books (Soe Si) or the Five Classics (Ngo Keng). They are ignorant of the Five Cardinal Relationships (Ngo Loen) and Family Etiquette (Ke Le). This argument hardly convinced Entjek Koen. After all, he queried, did Totoks really understand these heavy readings and apply them to their daily lives? Did the Confucian classics stop them from dressing unsophisticatedly, spitting everywhere and shouting in public? Moreover, why do we perceive ourselves as civilised while others—including white people—laugh at us? For Entjek Koen, the solution was obvious. We must discard all our filthy, stingy and coarse habits if we want the world to notice our civilisation (boen beng) (Thio 1920, 74–77).

With no shortage of melodrama, his guest declared that having a Peranakan son–in–law was a deplorable action (jaw sioea tau lou) and a life-destroying (sat seng) one at that. He was clutching at straws. Such talk, Entjek Koen retorted, is the superstition of Buddhist monks. Why should decrees from India outweigh our beautiful Daoism and Confucianism? (Thio 1920, 77–79).

A poem on the diseases of the Chinese people

In 1923, a 67-page diatribe titled Sair Tjerita Penjakitnja Rahajat Tiongkok (Poem on the Diseases of the Chinese People) appeared from the pen of Han Bing Hwie. It was hardly the first Sino-Malay poem that aimed to improve the Chinese mentality,¹³ although it arguably stood out with its razor-sharp wit and criticism. Not much is known about the author, who wrote under the pseudonym H. Brightson, except his origins in Gurah, Kediri, and several additional works by his hand (Salmon 1981, 178–179). Replete with lively alternations between Malay, Hokkien and some English, the poem was professedly written for entertainment. One quickly wonders how entertained its targets would have been. The author diagnosed no less than 35 diseases battering the Chinese nation. To Han Bing Hwie, the execrable state of the ROC mirrored the disposition of its people. Unlike some of his contemporaries, the author did not portray China as “the Other.” If anything, he was equally critical of the Chinese living in the Indies.

After some introductory stanzas, the poem quickly launched into an enumeration of perceived shortcomings. The first disease was the use of opium, which heralded the disgraceful British acquisition of Hong Kong and turned China’s population into drug addicts. The second ailment, as the author asserted, was a lack of harmony. When the poem was written, the ROC had indeed suffered through the Warlord Era and all its chaos, fragmentation and warring coalitions. Han Bing Hwie summarised the situation in a mixed Malay-Hokkien idiom:

Table

Soenggoe doerhaka itoe kebanjakan tokoen Tjin tioo boo tjing lie! Tjin tioo bo gauw koen! Dia poenja soldaat2 di adjarin swie kee koen Sat ka tie thong pauw ee liat wie tjiang koen. (Han 1923, 8)

Most of the warlords are truly wicked Absolutely immoral! Absolutely no joke! Their soldiers are taught sui ke kun^14 All those generals are killing their own compatriots.

The above term “thongpauw” (compatriot) was widespread in China-oriented texts and often surfaced in one breath with “kiaopauw” (countryman living abroad), again reflecting the conviction that Chinese communities in the Indies constituted little more than a temporary anomaly. Han Bing Hwie proceeded to reprimand the Indies Chinese for only thinking about themselves (kokatie). This sad state of affairs was exacerbated by the third Chinese disease: their proclivity to adopt other nationalities (masoek laen kebangsa’an). This was indeed a common anxiety among Indonesia’s pro-China factions. According to the author:

Table

Ia loepa toelang koelitnja jang dari Tiongkok Djoega loepa bangsa sendiri dan loepa tjo kok Soenggoe pengetjoet itoe kebanjakan bitjokok Orang begitoe; lehernja haroes di …  (Han 1923, 10)

They forget that their bones and skin are from China They also forget their own people and fatherland What a bunch of cowards most of these frauds are People like that, they ought to have their throat …

The fourth stanza omitted the final word; however, the rhyme pattern makes it abundantly clear that those who betray their roots deserve to have their throat cut (dibatjok).

