Regional nationalism in a colonial state: a case study from the Dutch East Indies

POLITICALGEOGRAPHY,Vol. 14, No. 1,January 1995,31-58

Regional nationalism in a colonial state: a case study fkom the Dutch East Indies DAVID E. F. HENLEY

Royal Institutefor Lingu&ics, Geogrqbky and Anthropology, Postbus9515,2300 Let&n, i%e Netberkm&

RA

ABSTRACT. Little theoretical attention has been paid to the subject of anti-colonial nationalist movements which defined the nation not as the indigenous population of the colonial state as a whole, but as some smaller unit within that state. This paper examines one such ‘regional’ nationalism, in the Minahasa area of North Celebes during the Dutch colonial occupation of what is now Indonesia. Minahasan nationalism was generated by forces similar to those which, at a later date, also gave rise to its pan-Indonesian counterpart. Its occurrence can be explained in terms of the uneven distribution of colonial institutions and the uneven social impact of colonialism in time and space. The evolution of Minahasan regional nationalism was as complex as that of any other nationalist movement, and is described here with the aid of five rudimentary models extracted from the general literature on nationalism. These models stress ethnicity, modernization, communication, inequality and politics respectively. The decline of Minahasan nationalism after 1942 is explained in terms of the radically changed political conditions accompanying decolonization in Indonesia. Parallels and contrasts are suggested with other parts of Indonesia and with separatist nationalisms in other colonial and postcolonial states.

Introduction

In contrast with the considerable theoretical literature on ‘national separatism’ and ‘ethnonationalism’ in sovereign states, little has been written on the subject of centrifugal tendencies in anti-colonial nationalism. Yet while most successful anti-colonial movements aimed to integrate into a single nation all regions and ethnic groups subject to a single colonial state, many of today’s Asian and African nation-states are products of nationalist movements which, in colonial times, had already rejected the idea of national unity within the state boundaries as they then stood. Pakistan, conceived as a reaction against integrative Indian nationalism little more than a decade before the partition of 1947 (Hodson, 1985: Sl), is only the most obvious example. Burma, administered as a province of British India until 1937 yet never tilly integrated into the Indian nationalist movement, could also be said to fall into this category.’ So, by the same token, might Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, all formerly components of another giant colonial state, French Indochina. In Africa, the present Francophone nations were originally grouped into two great colonial federations,

0962-6298/14/010031-28 @ 1995 Butterworth-Heinemann

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Regionalrwathulh

in a cohkal state

French West and Equatorial Africa, both of which were dismembered rather than unified in the process of gaining independence (Morgenthau, 1984: 615-636). Other ‘regional’ nationalist movements in colonial states did not lead to the fragmentation of those states at the time of decolonization, but did survive in the form of separatist struggles within the independent states which succeeded them. In Burma, for instance, the demand for a separate Karen national state dates from at least two decades before Burmese independence from Britain (PO, 1928: 77-84). Bugandan separatism in independent Uganda had its roots in an exclusively Bugandan nationalism which had likewise been articulated well before the departure of the British (Young, 1977: 224-226). A number of empirical and comparative studies on Africa, where the historical contingency of national boundaries is perhaps most obvious, have shed some light on the general dynamics of ethnogeographic unity and fragmentation in anti-colonial nationalist movements (Neuberger, 1986: 19-60; Kasfir, 1972: 69-88; Young, 1985: 73-82). Benedict Anderson has done likewise with his comparative notes in Imagined Communities on the ways in which colonial language and education policies combined with the geography of mass communications to promote national integration in colonial Indonesia, but disintegration in Indochina and the French African colonies (Anderson, 1991: 120-134). Almost the only explicit theoretical commentary on regional nationalism in colonial states, however, is by John Breuilly-who refers to such nationalism as ‘sub-nationalism’-in one chapter of his 1982 book Natiomdism and the State (Breuilly, 1982: 167-185). The essence of Breuilly’s argument is that nationalism in a colonial state only takes regionalized forms, instead of encompassing the indigenous population as a whole, where the structure of that state is such as to generate political rivalry between different ethnoregional groups within it. Bugandans and Pakistanis, for example, both came to be seen as overprivileged ‘collaborator’ groups within their respective colonies, and the hostility which this situation created made integrative, multi-ethnic nationalism unacceptable even to those members of the privileged groups who favoured decolonization and independence. The same argument might also be extended to cases like Burma and Cambodia, where the separatist character of anti-colonial nationalism, when it is recognized at all, is more usually attributed to the prior existence of ‘primordial’ or ‘perennial Burmese and Cambodian nations. * In Indochina, for instance, it was the Vietnamese who enjoyed special favour (Anderson, 1991: 129), and Cambodian nationalism was as much a reaction against the inllux of Vietnamese officials and settlers promoted by the French as it was a reaction against French rule itself (Chandler, 1992: 163). In this article I present a case study which confirms the importance of institutionalized ethnic tension in fomenting regional nationalism, but which also indicates that this is only one of several aspects of a colonial situation which-quite apart from any pre-colonial factors-can lead to the development of nationalism at the local or ethnic level rather than at the state level. A colonial state may also be fissiparous if it is decentralized and diverse enough in internal structure to generate within particular bounded regional administrative units the same complex of social, cultural and political reactions which lead to nationalism at the level of the state as a whole. Alternatively, or additionally, regional nationalism may arise when the historical pattern of colonial expansion is such that one region is subjected to intensive colonial government at an earlier date than its neighbours, and begins to develop its own exclusive nationalist response before other areas are fully incorporated into the colonial state. Clearly, this more complex interpretation of regional nationalism in colonial states can only make sense in the context of a broader set of ideas about the nature and origins of

