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The Rise of a New Generation,
The Dutch Indonesian Cultural Renaissance in the Netherlands .
An Essay by Boot, Brederode and Krancher, 2006.
An estimated 350,000 Indos came to the Netherlands during a turbulent period spanning
just after WWII through the mid sixties. The present Indo community in the country can be
categorized in three more or less separate and distinct generations, each with their own
characteristics and peculiarities.
The first group was forced to leave just about everything they treasured behind: their
motherland, their childhood, their ties, friendships and social lives, even their possessions. As a
consequence, all of this makes them who they are – a displaced and dispossessed people. They
survived extremely miserable and painful years of Japanese occupation of the land they loved,
the Dutch East Indies. This experience was followed by an equally unsettling Bersiap period,
culminating in Indonesia gaining independence and the expulsion against their will.
Upon arrival in the Netherlands, they were obliged to rather rapidly assure their own and
their children’s future in this often hostile, strange and frigid land.. They were often unfamiliar
with local mores and customs even though they were taught Dutch history and geography in
school in the Indies In fact, they knew more about the Netherlands than the native Dutch did
about their colony. A majority of them never even set foot in their “fatherland.” This has had
certain and definite repercussions and long term consequences.
Post WWII living conditions in the Netherlands were harsh and often bitter. These
immigration waves were accorded a rather chilly reception by the Dutch government and by
society at large. The native Dutch had their own post-war traumas and societal rebuilding to
contend with. Therefore, they were either incapable or unwilling to pay much attention to the
immigrant’s plight. It would be best for the Indo to integrate into Dutch society as quickly and as
smoothly as possible, to adopt the local ways of living.
Indo heritage and culture ought to be given lower priority. These immigrants should stop
attempting to keep their Indies customs and habits alive. To accelerate this process, these Indo
families were scattered and settled throughout the country at locations ranging from small
hamlets to large metropolitan areas. The government was concerned that large concentrations
in ghetto-like settings would slow down their assimilation process.
A quiet and smooth transition would be beneficial for all concerned. It would also not
interfere with the real problems of the country’s reconstruction efforts. Having grown up within a
hierarchical colonial society where Dutch rule was preeminent with unchallenged power and
authority, many first generation Indos had little choice but to comply with the Dutch homeland
edict for rapid assimilation.
The second generation was constantly reminded by their parents never to stand out in
the crowd, to act inconspicuously. They would already attract enough attention by being who
and where they were, strangers in their own fatherland. One should remember that the country
was not made up of a multicultural society as it is these days. In reality, the Indos were the first
big wave of foreigners to come from a far away country. They were truly the first colored folks
the Dutch encountered and were thus regarded as strangers by their own people.
The Indo culture, people and their background were unfamiliar and therefore not well
understood by most of the Dutch. In fact, many still don’t have a clear picture of all this even
today. So the second generation dutifully grew up as they were encouraged and
expected. Some elements of their culture were still expressed and practiced at home. But in the
outside world, they mimicked Dutch behavior to the maximum extent possible, representing a
good example of successful integration and assimilation. Almost overnight, they morved into
good Dutchman and Dutch women resembling those with whom they associated, went to school
with and socialized with.
One consequence of this right of passage was that almost all second generation
members married a Dutch partner, making the transition into society complete. This assimilation
phenomenon is a throw back to the colonial period where the sentiment prevailed that the more
white or European looking a partner was, the better his or her chances were to secure a
prosperous future. Although this assertion can be considered racist when judged by current
societal standards and modern perspective, skin color and proportion of European blood, were
actual measuring sticks of social status in the former Dutch East Indies.
Even though the apparent total integration of Indos in Dutch society can be regarded as
a great accomplishment when compared with recent arrivals of other ethnic groups that have not
assimilated, it can be postulated that integration must never be condoned at the expense of a
potential obliteration of an entire culture.
Really, Indo culture over the years has become somewhat a matter of nostalgia and
being anachronistic. Some of its elements are still being practiced at meetings such as at dance
nights, koempoelans and pasars. Although it can be argued that such activities are the overt
ways by which the Indo culture is reflected, only members of the first generation really appreciate
its intrinsic value. It reminds them of the fun-filled times in the Indies, the tempo doeloe, which
they still long for. These reminiscences definitely have a relationship to the past but so not
accurately reflect the tempo sekarang, the present.
The third generation Indos is growing up under circumstances not much different than
those of their native Dutch counterparts. Most of them have a fully integrated second generation
Indo parent and also often a Dutch parent as well. This fact tends to create a gulf between them
and their Indo heritage, one often too wide to bridge. Contacts and interactions with fellow Indos
are principally at occasions where their ethnic Indonesian food is served and get-togethers at
Opa and Oma’s place on the week-ends.
The current Indo culture thus constitutes a remnant of the past, a phenomenon left
behind in a long lost and far away country in a colonial setting. It now merely resembles a
collection of traditions, lifestyles and memories tucked away in the hearts and minds of a
disappearing first generation. So the future can be likened to the action of a broom, sweeping
up the last vestiges of a colonial culture with no one to guard it from total disintegrating or
collapsing. But is it really? Fortunately this does not appear to be the case at all.
Since the beginning of the new millennium, there seems to be a major resurgence of
interest in culture within the Indo community at large, encouraged primarily by those of the third
generation. This movement is quickly evolving in a direction contrary to what a majority,
especially the second and first generation of Indos, have envisioned. Although an apparent
complete integration has taken place during the past half century, devaluing a greater part of
their visible cultural practices, it has not completely wiped out the cultural values residing in their
veins. Blood appears to be thicker than water and it will crawl where it cannot flow
unobstuctively.
The third generation has not only grown up among other native Dutch youngsters but
also with those from other cultures a majority of whom still maintain strong ties with their native,
foreign heritage. A sizeable majority of third generation Indos, ranging from teenagers to young
adults, have a deep and authentic sense that they are different than the kid next
door. Nevertheless, they have a hard time expressing this sentiment. Answers to their
questions are sought in vain in the culture that is harbored by their grandparents. Fortunately it
can also still be found in their own blood and guts.
Through many forms of current mass media like the Internet, by means of social
gatherings like parties and special events, many third generation members have discovered
each other. They learned that there is indeed an intrinsic value in having their own heritage
and culture, one that is shared by a great majority of other young Indos. Many have come to
realize that Indo culture is worth keeping alive, a sentiment that has given them a sense of
belonging and identity.
As a consequence, during the past few years, Indo youth have created their own
Websites, started chatrooms, organized groups, clubs and associations and held parties, social
events and meetings, all with the objective to preserve and express their mutual feeling of
solidarity and belonging and thus, in a real sense, reviving the Indo culture. Meeting young
couples both of whom being of Indo heritage, is no longer an unusual occurrence these
days. They do not wish to consider this heritage and culture as being only that of their
grandparents, but also their very own.