The fourth Chinese disease was an extension of the third: the practice among Indies Chinese of becoming Dutch subjects (naturalisatie) or—especially among the elites—applying for the legal status of being European (gelijkstelling).¹⁵ According to the author, these compatriots were so desperate as to powder their skin white. They willingly died on behalf of other people—a clear reference to the aforementioned bugbear of military conscription—yet refused to fight for China (Han 1923, 11–12). Chinese women raised their children as Europeans and were delighted when their husbands ascended the colonial ladder. They rejected Confucianism (Khong Tjoe Kauw) while embracing Christianity. They danced the tango and shook hands like Europeans. Invoking two obvious metaphors for Westernisation, cheese and snow, the poet concluded:

Table

Inilah hatsilnja kakenjangan kedjoe Djadi kik lat nja terlaloe ladjoe Sabagi roda djalan di saldjoe Melaenkan laga Europa marika toedjoe. (Han 1923, 13)

This is what you get from too much cheese Their determination is going at full tilt Like a wheel driving through the snow All they strive for are European manners.

In rapid succession, many additional ailments followed. The fifth disease was cowardice, and the sixth was embarrassment (phaij seng khie), making the Chinese careless (tjhin tjhaij) in their dealings with imperialists. The seventh disease was their reluctance to share their skills (khêng po) with compatriots. The eighth was their obsession with status (gila hormat), causing the enormous competition between different Chinese associations.¹⁶ One association is enough, assured the author, urging his compatriots to follow the example of the Indigenous mass organisation Sarekat Islam. The ninth flaw was being easily bored (bosen), crippling once-successful organisations like the Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan. A tenth problem was the complete isolation between rich and poor people, and the eleventh was being greedy (rakoes), with food as well as extramarital relationships (Han 1923, 30–31).

We have now made it through one-third of the poem. The twelfth disease was wastefulness (borosken oewang). At this point, the author steered his focus back to China. The thirteenth disease was the lack of good education, with only a few universities and hardly enough vocational schools. The fourteenth disease was the love of Chinese people for money. While fathers work without resting, their children merely throw the money away. Even after death, parents suffer. Chinese funerals are permeated with money and rituals; however, as the fifteenth defect provided, only the will (sientjie) of deceased people is genuinely venerated. The sixteenth disease was superstition. To Han Bing Hwie, those who worship statues of the folk deity Twapekong were truly idiots. This particular impugnation enraged the poem’s typesetter, who commented in a footnote: “You, Sir, are an even bigger idiot! Got it!?” (Sianseng lebi goblok lagi! Mengerti!?) (Han 1923, 37).

The seventeenth Chinese disease was the animosity between sinkes and babas. The following lines exemplify two tendencies we have observed previously: the delegitimisation of Peranakans on account of their Indigenous blood and the assertion that their relationship with the “real” Chinese is that of children with their fathers:

Table

Kaoem singke pandang baba banjak menghina Anggep bangsa baba darahnja koerang sempoerna Baba dianggep ada berdarah separo hwana Sebab baba boekan dilahirken dalem negri China Sebaliknja baba pandang singke enteng terlaloe Baba loepa tjokong nja ada singke tempo dahoeloe Kebanjakan baba semoea bawa adat barat selaloe Djadi singke pandang baba djemoe meloeloe. (Han 1923, 39)

The sinkes see the babas as extremely degraded They perceive baba people as having imperfect blood Babas are perceived to have half-Indigenous blood Because babas are not born in China Babas in turn see sinkes as beneath contempt The babas have forgotten that their ancestors used to be sinkes Most babas constantly boast their Western habits So that sinkes are constantly fed up with the babas.