DAVID

E. F. HENLEY

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nations and nationalism in general. The present paper begins, therefore, with a brief discussion of the properties of nations and a description of five theories commonly used to explain how they come into existence. The Indonesian context of the case study is then introduced. The bulk of the article consists of an account of the rise and fall of regional nationalism in Minahasa, the northernmost part of the island of Celebes (also known as Sulawesi). This takes a mixed narrative and thematic form, and makes reference to the five said theories or models of the nation. A penultimate section attempts some brief comparisons with parallel movements elsewhere in colonial Indonesia, and a conclusion summarizes some lessons of the case study. Properties

and origins of nations

This is not the appropriate place to embark upon an account of how the idea of the nation has emerged and evolved since the Latin noun nutio was used to indicate ethnic communities in the cities of the Roman empire (Zernatto, 1944: 352). As far as the academic study of nations and nationalism is concerned, however, it is significant that the last century has seen a general movement away from ‘objective’ definitions of nationhood, whether based on political criteria like democratic statehood or cultural criteria like linguistic uniformity, and towards ‘subjective’ approaches which define nations in terms of nationalism and the perceptions of nationalists. This movement has perhaps reached its apogee in the work of Ernest Gellner, who characterizes nations as the ‘inventions’ of nationalists (Gellner, 1964, 1983), and of Benedict Anderson, who describes them as ‘imagined communities’ (Anderson, 1991). Anthony Smith (1986, 1991) has recently reasserted that social entities with many of the perceived properties of nations were already known long before anybody called themselves nationalists. But he too retains Anderson’s emphasis on the subjective characteristics of the nation as a community rather than its objective characteristics as a society or state. For the purposes of the present study, a nation may be characterized as a large perceived community defined with respect to a home territory and imbued with a range of powerful social and political ideals. The criterion of territoriality is essential to distinguish nations from other types of perceived community with comparable affective attributes-a religious diaspora, for example, or an international proletariat. It is the association with high ideals, however, which raises the nation above more mundane regional identities by making it a ‘moral community’ (Symmons-Symonolewicz, 1970: 55). Such ideals may be couched partly in religious terms, but in recent times they have most typically included the secular goals of social unity, material and intellectual progress, and collective autonomy in cultural and above all political spheres.3 If nations originate in the minds of nationalists and acquire substance only to the extent that others are persuaded of their existence, ideas are nevertheless conditioned in all cases by their social environment. Numerous studies have sought to reveal the social origins of nationalism. Five broad themes can be distinguished in me consequent welter of explicit and implicit theories. Although seldom intended as complete or exclusive explanations, these are presented here as discrete models for the sake of clarity. According to what I will call the ethnic model, the usual basis for nationhood is an ethnic community of a type which has existed throughout history. There are two common versions of this theory. In the first, the prototypical community is ‘primordial’ in the sense that it is based on assumed kinship and therefore elicits an instinctive loyalty inspired by the biological imperative of kin selection (Van den Berghe, 1981: 15-36,61-67). Common descent may be a fiction, but it must be a credible fiction in order to make the national idea viable. In Smith’s more sophisticated account of the link between ethnicity and