So literally thousands of third generation members are now interested in their own
background. For some it opens up a whole new and attractive world. A rather strange
phenomenon is how they express these feelings. Contrary to the way the first generation
behaved in the past, this new generation does not care to relegate their culture to the
background any longer. They crave maximum attention. They express their Indo pride in an
almost militant manner by wearing badges, T-shirts, creating flashy Websites or even tattooing
their body.
Being Indo is no longer a matter to hide but instead something to be proud of, yes, even
extremely proud of, and to celebrate it. The third generation is creating their own clothing
fashions, hair style and uttering street slang to emphasize their roots. This culture, once
repressed for such a long time, is now bursting upon the Dutch scene with a vengeance.
Although it can be interpreted as a positive happening that this renaissance is occurring, critical
questions can and will inevitably be raised to interpret and understand this phenomenon.
The following are some questions that are begging for an answer:
In reality, how large is the actual divide between the manner the Indo culture has been
expressed by the first generation and the way the third generation has perceived it?
Is the Indo culture one that is destined to disappear or one that is actually still in its
infancy and therefore has still room for growth?
Is the third generation actually the first generation that is clearly aware of its own identity
and can they still being regarded as real Indos?
Can their culture that evolved at a distant time and in such a far away place, still find a
niche in a modern, Western society like the Netherlands?
Isn’t the third generation creating its own “new” version, an artificial kind of Indo
culture? If so, should they embrace elements of the “old” version, and if applicable, which
elements?
Who is actually going to close the generation gap? Is it the first or the third
generation? Or both?
Which of them have the greatest responsibility to preserve their culture? What is the
role of the second generation in this endeavor?
Is this revival just hype or a true renaissance? Is it going to challenge the notion that the
Indos had a flawless early integration and assimilation into Dutch society?
Is the third generation going to jeopardize what the previous generations have attempted
to build up? Are they, in a sense, renegades?
Can the third generation that knows exactly how the Dutch society operates, finally give
the Indo community a significant voice in modern society?
The emergence of the third generation Indos in conjunction with the revival of interest in
the Indo community in general, can be regarded as a boon for Indo culture, a true renaissance.
Questions generated by various segments of Dutch society can be interpreted as
understandable considering the short period of time and the explosive growth with which this
revival has manifested itself.
Currently, no one exactly has a clear comprehension of what is taking place. And
nobody is certain where the movement is heading either. But one thing is for sure. Anyone who
thought a few years ago that the Indo culture in the Netherlands was becoming extinct is proven
to be wrong, dead wrong.
An estimated 350,000 Indos came to the Netherlands during a turbulent period spanning
just after WWII through the mid sixties. The present Indo community in the country can be
categorized in three more or less separate and distinct generations, each with their own
characteristics and peculiarities.
The first group was forced to leave just about everything they treasured behind: their
motherland, their childhood, their ties, friendships and social lives, even their possessions. As a
consequence, all of this makes them who they are – a displaced and dispossessed people. They
survived extremely miserable and painful years of Japanese occupation of the land they loved,
the Dutch East Indies. This experience was followed by an equally unsettling Bersiap period,
culminating in Indonesia gaining independence and the expulsion against their will.
Upon arrival in the Netherlands, they were obliged to rather rapidly assure their own and
their children’s future in this often hostile, strange and frigid land.. They were often unfamiliar
with local mores and customs even though they were taught Dutch history and geography in
school in the Indies In fact, they knew more about the Netherlands than the native Dutch did
about their colony. A majority of them never even set foot in their “fatherland.” This has had
certain and definite repercussions and long term consequences.
Post WWII living conditions in the Netherlands were harsh and often bitter. These
immigration waves were accorded a rather chilly reception by the Dutch government and by
society at large. The native Dutch had their own post-war traumas and societal rebuilding to
contend with. Therefore, they were either incapable or unwilling to pay much attention to the
immigrant’s plight. It would be best for the Indo to integrate into Dutch society as quickly and as
smoothly as possible, to adopt the local ways of living.
Indo heritage and culture ought to be given lower priority. These immigrants should stop
attempting to keep their Indies customs and habits alive. To accelerate this process, these Indo
families were scattered and settled throughout the country at locations ranging from small
hamlets to large metropolitan areas. The government was concerned that large concentrations
in ghetto-like settings would slow down their assimilation process.
A quiet and smooth transition would be beneficial for all concerned. It would also not
interfere with the real problems of the country’s reconstruction efforts. Having grown up within a
hierarchical colonial society where Dutch rule was preeminent with unchallenged power and
authority, many first generation Indos had little choice but to comply with the Dutch homeland
edict for rapid assimilation.
The second generation was constantly reminded by their parents never to stand out in
the crowd, to act inconspicuously. They would already attract enough attention by being who
and where they were, strangers in their own fatherland. One should remember that the country
was not made up of a multicultural society as it is these days. In reality, the Indos were the first
big wave of foreigners to come from a far away country. They were truly the first colored folks
the Dutch encountered and were thus regarded as strangers by their own people.
The Indo culture, people and their background were unfamiliar and therefore not well
understood by most of the Dutch. In fact, many still don’t have a clear picture of all this even
today. So the second generation dutifully grew up as they were encouraged and
expected. Some elements of their culture were still expressed and practiced at home. But in the
outside world, they mimicked Dutch behavior to the maximum extent possible, representing a
good example of successful integration and assimilation. Almost overnight, they morved into
good Dutchman and Dutch women resembling those with whom they associated, went to school
with and socialized with.
One consequence of this right of passage was that almost all second generation
members married a Dutch partner, making the transition into society complete. This assimilation
phenomenon is a throw back to the colonial period where the sentiment prevailed that the more
white or European looking a partner was, the better his or her chances were to secure a
prosperous future. Although this assertion can be considered racist when judged by current
societal standards and modern perspective, skin color and proportion of European blood, were
actual measuring sticks of social status in the former Dutch East Indies.
Even though the apparent total integration of Indos in Dutch society can be regarded as
a great accomplishment when compared with recent arrivals of other ethnic groups that have not
assimilated, it can be postulated that integration must never be condoned at the expense of a
potential obliteration of an entire culture.
Really, Indo culture over the years has become somewhat a matter of nostalgia and
being anachronistic. Some of its elements are still being practiced at meetings such as at dance
nights, koempoelans and pasars. Although it can be argued that such activities are the overt
ways by which the Indo culture is reflected, only members of the first generation really appreciate
its intrinsic value. It reminds them of the fun-filled times in the Indies, the tempo doeloe, which
they still long for. These reminiscences definitely have a relationship to the past but so not
accurately reflect the tempo sekarang, the present.