The enumeration of diseases continued. Number 18 was China’s over-reliance on foreigners. Number 19 was their inclination to give up (poetoes pengharepan). Number 20 was polygamy (menjelir), which the author contended was uncivilised, unfair towards the first wife, wasteful, destructive of the household and hypocritical: how would men react if women behaved the same way? The twenty-first disease was gambling. Next, the poem moved back to Indonesia: the twenty-third disease was the indulgence of paid female dancers (mengibing), whose bodies were carried around, their breasts made into playthings, and their cheeks kissed. Addled by alcohol, men start fights during these performances, first with each other and afterwards with their wives (Han 1923, 45–46).

Two-thirds through the poem, the author moved to family values. The twenty-third disease was being over-protective. Han Bing Hwie claimed that Indies Chinese parents stagnate their children’s development by rarely allowing them to study in China. He proved himself a sceptic of lenient child-raising and advised parents to occasionally beat their progeny with a rattan stick. The twenty-fourth disease was loving their sons more than their daughters. Sons were valued for carrying the family name, whereas daughters were sold like goats and no longer considered kin after they married. Would it not be better to have a loyal daughter like Mulan (Hoa Bok Lan) than an incompetent son like Liu Shan (Lauw Sian)?¹⁷ Instead of treating their daughters like indentured labourers (koeli), the author encouraged his readers to look at Europeans, who always helped the women first after an accident. Another Chinese problem, number 25, was marrying children off too young. He argued this left them financially and intellectually impoverished, physically and mentally immature, and devoid of strong seed akin to an unripe mango. The twenty-sixth disease was the seclusion (pingit) of daughters.¹⁸ As long as girls were raised well and showed no interest in dancing the tango, they deserved freedom (merdika) over imprisonment. Forced marriages, arranged between strangers who had not seen as much as a photograph of each other, constituted the twenty–seventh disease (Han 1923, 52–53).

Following the analysis of children, the exercise in moral judgment veered back to women. The twenty-eighth disease was their habit of greeting people in the Javanese fashion (sembah); the real Chinese salutation was to clasp one’s hands together in front of the chest (kiongtjioe). Another habit adopted from Indigenous people, number 29, was chewing betel, which causes red stains on clothing and makes the mouth filthy and red like a clown. Customs from China were likewise subject to scrutiny. Foot-binding (pakga) was listed as the thirtieth disease. This practice was extremely uncommon in the Indies, and Han Bing Hwie observed that uncles from Java laughed at it.¹⁹ He felt sorry for the daughters of Totoks in China, who had to endure this painful, immoral and smelly ordeal to create a false impression of cuteness. The thirty-first disease was bad hygiene, especially among Totoks, who were accused of leaving their homes and clothes in an abominable state and clearing their throat while eating (Han 1923, 57–58).

As the poem reached its apotheosis, problem number 32, dishonesty, was introduced. Amid mounting calls to boycott products from Japan, whose empire was rapidly expanding, some Chinese still clandestinely sold Japanese cigarettes (lusoen), adult pills (taij lien wan) and other commodities. As Han Bing Hwie reminded his readers, the richer those “Japs” (si Jap), also called “midgets” (si kate), become, the better they can pursue their conquest of the Indies, Korea, Taiwan and China. Unless Japanese retailers were starved to death, the Chinese would suffer the same fate as Jewish people: being abandoned by everyone. The thirty-third Chinese disease was simplicity (kauwgia), exemplified by their tolerance of outdated goods and reluctance to modernise their industries. Additionally, as the thirty-fourth disease proffered, they worked too slow. Finally, the Indies Chinese were guilty of neglecting the Confucianist religion while happily studying the Bible or participating in Islamic (slametan) rituals (Han 1923, 65–66).

Han Bing Hwie ended his jeremiad by expressing the hope that all 35 diseases could be cured, lest all 400 million Chinese people would be destroyed (Han 1923, 67–68). His poem represented a brand of chauvinism that conceived no future for Chinese people in Indonesia, although he was realistic enough to write it in vernacular Malay. It was the perspective of a dwindling minority, which had nevertheless managed to assume one of the loudest voices.