34

Regibnal numb

in a wkmial state

nationalism, the ethnic community or etbnie is less an imagined kin category than a perceived community delineated by a ‘myth-symbol complex’ (Smith, 1986: 15, 57-68). Often religious in nature, this mytbomoteur specifies an ethnic homeland and prescribes a degree of solidarity within the community. An ethic therefore lends itself to interpretation as a territorial nation. What I will call the hamjbrmution model, by contrast, interprets the national community as a psychological and institutional substitute for old frames of reference destroyed by modernity-the small agricultural community, the hierarchical polity and the traditional religious system. This type of account usually begins with the personal crisis of the individual deprived of identity, security and responsibility by alienation from traditional society (Mannoni, 1950: 136), or with the loss of religious certitude, immortality and community of faith (Hayes, 1960; Anderson, 1991: 11-19). In either case, the concept of the nation offers a new identity, a new duty, a new faith and a new form of immortality. The comradeship of fellow nationalists then lends substance to the imagined national community. The transformation theory says nothing about how the boundaries of the new community are defined. This is the concern of what I will call the communication model. The communicative dimension of nationhood fell into scholarly neglect after criticism of the classic work by Deutsch (1953), who seemed to exaggerate the link between interaction and solidarity (Breuilly, 1982: 20). Anderson, however, recognizes that certain types of communication fields do provide prototypes for nations, less by virtue of the real transactions which they involve than because they generate illusions of community. The quintessential example is the collectivity defined by the circulation of a newspaper. However small the actual circulation, the nature of the medium itself implies that the people defined by its linguistic and geographic catchment share a common experience and fate. It is as a publishing domain rather than as an et&z2 that a language group is a potential nation, and what Anderson calls ‘print-capitalism’ is therefore a precondition for nationalism (Anderson, 1991: 37-46). The geography of the imagined community is also influenced in an analogous way by state institutions, particularly educational systems. By concentrating individuals from diverse parts of an extensive territory at central schools and colleges, and by representing that territory to them cartographically in the classroom, education may predispose students to translate their own tiny multi-ethnic fraternity onto the map as a nation (Anderson, 1991: 120-132). In the foregoing models, the imagined community suggests itself, as it were, from within. However, since most nation-states have resulted not from the unification of local fragments but from the fragmentation of imperial units, external factors clearly merit attention. What I will call the reactive model portrays nationalism as a response to social or economic inequality. The nation is the self-image of a disadvantaged group resolved to improve its position, whether through self-help or through conflict. In most cases the group is distinguished by ethnic criteria, physiognomic or cultural. But the reactive model differs from the ethnic one in that the sense of community is a product of external circumstances-subordination to a foreign group-rather than an inherent characteristic.* Inequality may also sustain a sense of nationhood among a privileged group. Shared pride and vulnerability are conducive to solidarity, and any suspicion that participation in the wider society is unnecessary or burdensome may lead to separatism among such a group. The emergence of a conventional reactive nationalism directed against the group will have a similar effect. 5 A nation, however, is above all a moral community, and a privileged minority is unlikely to believe in itself as a moral cause unless factors other than defence of privilege are involved.

DAVIDE. F. HENLFr’

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Reactive nationalism leads more directly than other types to political action. What I will call the political model highlights the use of the perceived nation as a vehicle for the pursuit of political power. As a political tool the nation has two broad applications, legitimation and mobilization. In the age of the nation-state, nationalism has often afforded politicians a degree of automatic legitimacy in the eyes of imperial rulers as well as indigenous followers. As a means of mobilizing support for political goals defined by elites, its strength lies in its intrinsic populism, its association with the ideal of material progress and its moral, rather than merely practical, injunction to unity. The five interpretations of nations and nationalism provided by the ethnic, transformation, communication, reactive and political ‘models’ are seldom mutually exclusive. More often they provide complementary perspectives on the evolution of a particular nationalism, which may be the result of many different processes, both internal and external. In what follows, and more systematically in the subsequent synopsis, I will bring each model to bear where appropriate upon the story of Minahasan nationalism in colonial Indonesia.