The third generation Indos is growing up under circumstances not much different than
those of their native Dutch counterparts. Most of them have a fully integrated second generation
Indo parent and also often a Dutch parent as well. This fact tends to create a gulf between them
and their Indo heritage, one often too wide to bridge. Contacts and interactions with fellow Indos
are principally at occasions where their ethnic Indonesian food is served and get-togethers at
Opa and Oma’s place on the week-ends.
The current Indo culture thus constitutes a remnant of the past, a phenomenon left
behind in a long lost and far away country in a colonial setting. It now merely resembles a
collection of traditions, lifestyles and memories tucked away in the hearts and minds of a
disappearing first generation. So the future can be likened to the action of a broom, sweeping
up the last vestiges of a colonial culture with no one to guard it from total disintegrating or
collapsing. But is it really? Fortunately this does not appear to be the case at all.
Since the beginning of the new millennium, there seems to be a major resurgence of
interest in culture within the Indo community at large, encouraged primarily by those of the third
generation. This movement is quickly evolving in a direction contrary to what a majority,
especially the second and first generation of Indos, have envisioned. Although an apparent
complete integration has taken place during the past half century, devaluing a greater part of
their visible cultural practices, it has not completely wiped out the cultural values residing in their
veins. Blood appears to be thicker than water and it will crawl where it cannot flow
unobstuctively.
The third generation has not only grown up among other native Dutch youngsters but
also with those from other cultures a majority of whom still maintain strong ties with their native,
foreign heritage. A sizeable majority of third generation Indos, ranging from teenagers to young
adults, have a deep and authentic sense that they are different than the kid next
door. Nevertheless, they have a hard time expressing this sentiment. Answers to their
questions are sought in vain in the culture that is harbored by their grandparents. Fortunately it
can also still be found in their own blood and guts.
Through many forms of current mass media like the Internet, by means of social
gatherings like parties and special events, many third generation members have discovered
each other. They learned that there is indeed an intrinsic value in having their own heritage
and culture, one that is shared by a great majority of other young Indos. Many have come to
realize that Indo culture is worth keeping alive, a sentiment that has given them a sense of
belonging and identity.
As a consequence, during the past few years, Indo youth have created their own
Websites, started chatrooms, organized groups, clubs and associations and held parties, social
events and meetings, all with the objective to preserve and express their mutual feeling of
solidarity and belonging and thus, in a real sense, reviving the Indo culture. Meeting young
couples both of whom being of Indo heritage, is no longer an unusual occurrence these
days. They do not wish to consider this heritage and culture as being only that of their
grandparents, but also their very own.
So literally thousands of third generation members are now interested in their own
background. For some it opens up a whole new and attractive world. A rather strange
phenomenon is how they express these feelings. Contrary to the way the first generation
behaved in the past, this new generation does not care to relegate their culture to the
background any longer. They crave maximum attention. They express their Indo pride in an
almost militant manner by wearing badges, T-shirts, creating flashy Websites or even tattooing
their body.
Being Indo is no longer a matter to hide but instead something to be proud of, yes, even
extremely proud of, and to celebrate it. The third generation is creating their own clothing
fashions, hair style and uttering street slang to emphasize their roots. This culture, once
repressed for such a long time, is now bursting upon the Dutch scene with a vengeance.
Although it can be interpreted as a positive happening that this renaissance is occurring, critical
questions can and will inevitably be raised to interpret and understand this phenomenon.
The following are some questions that are begging for an answer:
In reality, how large is the actual divide between the manner the Indo culture has been
expressed by the first generation and the way the third generation has perceived it?
Is the Indo culture one that is destined to disappear or one that is actually still in its
infancy and therefore has still room for growth?
Is the third generation actually the first generation that is clearly aware of its own identity
and can they still being regarded as real Indos?
Can their culture that evolved at a distant time and in such a far away place, still find a
niche in a modern, Western society like the Netherlands?
Isn’t the third generation creating its own “new” version, an artificial kind of Indo
culture? If so, should they embrace elements of the “old” version, and if applicable, which
elements?
Who is actually going to close the generation gap? Is it the first or the third
generation? Or both?
Which of them have the greatest responsibility to preserve their culture? What is the
role of the second generation in this endeavor?
Is this revival just hype or a true renaissance? Is it going to challenge the notion that the
Indos had a flawless early integration and assimilation into Dutch society?
Is the third generation going to jeopardize what the previous generations have attempted
to build up? Are they, in a sense, renegades?
Can the third generation that knows exactly how the Dutch society operates, finally give
the Indo community a significant voice in modern society?
The emergence of the third generation Indos in conjunction with the revival of interest in
the Indo community in general, can be regarded as a boon for Indo culture, a true renaissance.
Questions generated by various segments of Dutch society can be interpreted as
understandable considering the short period of time and the explosive growth with which this
revival has manifested itself.
Currently, no one exactly has a clear comprehension of what is taking place. And
nobody is certain where the movement is heading either. But one thing is for sure. Anyone who
thought a few years ago that the Indo culture in the Netherlands was becoming extinct is proven
to be wrong, dead wrong.
The Long Way Home,
when descendants of Dutch colonist were forced to leave Indonesia, California was the logical destination.
By Elisabeth Greenbaum Kasson, published in the Los Angeles Times Magazine Feb 2011.
The late evangelist Reverend Ike, actor Mark-Paul Gosselaar and musicians Eddie and Alex Van Halen, Michelle Branch and James Intveld share something: Indo roots. So do Joyce Luther Kennard, an associate justice of the California Supreme Court, and Santa Barbara city councilman Das Williams.
If you have no idea who the Indos—or Dutch Indos, as they’re sometimes called— are, you are not alone. But their story is compelling: Beginning in the late 1950s, tens of thousands emigrated to the U.S. from the Netherlands, part of a post-WWII migration that went into the late ’60s. The majority moved quietly to Southern California and became a part of our mosaic of life. Now Los Angeles is home to the largest Dutch Indo community, with some 100,000 people.
The California dream represented a myriad of personal and professional opportunities for the Indo diaspora. More than a few followed family and friends who had already arrived on the West Coast. Some traveled coach across America in bumpy railcars from the East Coast, tired of the same chilly climate they’d so disliked in the Netherlands. For a few, collecting fan cards of favorite actors and memorizing lyrics to big-band songbooks had made the Golden State a beacon since childhood. And for all practical purposes, it was a logical choice: The postwar economy boomed, jobs and housing were plentiful, schools were good and, much like in Indonesia, the weather was glorious year-round. They may have longed for home, but they knew they could belong here.
