End the Silence

From Josta: When Pearl Harbor was attacked in December, 1941, they also attacked the island of Borneo.  At the other end of Borneo lived my mom and three siblings.  My father worked for the Dutch Government in Bandjermasin.  My mom and the kids had to be evacuated to Java.  The youngest was only 6 months old.  My father stayed behind and had to give up to the Japanese soldiers all the important things and any money that he was in charge of.  He was eventually placed in a prison camp.  He came out of it with very little muscle left on his bones.  His younger brother had to carry him out.  Had my father not survived, I would not be here today.

From Eileen: Oh I am so very happy that you are helping Ilse share her story – in
English! It is the story of thousands from a generation that will be gone
from us far too soon. I’m married into a family where the mother was interned throughout the war
as a child from 4-8 yrs old with her pregnant mother, brother & sister while
her father was sent to build the Bhurma RR.. She speaks of it to me because
otherwised I’d have few outlets in English to know the tales – I’m an
American. Her husband also was born there to an Indo-Dutch mother & Dutch
father – His father and older brother were also on the RR while he and his
mother were left behind.. It is surely an experience that should be shared
before it is too late. Perhaps I will share some of it with you another time if you are interested.
We have also toyed with trying to publish the story in English for the
family & for other Americans. They were dismayed that I had never heard of
any of this in my education here in the States. Bless you, Ilsa & her
family!

Okay, I have to admit that I was culturally and geographically ignorant on the topic when I started this project. I did not know, for instance, that the Dutch East Indies had morphed into Indonesia. In truth, I used to wonder what became of the Dutch East Indies, as it just kind of disappeared.

A little further along the learning curve, I did not know why Ilse bristled one day and told me never to call her Indonesian. I realized I’d stumbled onto a cultural canker. It was tricky, writing the story. I could not talk about Indonesia–it did not exist in that time frame. Nor could I talk about Indonesians–they did not exist, either. They had to be Javanese, Sumatran, Balinese, etc, depending upon which island they came from. Ilse said she was an Indiesa; she’s not terribly keen on today’s term, “Indo,” but she accepts it.

So I thought I was doing quite well until we got toward the end of the story and I made the mistake of saying she emigrated to Holland. “Emigrrrrate? Emigrrrrrate?” she said, her r’s rolling indignantly. I knew I was in trouble again. “We did not emigrrrrate–we were Dutch citizens, with Dutch passports.” Her eyes flashed, and once again, I learned something about this complex culture we now call Dutch Indo, or just plain Indo.

Their ethnic roots are in a country that stopped existing in 1949. Their Dutch citizenship worked against them. In the country of their birth, they were the despised oppressors; in the “motherland” they were not welcome. My learning curve goes on, as I gain insight from my blog responders.

Daniel says, “The Dutch Indonesian (Indo) has always been an outsider.” Calvin points out, “The Indonesian History books deleted all the involvement of Indo in the collective knowledge. I guess it can’t be helped because Indo was always considered as ‘Dutch’ by the natives.” Mark says, “Let our culture not become a figment of the imagination…” Tina says, “As a very ‘watered’ down Dutch/Indo, I would love to know the history of my roots.” Jack says “…you have an almost incalculable number of third generation Indo’s….I think they are silent, because they are lost, not because they don’t care.” David speaks for many when he says, “I would like to show my friends who don’t understand about my heritage and how it shapes who I am today.”

From the beginning, my passion has been to get Ilse’s story out for the world to hear. Now I have extended my passion to getting the story of a dispersed culture out to the world and to the Indos that need to know their proud heritage.

What are the chances of two women who were in Japanese concentration camps on the island of Java during WWII meeting for the first time at a mega-church service in Snohomish, WA 65 years later? It happened! Ilse, her new friend, and I spent Thursday afternoon together. Clara is in her mid-eighties and she is just now writing down her story, with the help of a friend.

“But not for publication!” Clara emphasizes. Of course, dear woman: your story is important as a vital piece of history whether it is presented to your own family or to the whole American family. The key thing is to TELL it. Clara’s children and grandchildren will finally know what happened.

I hope Clara will agree to share a little piece of her story by letting her friend go to “Share your stories” on the sidebar, to the right. I hope others will add theirs. Firsthand from survivors, or secondhand from the next generation, let’s work together to end the silence.

Imagine just learning that your grandfather survived malnutrition, every kind of vermin you can name, recurring dysentery, and was subject to abuse at the whim of cruel captors–all before he was seven years old. Imagine looking at this beloved Opa–your granddad–and knowing that he was targeted for death, along with his sisters and aunt, as they trekked through the bush and jungle. This is what the family of René Evelynveer (Anglicized spelling) is learning, through End the Silence, the story that René’s sister has told.

René’s family is on a quest now, to learn this part of their family history.  And there are oh, so many more out there, descendants of the Dutch and Indo people who lived in the ill-fated Dutch East Indies and who left when it became Indonesia–400,000 displaced Dutch/Indos. They all had stories. To truly end the silence, we need to hear them all. There are many more grandchildren out there, like René’s, who need to hear the truth of their courageous heritage.