The Indonesian

context

If regional nationalism in colonial states is generally a neglected subject, nowhere has that neglect been greater than in cases where the very existence of such a nationalism in the past has been concealed by its subsequent absorption into a successful integrative nationalism encompassing the state as a whole. Just as the success of Burmese nationalism in securing a Burmese national state has obscured its ‘regional’ character within British India, so the ultimate failure of, for instance, the Maharashtran regional nationalism espoused by Bombay intellectuals at the turn of the century has obscured the genuinely ‘national’ character which it bore in the eyes of those who first promoted it (Heesterman, 1986: 85-87; Ranade, 1900: 6-9,16). It is another such ‘forgotten’ nationalism, in part of colonial Indonesia, which will be discussed here. Nederlandc;ch Go&k?&+--‘Netherlands East India’, now ‘Indonesia’-was among those European colonies which became independent as a single nation-state, with its colonial boundaries unchanged. It was a single Indonesian national revolution which wrested control of the territory from the Dutch in the period from 1945 to 1949 and proclaimed it a unitary republic in 1950 (Reid, 1974). Officially based on the ambiguous principle of ‘unity in diversity’, the Indonesian nation encompasses more than 13 000 islands covering some two million square kilometres of land area (Figure I> and inhabited by speakers of at least 468 different languages (Blust, 1987: 32). Nor do its borders with Malaysia, the Philippines and Papau New Guinea correspond to any clear ethnogeographic divisions. Yet Indonesian national unity has proved remarkably resilient-at least as an ideal-even since the disappearance of the common colonial enemy.(j While there have been many regional revolts in independent Indonesia, only three-in Aceh, West New Guinea and East Timor-have had separatist intentions.’ Two of these, moreover, involve areas which were not part of the Indonesian Republic in 1950 and which developed their own national identities under continued colonial rule before their eventual annexation by Indonesia.8 Factors supporting the idea of a unitary Indonesian nation in the other provinces, besides the memory of the common anti-colonial struggle, include the existence of a national language and the availability of historical evidence for pre-colonial states very roughly coextensive with the present one. The official Indonesian language is a dialect of Malay which few speak as a mother tongue-in terms of numbers of native speakers, the most important Indonesian language is Javanese-but which is

-

FIGURE1. Southeast Asia, showing the Dutch East Indies/Indonesia.

Area shown in Map 2 II

Kilometers

North

DAVIDE. F. HENLEY

37

nevertheless very widely spoken as a second language. The most important Indonesian ‘precursor’ state in nationalist literature is the East Javanese empire of Majapahit, which claimed most of the outer islands as ‘tributary states’ in the 14thcentury (Kulke, 1991: 20-21). Indonesia’s pretensions to ‘perennial’ nationhood are readily enough debunkedMajapahit’s empire, for instance, was reconstructed by Dutch colonial scholarship rather than preserved in local folk memory (Reid, 1979: 288), and even the Indonesian language was spread largely by colonial administration and education (Hoffman, 1979). The sheer success of Indonesian nationalism in recent times, however, has led academic writers as well as nationalist propagandists to misrepresent, in teleological fashion, some of the early manifestations of nationalism in Indonesia. The first nationalist organization in the Netherlands Indies, as every Indonesian schoolchild knows, was Budi Utomo or ‘Noble Endeavour’, founded by a group of young Javanese intellectuals in 1908. The classic study of Budi Utomo, by Akira Nagazumi, is entitled 7;be Dawn of Indonesian Nationulism (Nagazumi, 1972). Yet ‘nationalism in Indonesia’ is not synonymous with ‘Indonesian nationalism’, and Budi Utomo, as Nagazumi himself occasionally concedes, was an exclusively Javanese organization which consistently refused to include outer islanders either in its membership or in its vision of the nation (Nagazumi, 1972: 38, 53-54, 89, 116-117). When the idea of a multi-ethnic Z&z?& or ‘Indian’ nation encompassing the whole colony-the word ‘Indonesia’ did not become popular until after 1920-was proposed from 1911 onward, the initial reaction of many Javanese nationalists was to reject it as too artificial, and indeed too colonial, to provide a basis for the national ‘revival’ which they sought (Reid, 1979: 282-286). It was not until the foundation of the future president Sukarno’s Indonesian National Party in 1927 that Indonesian nationalism began to become a mass affair, and not until 1931 that Budi Utomo became reconciled to the idea of a unified Indonesian nation (Pluvier, 1953: 79).9 Meanwhile, nationalist organizations based on other ethnoregional identities had also appeared in several parts of the colony, notably Sundanese West Java, Arnbon in the Moluccas and Minahasa in Celebes. In these three areas they were to outlast Budi Utomo, which was formally dissolved in 1935, and survive until the Japanese invasion of 1942. In the existing literature, such movements have usually been interpreted in three ways-as expressions of ‘primordial’ ethnic loyalty, as local tributaries of the dominant Indonesian nationalist current, or as conservative reactions by privileged minority groups against the nationalist attack on the Dutch colonial order (Geertz, 1963: 11; Pluvier, 1953: 15, 81; Ricklefs, 1981: 159). My case study, however, will show that one such ‘regional’ nationalism, in the Minahasa area of North Celebes, fell into none of these categories, Minahasan nationalism was in fact a largely autonomous development conditioned by many of the same modernizing processes which generated its Indonesian counterpart, but operating on a smaller scale, and beginning at an earlier date. It evolved in parallel to, rather than as an integral part of, Indonesian nationalism. Accordingly it is best analysed not as a ‘regional’ phenomenon within an anachronistic Indonesian context, but in its own terms, as the expression of an evolving Minahasan nationality. Minahasa as a territorial