Why did the Indos have to leave their homeland? For those who have forgotten their 17th- and 18th-century world history, the Netherlands and its maritime merchants once dominated international trade and established colonial rule from the East Coast to the East Indies. (New York was once New Amsterdam, after all.) The Dutch spent more than 350 years in what is now Indonesia, trading in coffee, sugar, spices and indigo.
The trajectory of the descendants of these traders is bound up in sweeping historical events and contains elements usually found in James Clavell novels and David Lean movies. Dutch and other European settlers married into an already diverse Indonesian population. They wed settlers from Africa, the Middle East and China, and over the centuries, they became a distinct ethnic group. With European surnames, Dutch fluency, Dutch educations and Dutch citizenship, the group thrived and, until World War II, were comfortably situated between the Europeans and the Indonesians in social strata.
Then came World War II. The Japanese invasion and the murderous Bersiap era of Indonesian independence that followed marked a permanent disruption. During a chaotic, nearly 20-year postwar period, the Dutch relinquished all of their territories in the region.
The new Indonesian government wanted no part of its colonial legacy and, between 1945 and 1965, both forced and forcefully encouraged Indos to leave. Staying meant renouncing their Dutch heritage. Gathering what little was left of their belongings, approximately 300,000 Indos climbed on boats and sailed back through time to the Netherlands, where few had ever set foot.
I meet Frans Krajenbrink for coffee at Mimi’s Cafe in Thousand Oaks. A 79-year-old retired physicist for Hughes, he emigrated to the U.S. in 1962. Krajenbrink brings a red three-ring binder with a personal history so acutely rendered that while reading it, I can practically feel the cool mountain air at his grandfather’s Nongkojajar retreat in East Java.
“The Krajenbrink family came to Indonesia in the 1700s,” he says. “It began with two brothers in Holland. One went to Indonesia. He was an engineer involved with building rice fields.” Krajenbrink, who appears more Asian than Dutch, smiles. “That was the beginning of the brown side of the family. We have the brown Krajenbrinks and the white Krajenbrinks. We even have a Krajenbrink family crest.”
“When you’re a teenager, you want to be part of a group. No one knew who we were. They’d say, ‘Indo what—who?’ We’d say, ‘We’re the last of the Mohicans.’ ”
He empties a leather satchel filled with family photographs—an intimate peek into a world that has disappeared. There is a sense of merriment about him, and I get a glimpse of the mischievous boy in the old pictures.
Krajenbrink shows me a 100-year-old-plus image of his grandfather at work in Sumatra, where he was in charge of building railroads, and a wedding photo of his impossibly beautiful parents. There are photos of children at play in lush surroundings; of him and his younger sister, Meis, in costume; a third grade class that resembles a U.N. assembly in miniature; and a requisite naked baby photo so darling we can’t help but laugh. Even knowing how much his story would continue to change, the photos are far more vibrantly alive than bittersweet.
Rudolf Goutier is a retired marine machinist and assembler. I join him and his daughter Irene at a weekly outdoor Indonesian food court at the Duarte Inn. The place is as much social event as dining experience, and everyone seems to know one another. People greet Goutier, ask if I’m Dutch and offer oatmeal cookies.
Over plates from the Balinese stand, he tells me his French last name has mysterious origins but that he has deep pride for the Dutch roots on his father’s side and the African and Ambonese roots on his mother’s. His great-great grandfather was a Mossi warrior named Najoersie, who had been enslaved in Ghana. In the 1830s, the Dutch military, desperate to find soldiers to reinforce their ranks in the restive East Indies, purchased Najoersie’s freedom with an advance on his army salary.
During WWII, Goutier’s Dutch father would perish in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, as a slave laborer on Japan’s Burma railway. When the war ended, the family would flee their home, just ahead of attacking Indonesians. As they prepared to leave, his mother sewed up a floor mat and filled it with family photographs and artifacts. Young Rudolf was entrusted to carry it.
“We lost a lot,” he says simply, “but whatever we saved was enough to bring back memories.”
By 1947, Goutier’s mother, ill and exhausted by the loss of her husband and the trauma of war, packed up her five sons and left the country for the Netherlands. It wasn’t a happy homecoming for the mixed-race Dutch cousins. The Netherlands had its own troubles. Still weighed down by the destruction of WWII, a postwar economic slump and a severe housing shortage, people there were ill-prepared for and less than hospitable to the influx.
Ben and Cornelia Apon invite me to their Whittier home. Their adult children, Robert and Jennifer, join us, too. Ben, a big man with a deep, mellifluous voice and a smile that starts in his eyes, is an award-winning chemical engineer. “My father’s side, Apon, is French from the Huguenots,” he says. “They were Protestant. His family came to Indonesia around 1850. My mother’s family was native Indonesian but culturally Dutch. She was fluent in the language. I grew up in a complete Dutch environment.”
They pull out a colonial-era map of Indonesia to illustrate how far they’ve traveled. Cornelia, a sparkling storyteller, points out her birthplace of Jogjakarta in central Java and traces the path she took during WWII, when her grandfather spirited her, her mother and her sisters to safety in Jakarta in West Java.
“My family came to Indonesia in the late 1800s,” she says. “We went to Holland in 1947. We went back to Indonesia in 1949, and then back to Holland in 1952. My father had been to Holland many times since he was a child, and this is what he chose for us.”
While the Apons are conciliatory, they’re honest in their assessment of the repatriated Indo experience in the Netherlands. Ben, who served in the Dutch Royal Navy and comes from a distinguished military family, seems particularly pained. “The Dutch government didn’t inform their population about the colonials. There just weren’t enough houses after the war, and people were suffering.”
“We experienced racism,” says Cornelia. “In those days, there were only white people living in Holland. They called us names in school. ‘Pinda Chang’ means peanut Chinese. We had contract pensions. [The government] decided where we would live and how much we could have. We had no choices and were allowed the minimum. It was winter in Holland, and we had the thinnest blankets and lived in the coldest rooms. Then we had to pay for everything they had ‘given’ us.”
Seeing no solution to the social and economic stresses, the Dutch government encouraged further emigration. Indos were tired of the lack of respect, the limited opportunities and the shortages. They welcomed a new beginning in the United States.
Exact U.S. immigration numbers vary widely. Some sources quote as low as 25,000, others as high as 60,000. Facilitating the Indo immigration were the Refugee Relief Act of 1953 and the World Refugee Year Law of 1960.
“Life is a mystery—how we get from one world to here,” says George van Braam Morris, a trim, blond, blue-eyed, 72-year-old retired machinist of Portuguese, Indonesian and Dutch descent.
He, wife Jenny and daughter Cheryl have asked me to dinner in their light, flower-filled home in Apple Valley. Lemongrass, garlic and spices fill the air. They have a well-deserved retirement that’s filled with family gatherings, travel and good friends. They also both have histories that can be described as epic.