Concluding remarks

A highly informative discourse on Chineseness, hybridity and the diasporic experience took shape in late-colonial Indonesia. After two decades of heated discussions unfolding across multiple platforms and in multiple genres, the Indies community reached no consensus regarding their destiny in the archipelago. Nevertheless, the experience was enlightening for everyone. Even the most unapologetically China-oriented periodicals, such as Sin Po and Hoakiao, diversified their axioms over time. Some authors criticised the exclusionary chauvinism they had once espoused themselves. They considered the partial adoption of Western and Indigenous values a natural step towards a better life in the Indies. The sporadic justification of interracial marriage also signified a departure from rigid Sinocentrism, although Chinese women marrying outside their race rarely met with approval. Writers across the ideological spectrum came to reject the consumption of betel and opium, Hokkien education based on rote learning and—up to a point—the poor treatment of women. The real debate centred on the degree of belonging to the Indies, not the question itself, and the extent to which Chinese practices had to be adjusted. It was no longer held between diametrically opposed groups but between critical individuals who regularly altered their opinions.

The perspectives highlighted in this study, produced by one of Southeast Asia’s oldest and largest Chinese-descended populations, benefit ongoing debates on the Chinese diaspora in multiple ways. Although the Indies Chinese were extremely heterogeneous in their ethnic, cultural, linguistic and political make-up, their articulations of self-criticism reveal a complex and ongoing interplay between different factions and worldviews. To quote from the introduction of this special issue, “they negotiated complex ethnic, linguistic, cultural and national identities in different geopolitical realities.” Parallels in this regard with other parts of the world remain to be explored. I have also highlighted that a language other than Chinese (or English) proved crucial to understanding the full scope of negotiations that took place. Vernacular Malay newspaper articles, fiction and poetry were replete with contestations between China-centric and Indies-centric groups; between supporters, opponents and non-mobilised participants of colonialism; and between politically active, neutral and volatile individuals. The relevance of these sources lies in their heterogeneity.

Today, a century after Indies-oriented authors fantasised about a distinct Chinese–Indonesian culture, the issue has resurfaced under a different guise. The fall in 1998 of the New Order regime marked a new chapter for Indonesia’s Chinese minority. Their culture and traditions are no longer forbidden and have partly been revived. Simultaneously, homogenising forces persist, as does the marginalisation of creolised practices and Sinitic varieties other than Mandarin. In that sense, present-day resinicisation displays some similarities with its early twentieth-century precedent. There is one crucial difference: blinkered Sinophilia, which previously discouraged Chinese people from embracing Indonesia, is overwhelmingly rejected. While discussions about the preferable type of Chineseness and the viability of a separate identity continue, the conviction that the Indonesian archipelago is home has emerged victorious.

Special terms

Table

Sin Po	新報
Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan	中華會館
hoakiao	華僑
Kwee Tek Hoay	郭德懷
tenglang	唐人
Tionghoa	中華
sinke	新客
pek bien	白面
kwaboh	看無
bong kok nouw	亡國奴
m si Tenglang	毋是唐人
bong-poen	忘本
malaijkoei	馬來鬼
djip hoan	入番
hoana	番仔
djoet-gwa	出外
Lam Yang	南洋
samkiok	三菊
aphiansian	鴉片仙
Kwee Hing Tjiat	郭恆節
Hu Shih	胡適
gong-kok	戇國
bami	肉麵
Kian Gwan	建源
Tan Boen Soan	陳文宣
piara Hoana-po	番仔婆
Pek Djit	白日
poethauw	不孝
siauwlee	小禮
loe	汝
goea	我
Holan	荷蘭
hap	合
bee-hap	合
Thio Tjin Boen	張振文
tauke khia	頭家囝
taij tiang hoe	大丈夫
oe lou bo tjoe	有路無厝
e tha tiap	會打揲
Soe Si	四書
Ngo Keng	五經
Ngo Loen	五倫
Ke Le	家禮
boen beng	文明
jaw sioea tau lou	夭壽頭路
sat seng	殺生
tokoen	督軍
Tjin tioo boo tjing lie	真張無情理
Tjin tioo bo gauw koen	真張無滾
Sat ka tie thong pauw ee liat wie tjiang koen	殺家己同胞的列位將軍
thongpauw	同胞
kiaopauw	僑胞
kokatie	顧家己
tjo kok	祖國
Khong Tjoe Kauw	孔子教
kik lat	激力
phaij seng khie	歹神氣
tjhin tjhaij	凊彩
khêng po	囥步
sientjie	心志
Twapekong	大伯公
Sianseng	先生
tjokong	祖公
Hoa Bok Lan	花木蘭
Lauw Sian	劉禪
kiongtjioe	拱手
pakga	縛跤
lusoen	呂宋
taij lien wan	大人丸
kauwgia	夠額