unit

The territorial basis for Minahasan nationalism was established in the 17th and 18th centuries, when a mountainous area of about 48OOkm* at the northern tip of Celebes (Figure 2) was isolated from its immediate environment by a series of conflicts and treaties which brought it under the exclusive suzerainty of the Dutch United East India Company

Regional nutkmalh

38

in a colonial state

or VOC (Godee Molsbergen, 1928). The Dutch objective here was to extract rice from the fertile uplands around Lake Tondano with which to feed garrisons in the nearby Moluccas, where the Company obtained its precious spices. This involved releasing the communities which grew the rice from the control of the Spanish, who had been active in the area

MINDANAO (PHILIPPINES) North

\

MINAHASA

Kilometers

FIGURE2. Minahasa in its regional setting.

DAVIDE. F. HENLEY

39

intermittently for some decades, and from the influence of a local ‘king’ who dominated the coastlands around Manado and had previously mediated relations with the highlands (Wessels, 1935; Dunnebier, 1949). The Castilians were duly expelled in 1660, and in 1679 a combination of military pressure and commercial opportunity led leaders of ‘the entire community of the Manado region, or the northernmost part of Celebes’ to conclude a treaty with the Company in which they renounced their allegiance to the long and declared themselves Dutch vassals (Godee Molsbergen, 1928: 55-58). Formerly peripatetic, the king and his successors were now restricted to Bolaang, 1OOkm down the coast from the Company fort in Manado. In 1756 a rigorous border agreement separated the Dutch zone from the domain of the king, which included the Mongondow highlands (Godee Molsbergen, 1928: 119). Like the other small principalities of North Celebes, what now became known as the kingdom of Bolaang-Mongondow was left in substantial independence by the Dutch until the 20th century. The Manado region, by contrast, became an isolated island of directly ruled colonial territory called Minahasa. The word minubasa means ‘united, become one’ (Schwarz, 1908: 46). When it first appears in Dutch documents in 1789, it refers to the council of chiefs from different parts of the territory convened at intervals by the Company to receive instructions and resolve internal disputes (Godee Molsbergen, 1928: 135, 137, 139). The Manado region contained some 27 separate indigenous political units, each relating independently to the Dutch authorities (Riedel, 1872a: 459). Each of these groups, known as a wakk, was a tribal community defined by a combination of features including cultural homogeneity, loose territoriality, recognition of a single leadership and a strong but partly fictive tradition of common descent.” Attempts by the Company to appoint paramount chiefs for the whole region had failed owing to endemic rivalries between the waluk, rivalries constantly inflamed by the traditional practice of headhunting. In the 18th century, the power of the small Dutch presence to alter traditional institutions remained limited. After the replacement of the East India Company by colonial government proper at the beginning of the 19th century, however, this situtation quickly began to change.‘l In 1809, Dutch forces crushed a serious rebellion by a number of walak at Tondano (Mambu, 1986). In 1822 the compulsory cultivation of coffee, for which climate and soil in the uplands were ideal, was introduced on a large scale. This made the intensification of colonial administration both economic and necessary, and ultimately led to the transformation of the wahk leaders into a bureaucratic corps trained, directed and paid by the Dutch (Schouten, 1978). It was during this period that the term Minahasa came to designate the whole territory within which a miniature colonial state was being created.i2 Inherent in the bureaucratization process was not only a reinforcement of the territorial distinction between the Manado region and neighbouring lands, but also a quite new perception of the relationship between people and territory. At the beginning of the 19th century, the wakk communities had defined themselves only partly and loosely in territorial terms.‘j By its end, however, they were transformed into bounded administrative districts in which the only criterion for membership, at least as far as the government was concerned, was residence within a particular territory. Increasing state involvement in many aspects of Minahasan life spread this territorial way of thinking among the indigenous population.‘* At the same time, however, the significance of the districts as such was gradually being reduced as Minahasa itself emerged as the definitive unit of territorial administration. After 1881, for instance, district chiefs could be stationed anywhere in Minahasa-but not outside it-regardless of their personal connections or wahk of origin (Schouten, 1987: 124).