As a child, George survived the most notorious of the Japanese concentration camps, where nearly 3,000 women and children entered and fewer than 800 walked out; a postwar attack by Indonesian insurgents (Bersiap); an Indo rock ’n’ roll youth in Holland; and immigration to the U.S. as a single man in 1961, with only a thin suitcase, a couple of dollars and a useful trade to his name.
He started out in Baltimore, where he alienated his Church of the Brethren sponsor by daring to read Mickey Spillane and drinking beer. It was an auspicious beginning. In an interesting twist of historical fate, he left Baltimore for New Jersey.
“I can trace my family back to the early 1600s,” he says. “The name van Braam is Dutch, and then there’s Morris, which isn’t. The story goes that a merchant named Morris married a van Braam in New York/New Jersey when that territory was Dutch. Like a lot of wealthy people at the time, they put their names together. Later on, the van Braam Morrises continued their trade in the East Indies.”
The van Braam Morris story came full circle when George met and married Jenny Perret in 1964 in New Jersey. Jenny’s family fled Indonesia at the start of the Bersiap period and, with six children, began anew in the Netherlands. The Perrets wanted a better future for their children, now numbered eight. The whole family attended night school to learn English in preparation for immigration to the U.S. in 1960. “They had tremendous faith in the Lord,” Jenny says. “My dad was 45, and the kids were 2 to 21. He and mom were fearless.”
The Perrets and van Braam Morrises continued their reinvention; Jenny and George moved to California in 1972. Two years later, the entire family, save a brother who went to Hawaii, followed them out West. Like Frans Krajenbrink, Rudolf Goutier and Ben and Cornelia Apon, the van Braam Morrises were repeating a pattern of moves across oceans and continents, of establishing and invigorating roots planted before their ancestors set foot in Indonesia. It will continue to transform for their children and grandchildren.
Over the past five years, as Indos with memories of colonial childhoods, WWII and the upheaval of Indonesian independence get older, there’s been a renewed, urgent interest in this profoundly unique culture.
Bianca Dias-Halpert, who was born in the Netherlands and raised in the U.S., has spearheaded the Indo Project, one of the few English-language cultural resources. “The Indo Project has been a work in progress since 2005,” she says. “There’s a wealth of information about us in Dutch, and the community in the Netherlands is well connected, but there’s almost nothing here. After a visit back to Holland, I saw how disconnected we were from our culture.”
As with many immigrants, the struggle to maintain what is intrinsically their own can be daunting in the face of intermarriage and Americanization. The Indo Project serves as a living cultural bridge for immigrants to past and new generations. “We’ve gotten a tremendous response,” says Dias-Halpert. “It’s particularly profound in the English-speaking world, where Indos need a resource. We’re also inclusive. You don’t have to be Indo to be interested.”
Social networking has been instrumental. There is an Indo Project fan page on Facebook, as well as a Dutch-Indonesian Community page and a Dutch-Indonesian Kitchen page, where memories and Oma’s (grandma’s) recipes are recorded.
Irene Scott, Rudolf Goutier’s daughter, is 42. As a girl, she struggled to fit in and says the Internet, as well as hearing her parents’ stories, was helpful in defining her heritage. “When you’re a teenager,” Scott says, “you want to be part of a group. No one knew who we were. When I was a kid, people would say ‘Indo what? Who?’ They’d ask if I was Puerto Rican or Hawaiian. Finding my identity was hard. I had to explain myself. We always used to say, ‘We’re the last of the Mohicans.’”
The community had been so quiet in the United States that younger Indos rarely connected beyond their families. Plus, because of frequently wide diversity in their physical appearance, it can be hard to casually identify one another.
“I rode horses with a girlfriend for two years,” says Scott, “and it wasn’t until I showed her photos from my mother’s funeral and she said my uncles looked Dutch Indonesian that I found out she was, too. We had never talked about our backgrounds.”
Robert Apon, also 42, never felt adrift as a youngster but was aware of a difference. He has been characterized as just about everything but what he really is. “I was born in Holland and have kind of a European perspective, but I had the American experience growing up: diverse friends, football, etc. As an adult, I experienced Indonesian culture, too, and feel a real mix of influences. L.A. is home, America is home, but I still long for the other.”
Before I leave the Apon home, Jennifer packs me some snacks. In the box are lemper, Indonesian sticky-rice buns filled with lemongrass-infused chicken, and a flaky Dutch pastry with a sausage filling. This small kindness says so much about the breadth and depth of the Indo story.
The survival of people who traverse continents and multiple cultures while managing to maintain an identity, often under duress, is a thing of wonderment. The Indos were multicultural before there was a term for it. They are flexible, resilient and have a desire to honor the past but not live in it. The Indos are very much alive—and living in Southern California.
The late evangelist Reverend Ike, actor Mark-Paul Gosselaar and musicians Eddie and Alex Van Halen, Michelle Branch and James Intveld share something: Indo roots. So do Joyce Luther Kennard, an associate justice of the California Supreme Court, and Santa Barbara city councilman Das Williams.
If you have no idea who the Indos—or Dutch Indos, as they’re sometimes called— are, you are not alone. But their story is compelling: Beginning in the late 1950s, tens of thousands emigrated to the U.S. from the Netherlands, part of a post-WWII migration that went into the late ’60s. The majority moved quietly to Southern California and became a part of our mosaic of life. Now Los Angeles is home to the largest Dutch Indo community, with some 100,000 people.
The California dream represented a myriad of personal and professional opportunities for the Indo diaspora. More than a few followed family and friends who had already arrived on the West Coast. Some traveled coach across America in bumpy railcars from the East Coast, tired of the same chilly climate they’d so disliked in the Netherlands. For a few, collecting fan cards of favorite actors and memorizing lyrics to big-band songbooks had made the Golden State a beacon since childhood. And for all practical purposes, it was a logical choice: The postwar economy boomed, jobs and housing were plentiful, schools were good and, much like in Indonesia, the weather was glorious year-round. They may have longed for home, but they knew they could belong here.
Why did the Indos have to leave their homeland? For those who have forgotten their 17th- and 18th-century world history, the Netherlands and its maritime merchants once dominated international trade and established colonial rule from the East Coast to the East Indies. (New York was once New Amsterdam, after all.) The Dutch spent more than 350 years in what is now Indonesia, trading in coffee, sugar, spices and indigo.
The trajectory of the descendants of these traders is bound up in sweeping historical events and contains elements usually found in James Clavell novels and David Lean movies. Dutch and other European settlers married into an already diverse Indonesian population. They wed settlers from Africa, the Middle East and China, and over the centuries, they became a distinct ethnic group. With European surnames, Dutch fluency, Dutch educations and Dutch citizenship, the group thrived and, until World War II, were comfortably situated between the Europeans and the Indonesians in social strata.