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Tom G. Hoogervorst

Tom G. Hoogervorst is a historical linguist working at the Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies. He has also recently been appointed as adjunct professor by the State University of Malang. His primary interests are language history and lexical borrowing in the languages of Southeast Asia—in particular Malay and Javanese—and the wider Indian Ocean world. On the Sino-Southeast Asian linguistic landscapes, he has recently published the monograph Language Ungoverned: Indonesia’s Chinese Print Entrepreneurs, 1911–1949 (Cornell University Press, 2021) and the edited volume Sinophone Southeast Asia: Sinitic Voices across the Southern Seas (Brill, 2021, with Caroline Chia).

Notes

1 Most Hokkien words in Sino-Malay texts were written in Romanised form. For the sake of recognisability, I also provide the corresponding characters.

2 This association with the Tang dynasty also transpires from the expression Tengswa or Thungshoa (唐山, “Tang Mountain”), which served as a metaphor for the ancestral land.

3 I am grateful to Catherine Churchman (personal communication, 7 March 2021) for clarifying the term samkiok, which was the name of a popular card game.

4 This is a pun on the famous French phrase “Elle vivra bien sans vous” (It [France] will live fine without you).

5 The Dutch swearword “kaffer” can designate a Black African person but also a rude person.

6 This location can be identified as present-day Nusa Kambangan (Harry Poeze, personal communication, 10 March 2021).

7 While such Westernised men were frequently disparaged by their contemporaries, their notions of masculinity ended up destabilising colonial tropes of Asian emasculation (Hoogervorst 2016, 296–300).

8 For other comparisons with Jews in the Chinese nationalistic discourse, see Chan (2015).

9 This development started in the mid-1920s. For more examples, see Rieger (1995, 164–169).

10 For a similar discourse in China, see Hershatter (2011).

11 Versions of this witty axiom circulated at least a century prior; in nineteenth-century Yogyakarta, the Peranakan leader Tan Jin Sing (陳振成) (c. 1760–1831) was characterised as “no longer a Chinese, not yet a Dutchman, a half-baked Javanese” (Cina wurung, Landa durung, Jawa tanggung) (Carey 1984, 30–31).

12 For Mandarin medium education in late-colonial Indonesia, see Sai (2016) and Hoogervorst (2021b, 42–50).

13 Another notable example is a 1905 poem about the Tiong Hoa Hwe Koan underlining the need for Indies Chinese to re-embrace their Chinese roots (Salmon 1971).

14 The meaning of this term is somewhat obscure to me. I speculate it reflects Hokkien súi-ke kûn (水家拳), “water-style boxing.”

15 The former phenomenon has been examined by Suryadinata (1981, 25–38) and Tjiook-Liem (2009, 425–525). On the latter phenomenon, see Tjiook-Liem (2009, 527–622).

16 See Rieger (1995, 164–169) on the crisis of Chinese organisations as a theme in Sino-Malay novels.

17 This unpopular emperor was chiefly known in the Indies through the Tjerita Sam Kok (三國), “Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”

18 These arguments about gender were also commonly made in China (Hershatter 2011). For more background on the discourse in the Indies, see Chin (2021).

19 For foot-binding in China as discussed in the Chinese-Indonesian women’s movement, see Coppel (1997a, 27).