40

Regional nationalism in a colonial state

The delimitation of Minahasa as a colonial territory, then, laid the foundations for nationalism by defining the home country and the foreigner, by bringing about political unification, and by creating a new kind of relationship between people and land. The next section examines the extent to which pre-colonial identities also contributed to the emergence of Minahasan nationalism, as predicted by the ethnic model of nationality.

Ethnic@

and identity in pre-colonial

Minahasa

Pre-colonial Minahasa-if the anachronism may be excused-had been culturally diverse as well as politically fragmented. At least eight mutually unintelligible languages, for instance (Sneddon, 1978,1984), were spoken within it (Figure3). This, however, does not preclude the possibility that Minahasa was nevertheless already perceived as a single entity at some more abstract level. As we have seen, the ethnic model of nationalism offers two possible foundations for such conceptual unity-kinship, real or imagined, and the ethnic mytbomoteurs sometimes embedded in folk religion. In Minahasa, the warlike character of the society and the associated tradition of w&k endogamy tended to prevent the formation of geographically extensive kin networks. On the other hand, the w&k as groups did have some idea of their collective histories in

FIGURE3. Minahasa: hnguage groups.

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41

relation to each other. Most were the product of fission from other w&k in the past, and the sequence of divisions and migrations was often remembered from generation to Tombulu and Tonsea generation. l5 The various waluk speaking the Tontemboan, languages, for instance, were all believed to have developed from a single ancestral group. According to one common oral tradition, the progenitors of this group had been an incestuous mother and son, Lumimu’ut and To’ar (Schwarz, 1907: II, 389-405). This perceived genealogical unity was also reflected in folk religion. At their initial separation, the Tontemboan, Tombulu and Tonsea peoples had each been assigned slightly different ritual systems (‘Jasper, 1916: 262-263,285; Riedel, 1862: 15-16). The differences, however, were understood as complementary in a cosmic sense, and there was apparently at least one joint ritual in which this complementarity was acted out by participants from all three groups (De Clercq, 1870). It has sometimes been argued on this basis-most recently by Tauchmann (1968: 46, 185-188)-that Minahasa was already a nation in pre-colonial times. There are several reasons to question this. First, the tripartite ethnic core excluded more than one quarter of the population which later came to call itself Minahasan.16 The numerous Tondano language speakers, for instance, were considered outsiders who had been permitted to settle in the area only as ‘slaves of the Tonsea’ (Graafland, 1898: I, 78-79). Even within the core groups, not all individuals traced their descent from To’ar and Lumimu’ut (Schwarz, 1907: II, 408-410). Second, the community was without the basic corporate quality of a nation. It had, for instance, no name. Even the later name of Minahasa alludes to a former diversity now unified, not an ancestral unity now diversified. The religious emphasis was not upon unity, but upon systematic and necessary diversity. Common belonging was symbolized by the open vertical tree of descent, not the bounded horizontal field of nationality, and it entailed no political solidarity. The elements of unity present in pre-colonial culture are best understood as latent resources upon which people would later draw to help create a new kind of community in Minahasa. The next section describes the creation of that community as the result of dramatic socio-cultural changes and a new set of pan-Minahasan communication media, as predicted by the trun.@rmation and communicationmodels of nationalism respectively.