Then came World War II. The Japanese invasion and the murderous Bersiap era of Indonesian independence that followed marked a permanent disruption. During a chaotic, nearly 20-year postwar period, the Dutch relinquished all of their territories in the region.
The new Indonesian government wanted no part of its colonial legacy and, between 1945 and 1965, both forced and forcefully encouraged Indos to leave. Staying meant renouncing their Dutch heritage. Gathering what little was left of their belongings, approximately 300,000 Indos climbed on boats and sailed back through time to the Netherlands, where few had ever set foot.
I meet Frans Krajenbrink for coffee at Mimi’s Cafe in Thousand Oaks. A 79-year-old retired physicist for Hughes, he emigrated to the U.S. in 1962. Krajenbrink brings a red three-ring binder with a personal history so acutely rendered that while reading it, I can practically feel the cool mountain air at his grandfather’s Nongkojajar retreat in East Java.
“The Krajenbrink family came to Indonesia in the 1700s,” he says. “It began with two brothers in Holland. One went to Indonesia. He was an engineer involved with building rice fields.” Krajenbrink, who appears more Asian than Dutch, smiles. “That was the beginning of the brown side of the family. We have the brown Krajenbrinks and the white Krajenbrinks. We even have a Krajenbrink family crest.”
“When you’re a teenager, you want to be part of a group. No one knew who we were. They’d say, ‘Indo what—who?’ We’d say, ‘We’re the last of the Mohicans.’ ”
He empties a leather satchel filled with family photographs—an intimate peek into a world that has disappeared. There is a sense of merriment about him, and I get a glimpse of the mischievous boy in the old pictures.
Krajenbrink shows me a 100-year-old-plus image of his grandfather at work in Sumatra, where he was in charge of building railroads, and a wedding photo of his impossibly beautiful parents. There are photos of children at play in lush surroundings; of him and his younger sister, Meis, in costume; a third grade class that resembles a U.N. assembly in miniature; and a requisite naked baby photo so darling we can’t help but laugh. Even knowing how much his story would continue to change, the photos are far more vibrantly alive than bittersweet.
Rudolf Goutier is a retired marine machinist and assembler. I join him and his daughter Irene at a weekly outdoor Indonesian food court at the Duarte Inn. The place is as much social event as dining experience, and everyone seems to know one another. People greet Goutier, ask if I’m Dutch and offer oatmeal cookies.
Over plates from the Balinese stand, he tells me his French last name has mysterious origins but that he has deep pride for the Dutch roots on his father’s side and the African and Ambonese roots on his mother’s. His great-great grandfather was a Mossi warrior named Najoersie, who had been enslaved in Ghana. In the 1830s, the Dutch military, desperate to find soldiers to reinforce their ranks in the restive East Indies, purchased Najoersie’s freedom with an advance on his army salary.
During WWII, Goutier’s Dutch father would perish in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, as a slave laborer on Japan’s Burma railway. When the war ended, the family would flee their home, just ahead of attacking Indonesians. As they prepared to leave, his mother sewed up a floor mat and filled it with family photographs and artifacts. Young Rudolf was entrusted to carry it.
“We lost a lot,” he says simply, “but whatever we saved was enough to bring back memories.”
By 1947, Goutier’s mother, ill and exhausted by the loss of her husband and the trauma of war, packed up her five sons and left the country for the Netherlands. It wasn’t a happy homecoming for the mixed-race Dutch cousins. The Netherlands had its own troubles. Still weighed down by the destruction of WWII, a postwar economic slump and a severe housing shortage, people there were ill-prepared for and less than hospitable to the influx.
Ben and Cornelia Apon invite me to their Whittier home. Their adult children, Robert and Jennifer, join us, too. Ben, a big man with a deep, mellifluous voice and a smile that starts in his eyes, is an award-winning chemical engineer. “My father’s side, Apon, is French from the Huguenots,” he says. “They were Protestant. His family came to Indonesia around 1850. My mother’s family was native Indonesian but culturally Dutch. She was fluent in the language. I grew up in a complete Dutch environment.”
They pull out a colonial-era map of Indonesia to illustrate how far they’ve traveled. Cornelia, a sparkling storyteller, points out her birthplace of Jogjakarta in central Java and traces the path she took during WWII, when her grandfather spirited her, her mother and her sisters to safety in Jakarta in West Java.
“My family came to Indonesia in the late 1800s,” she says. “We went to Holland in 1947. We went back to Indonesia in 1949, and then back to Holland in 1952. My father had been to Holland many times since he was a child, and this is what he chose for us.”
While the Apons are conciliatory, they’re honest in their assessment of the repatriated Indo experience in the Netherlands. Ben, who served in the Dutch Royal Navy and comes from a distinguished military family, seems particularly pained. “The Dutch government didn’t inform their population about the colonials. There just weren’t enough houses after the war, and people were suffering.”
“We experienced racism,” says Cornelia. “In those days, there were only white people living in Holland. They called us names in school. ‘Pinda Chang’ means peanut Chinese. We had contract pensions. [The government] decided where we would live and how much we could have. We had no choices and were allowed the minimum. It was winter in Holland, and we had the thinnest blankets and lived in the coldest rooms. Then we had to pay for everything they had ‘given’ us.”
Seeing no solution to the social and economic stresses, the Dutch government encouraged further emigration. Indos were tired of the lack of respect, the limited opportunities and the shortages. They welcomed a new beginning in the United States.
Exact U.S. immigration numbers vary widely. Some sources quote as low as 25,000, others as high as 60,000. Facilitating the Indo immigration were the Refugee Relief Act of 1953 and the World Refugee Year Law of 1960.
“Life is a mystery—how we get from one world to here,” says George van Braam Morris, a trim, blond, blue-eyed, 72-year-old retired machinist of Portuguese, Indonesian and Dutch descent.
He, wife Jenny and daughter Cheryl have asked me to dinner in their light, flower-filled home in Apple Valley. Lemongrass, garlic and spices fill the air. They have a well-deserved retirement that’s filled with family gatherings, travel and good friends. They also both have histories that can be described as epic.
As a child, George survived the most notorious of the Japanese concentration camps, where nearly 3,000 women and children entered and fewer than 800 walked out; a postwar attack by Indonesian insurgents (Bersiap); an Indo rock ’n’ roll youth in Holland; and immigration to the U.S. as a single man in 1961, with only a thin suitcase, a couple of dollars and a useful trade to his name.
He started out in Baltimore, where he alienated his Church of the Brethren sponsor by daring to read Mickey Spillane and drinking beer. It was an auspicious beginning. In an interesting twist of historical fate, he left Baltimore for New Jersey.
“I can trace my family back to the early 1600s,” he says. “The name van Braam is Dutch, and then there’s Morris, which isn’t. The story goes that a merchant named Morris married a van Braam in New York/New Jersey when that territory was Dutch. Like a lot of wealthy people at the time, they put their names together. Later on, the van Braam Morrises continued their trade in the East Indies.”
The van Braam Morris story came full circle when George met and married Jenny Perret in 1964 in New Jersey. Jenny’s family fled Indonesia at the start of the Bersiap period and, with six children, began anew in the Netherlands. The Perrets wanted a better future for their children, now numbered eight. The whole family attended night school to learn English in preparation for immigration to the U.S. in 1960. “They had tremendous faith in the Lord,” Jenny says. “My dad was 45, and the kids were 2 to 21. He and mom were fearless.”
The Perrets and van Braam Morrises continued their reinvention; Jenny and George moved to California in 1972. Two years later, the entire family, save a brother who went to Hawaii, followed them out West. Like Frans Krajenbrink, Rudolf Goutier and Ben and Cornelia Apon, the van Braam Morrises were repeating a pattern of moves across oceans and continents, of establishing and invigorating roots planted before their ancestors set foot in Indonesia. It will continue to transform for their children and grandchildren.
Over the past five years, as Indos with memories of colonial childhoods, WWII and the upheaval of Indonesian independence get older, there’s been a renewed, urgent interest in this profoundly unique culture.
Bianca Dias-Halpert, who was born in the Netherlands and raised in the U.S., has spearheaded the Indo Project, one of the few English-language cultural resources. “The Indo Project has been a work in progress since 2005,” she says. “There’s a wealth of information about us in Dutch, and the community in the Netherlands is well connected, but there’s almost nothing here. After a visit back to Holland, I saw how disconnected we were from our culture.”
As with many immigrants, the struggle to maintain what is intrinsically their own can be daunting in the face of intermarriage and Americanization. The Indo Project serves as a living cultural bridge for immigrants to past and new generations. “We’ve gotten a tremendous response,” says Dias-Halpert. “It’s particularly profound in the English-speaking world, where Indos need a resource. We’re also inclusive. You don’t have to be Indo to be interested.”
Social networking has been instrumental. There is an Indo Project fan page on Facebook, as well as a Dutch-Indonesian Community page and a Dutch-Indonesian Kitchen page, where memories and Oma’s (grandma’s) recipes are recorded.
Irene Scott, Rudolf Goutier’s daughter, is 42. As a girl, she struggled to fit in and says the Internet, as well as hearing her parents’ stories, was helpful in defining her heritage. “When you’re a teenager,” Scott says, “you want to be part of a group. No one knew who we were. When I was a kid, people would say ‘Indo what? Who?’ They’d ask if I was Puerto Rican or Hawaiian. Finding my identity was hard. I had to explain myself. We always used to say, ‘We’re the last of the Mohicans.’”
The community had been so quiet in the United States that younger Indos rarely connected beyond their families. Plus, because of frequently wide diversity in their physical appearance, it can be hard to casually identify one another.
“I rode horses with a girlfriend for two years,” says Scott, “and it wasn’t until I showed her photos from my mother’s funeral and she said my uncles looked Dutch Indonesian that I found out she was, too. We had never talked about our backgrounds.”
Robert Apon, also 42, never felt adrift as a youngster but was aware of a difference. He has been characterized as just about everything but what he really is. “I was born in Holland and have kind of a European perspective, but I had the American experience growing up: diverse friends, football, etc. As an adult, I experienced Indonesian culture, too, and feel a real mix of influences. L.A. is home, America is home, but I still long for the other.”
Before I leave the Apon home, Jennifer packs me some snacks. In the box are lemper, Indonesian sticky-rice buns filled with lemongrass-infused chicken, and a flaky Dutch pastry with a sausage filling. This small kindness says so much about the breadth and depth of the Indo story.
The survival of people who traverse continents and multiple cultures while managing to maintain an identity, often under duress, is a thing of wonderment. The Indos were multicultural before there was a term for it. They are flexible, resilient and have a desire to honor the past but not live in it. The Indos are very much alive—and living in Southern California.
Being Indo
Series of articles about Indo identity.
Series written by different correspondents for the 'Inside Indonesia' magazine (2011).
Editor Yatun Sastramidjaja.
We all know that Indonesia used to be a Dutch colony and that after the Japanese Occupation Indonesians fought a long independence struggle before their sovereignty was a fact. Afterwards, Indonesia’s new leaders made sure that the colonial chapter in history was closed. Likewise, the Dutch government did everything to keep the lid on the political particulars of the colonial past. Colonialism was an embarrassing episode which was best ignored. Consequently little is known about the fate of the hundreds of thousands of people who were a product of this colonial past: the people of mixed Eurasian blood, heritage and identity, who were born and raised in the Netherlands East Indies but after the war, were forced to leave the country which they had grown accustomed to calling home.
The stories of how these people have built new lives in the Netherlands or elsewhere, and of the resultant challenges they have faced, are very complex and diverse. They are stories of conflict and conciliation, forgetting and remembrance, denial and recognition, trauma and hope. The larger story that binds these individual stories together is the struggle to redefine and control identity and culture. In the following weeks, Inside Indonesia features a series of articles that highlight different aspects of this struggle.
Click: http://www.insideindonesia.org/stories/being-indo-22031411
Editor Yatun Sastramidjaja.
We all know that Indonesia used to be a Dutch colony and that after the Japanese Occupation Indonesians fought a long independence struggle before their sovereignty was a fact. Afterwards, Indonesia’s new leaders made sure that the colonial chapter in history was closed. Likewise, the Dutch government did everything to keep the lid on the political particulars of the colonial past. Colonialism was an embarrassing episode which was best ignored. Consequently little is known about the fate of the hundreds of thousands of people who were a product of this colonial past: the people of mixed Eurasian blood, heritage and identity, who were born and raised in the Netherlands East Indies but after the war, were forced to leave the country which they had grown accustomed to calling home.
The stories of how these people have built new lives in the Netherlands or elsewhere, and of the resultant challenges they have faced, are very complex and diverse. They are stories of conflict and conciliation, forgetting and remembrance, denial and recognition, trauma and hope. The larger story that binds these individual stories together is the struggle to redefine and control identity and culture. In the following weeks, Inside Indonesia features a series of articles that highlight different aspects of this struggle.
Click: http://www.insideindonesia.org/stories/being-indo-22031411
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About generation Indies 3.0 – part 2
Written for Dutch community website Indisch 3.0 [http://www.indisch3.nl] by founder Kirsten Vos (2012).
Every once in a while, we get that question that we forget still exists: what is the third generation Indische Nederlanders — am I an Indisch 3.0 or not? We’ll get into these questions. However, since there is much more to the third generation than a definition, we will share some of our observations with you, in the week preceding our anniversary-kumpulan on May 11, 2012.