Minahasa becomes

a perceived

community

The most conspicuous aspects of traditional religion-major ceremonies, sacred oral literature, senior ritual specialists-disappeared in me 19th century and were replaced by their Christian equivalents. Christianization had already begun in Company and even Spanish times, but the great majority of Minahasans were converted between 1831 and 1891 by the Dutch Missionary Society or NZG (Gunning, 1924). The attraction of Protestant Christianity in this period can be explained partly by its association with the prestigious Dutch rulers, partly also by the erosion of old cultural institutions under new political pressures-compulsory coffee cultivation, the suppression of headhunting, the abolition of slavery, the reconstruction of houses and settlements, and the bureaucratic restructuring of the internal social hierarchy. The process of Christianization was central to the emergence of a Minahasan national community, most importantly because it replaced the old cultural ideals of legitimate violence, systematic diversity and natural inequality with one of peaceful and homogeneous unity. ‘The Christian religion shall eliminate all divisions’, taught the NZG, ‘and all Minahasans shall truly become brothers’ (Graafland, 1863: 24). Though this ideal was new, the missionaries attempted to promote it partly by harnessing the latent unity

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Regional natimdhm

in a colonial state

which they detected in traditional society and culture. NZG teaching material, for instance, stressed the cultural similarity and common origin of most wakak, and also portrayed the Tondano language group-among whom, significantly, many of the earliest converts were made-as a fourth indigenous core group, equal in seniority to the Tombulu, Tontemboan and Tonsea (Graafland, 1863: 22-24). At the effective cost of perpetuating ancestor worship, the missionaries even appropriated and promoted a version of the legend of To’ar and Lumimu’ut, whom they now portrayed as the ancestors of all Minahasans without exception (Graafland, 1898: I, 210-213). Many missionaries, and some white government officials too, liked to idealize what they perceived as the innocence and authenticity of the vanishing tribal society (Graafland, 1898: I, 204; Eiedel, 1872b). This reflected both intellectual trends in Europe and a growing anxiety about what they saw as excessive cultural westernization among Minahasans, whose imitation of Europeans had extended beyond religion to such things as fashion and drink. The missionaries sought to limit this process by fostering pride in the Minahasan identity itself. In doing so they applied their own European assumptions about nationality, distinguishing ‘national’ customs and crafts from foreign borrowings (Graailand, 1898: I, 134, 227, 342, 346, 370; Grundemann, 1873: 244). Some of the former-a type of structured labour exchange, a harvest dance, a style of rattan work-were deliberately standardized and promoted. A patriotic song was even composed for Minahasan schoolchildren: Beloved Minahasa Hear my heart’s song For your good fortune I ask God’s great blessing Where is there a lovelier More peaceful land? Because there is none I love you with passion.” The N?G believed that it was not creating Minahasa, but recreating it in a new Christian form. De wedergeboorte van een vo&-‘the rebirth of a people’-was how one missionary described the process (De Vreede, 1935: 340). The idea of a single Minahasan volk was disseminated through new social institutions which, because they encompassed Minahasa as a whole, automatically helped to make that idea credible. The most important such institution was the local mission school system, the most extensive anywhere in the 19th~century Netherlands Indies (Kroeskamp, 1974: 98-296). This eventually came to feature a single curriculum and a single corps of Minahasan teachers trained at a central training college. There was also a single preferred medium of instruction, Malay, which transcended local linguistic rivalries and became the language of Minahasan unity. Contact with the teachers, and instruction in Minahasan history and geography, enabled schoolchildren to perceive themselves as members of a Minahasan community even when their own social circles were otherwise still much more local. Another NZG institution, the mission newspaper Tjhbaja Sijang or ‘Light of Day’, performed an analagous integrative role for adults (Lapian, 1979). First published in 1868, this was subtitled ‘Newspaper for Minahasa’ and treated all Minahasan news as home news. Anderson has emphasized the importance of schools and printed media in defining the Indonesian nation at a later date; in Minahasa, the same processes were already at work on a smaller scale in the 19th century.