We have written about this definition-issue before. Two years ago, to be exact. However, these questions keep coming back, and from both sides of the Atlantic. Therefore we have decided to blog about it again – but this time in English. Before we get into this complex matter, we have to warn you: this post is longer than we usually publish.
Generation Indies 3.0 (Dutch: Indisch 3.0)
The generations we refer to are not the same as family generations, but are defined by the moment of migration. Simply put, generation Indisch 3.0 are the grandchildren of the inhabitants who left Nederlands-Indië as adults. The “1.0’s” are the people who came to Holland (or Canada e.g.) as grownups.
However, and this might be confusing, if their parents were still alive, they were 1.0 as well. So both grandparents and greatgrandparents of a 3.0, are part of the first generation. Many of this generation worked hard to be accepted as normal Dutch citizens (or:assimilated).
"Generation Indisch 3.0 are the grandchildren of the inhabitants who left Nederlands-Indië as adults."
The children that were born to the 1.0’s are the 2.0’s. Some of them were still born in Indonesia (or even Nederlands-Indië). Any child that was younger than 16 when it “repatriated” to the Netherlands, may be considered as 2.0. In the Netherlands, you might notice minor competitions between people of this generation when it comes to their place of birth: “I was born in Indonesia, how about you? (continuing with noticeable triumph) Ah, you were born in Amsterdam. ” This generation either let go of their Indo-roots when they noticed how much stress and pain the topic of Nederlands-Indië caused, or embraced it, starting in the 80’s.
Currently, most of the 3.0’s range in age from roughly 15 to 45 years old. There is competition here as well: “Are you a 3.0 of one or two Indisch parents? (continuing with equally noticeable triumph) Well, both my parents were born there.” By the way, that is ‘worth’ more than two parents who are both 2.0, but were born in the Netherlands. ”Are you a 3.0 of one or two Indische parents? Well, both my parents were born there.”
Indische Nederlander
An Indische Nederlander is someone who has roots in the former Dutch colony Nederlands-Indië and considers himself an Indische Nederlander. That addition sounds self-evident. However, a lot of Moluccans, who could be considered Indisch, don’t consider themselves as such, so who are we to say they are? People that do consider themselves Indisch are Indo’s, peranakans (of Chinese descent), belanda hitams (mixed with African roots) or even a 100% Dutch person (“totok”). Papua’s are the indigenous people of New Guinea and consider themselves Indisch, when they have an Indische parent. Also, we need to say, for the record, that Indisch, in this context, has absolutely nothing to do with India. Nothing.
"For the record, Indisch, in this context, has absolutely nothing to do with India."
By now, some of you are staring at your screen, slamming your fist on your desk, shouting: “That is not true! My mother/grandmother/opa/etc was both Indo and Indisch, but didn’t consider himself neither Indo nor Indisch.” Yes, you are right, we know that. That denial is part of our cultural baggage too. However, when they tell you where they were born, most of them will say Nederlands-Indie/ the Dutch East Indies, whereas most Moluccans will say they were born in the Mollucan island group. It seems like a small difference, but the consequences are huge.
The big difference between totoks and other Indische groups, is their ethnic background in relation to their current homeland.Totok-children and grandchildren usually consider themselves Dutch (or any other nationality that applies to your country of residence). That does not always apply to descendants of Indo’s, peranakans and belanda hitams in the same way. Most of them notice that they are not like the Dutch or any other white community.
In today’s world, in urban day-to-day life, knowing what ethnic group you belong to, becomes more and more significant. With all these etnic minorities in the Western World, more often than not, children with Indo, belanda hitam or peranakan roots use their heritage to shape and define their identity.
"Most of them notice that they are not like the Dutch or any other white community."
Indo
Let’s end with a second basic term: what is an Indo? First off, an Indische Nederlander is not the equivalent of an Indo: not all Indische Nederlanders are Indo and not all Indo’s are Indische Nederlanders. An Indo, in the context that we use it, is short for an Indo-European; someone with both European and Indonesian roots.
"An Indo, in the context that we use it, is short for an Indo-European."
There are some technical challenges and urban legends (or misunderstandings, if you will) to the term Indo. Firstly, we have noticed that Indonesians sometimes call themselves Indo as well, as an abbreviation for Indonesian. That’s up to them, but it’s not the Indo generally referred to in relation to the former Dutch colony.
Also, more and more we read online that Indo comes from an acronym: In Nederland Door Omstandigheden (or: Opa)*. Sorry to tell you, but that is not true. That is an urban legend or a broodje aap-verhaal. There is no other way to put it. We have no clue who came up with that (in-) famous acronym for INDO, but we can assure you that the term Indo existed way before the Indo’s came to Holland. To be called Indo was an insult for many decades, starting somewhere in the early days of the Dutch East Indies, as many of you know.
A ‘technical challenge’: an Indo could have been born in Indonesia in the 1950’s, but may also be born tomorrow in Holland, or the US for that matter: when a person of European descent and a person of Indonesian descent have a child, an Indo is born.
"The term Indo existed way before the Indo’s came to Holland."
Some say that Indo-European, in its bare essence, refers to a person born anywhere south of the river Indus and has both Asian and European roots. We don’t know how helpful that statement is, considering that in that case, a child born in the Phillipines could also be called Indo. That would become quite confusing. And this stuff is confusing enough already, right?
A short summary, to make sure you are not totally confused by now: an Indo is someone of both European and Indonesian descent, born anywhere in the world, 50 years ago or tomorrow. An Indische Nederlander is someone with family roots in the former Dutch East Indies. And a generation Indisch 3.0 is the grandchild of the Indische migrants who left Indonesia as adults. And then there are a lot of misunderstandings and confusing elements.
Observing the third generation
We certainly hope we have been able to explain the basic terms clearly enough. And we hope you have noticed our somewhat sarcastic undertone: definitions are not what makes us who we are. We are who we want to be. Not all 3.0’s want to be third generation Indisch; they no longer feel connected to their heritage and thus to us. We, as Indisch 3.0, hope to at least stop and perhaps even change this, by making visible how many famous and not-so-famous-yet Indo’s there are around the world and by encouraging 3.0’s to at least accept and hopefully handdown their roots to their children.
That the third generation Indische Nederlanders is more than just a definition, we will show in our anniversary week starting May 8th. We will publish our observations, based on being out there for four years. Are there any specific questions? We don’t have all the answers, but four years of active blogging will take us a long way.
*In Nederland Door Omstandigheden (Opa) means: In the Netherlands because of circumstances (or: because of grandpa), referring to the involuntary nature of the migration to Holland.
Indo Music Intermezzo:
INDO 3.0 - A third generation musical intermezzo.
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