D~vm E. F. HENLEY

43

The secular colonial government also contributed to the creation of a perceived Minahasan community. Its administrative policies, for instance, gave rise to a newly privileged elite of chiefly families which intermarried increasingly with each other, across w&k boundaries, in order to maintain their status (Schouten, 1978: 63-65). In 1865 the state followed the mission example by providing a central training school for its Minahasan officials, including clerks and coffee supervisors as well as administrative chiefs (Kroeskamp, 1974: 227-232). The main language of administration, as of proselytization, was Malay, although knowledge of Dutch also became widespread among the Minahasan elite. In combination with linguistic unification and the colonial Pax Neerfimdicu, the dense road network built to transport the coffee harvests gradually gave more substance to the perceived community by facilitating contact and movement between the walak. At the conceptual level, European government spokesmen introduced Minahasans to an ideal of material and economic progress which complemented those of social unity and spiritual enlightenment promoted by the mission (Panawuot [1926]: 58). By the last decade of the 19th century, articles by local writers in Tjahaja Sijang show that Minahasans themselves had learned to speak the same language. I hope that the name of Minahasa will remain powerful for our children and our children’s children. The benefits of the unity to which it refers are now plain to see. All we Minahasans, both government and people, are united in a fine endeavour. United in the cause of better roads, houses and economic activities for our profit and pleasure as Minahasans. And united above all in the quest for knowledge to guide us in this life and the next. (Tjabaja Sijang, 6 September 1895) This gentle nationalism was, to a large degree, designed and tailored to fit by Minahasa’s European masters. Nevertheless, it was also the partly unintended consequence of a set of real institutions which defined and created the community in which it took root. Furthermore, Minahasan nationalism was already developing a reactive, antagonistic dimension which brought it into conflict with its original sponsors. The following section shows how inequality between Minahasans and foreigners helped define the Minahasan community by giving it ‘vertical’ extent within a superordinate social hierarchy. As predicted by the reactive model of nationalism, this strengthened the identity and solidarity of the group.

Ethnic stratification

and Minahasan

identity

European ambivalence toward cultural westernization among Minahasans was informed by prejudice and pride as well as genuine moral concern. Most missionaries could not accept Minahasans as equals, and saw any aspiration to equality as impertinent or even threatening (Graatland, 1898: II, 171-172; Schouten, 1978: 63). The earliest published expression of national feeling by a Minahasan came from an NZG employee whose ambition to train as a missionary himself had been frustrated by his European superiors despite his possession of a teaching qualification from The Netherlands (Kruijf, 1894: 390-391). In 1873 this man wrote a historical article in which he portrayed the Tondano revolt of 1809 as the result of a ‘popular desire for liberation’ among Minahasans (Mangindaan, 1873). Members of the many wakzk which fought on the Dutch side in that conflict were described as ‘disloyal countrymen’ whom the ‘magnanimous’ rebels endeavoured not to shoot in battle. For the first time, the ideal of Minahasan unity sponsored by the Dutch was being turned, at least figuratively, against them.

44

Regional mtionalh

in a cohmial state

The government itself was less hostile than the mission to the idea of cultural assimilation, but it too exposed its employees to treatment which encouraged them to identify with Minahasa rather than with the Dutch. ‘I have learned from experience’, declared one Minahasa chief, ‘that we natives are inferior beings in the eyes of a great many European officials’ (Hundelingen Vokuad, 1918: 206). The loss of political and economic autonomy which such men experienced during their transformation from waIuk leaders into district officials also rankled (Schouten, 1978: 66-97). When these disaffections coincided with broader public grievances, members of the indigenous elite sometimes acted to represent Minahasan interests against those of the local colonial state. In 1891, for instance, one chief petitioned the governor general ‘in the name of the people of Minahasa’ for an investigation into unpopular tax reforms introduced by a local Dutch official (Stakman, 1893: 113; Schouten, 1987). The role of racial stratification in defining the Minahasan nation was complicated by the fact that if Minahasans were subordinate to Europeans, they were nevertheless becoming a lesser elite themselves as accessories to colonialism outside their homeland. The expansion of mission and later also state education in Minahasa generated a local surplus of literate, numerate manpower which was drawn off by government and private enterprise elsewhere in The Netherlands Indies. By 1930, around half of all Minahasans were literate-compared with fewer than 7 percent of all Indonesians-and one in every eight was living outside Minahasa. l8 The experience of these expatriates as clerks in government offices, overseers on plantations, policemen in the colonial cities and assistant missionaries in remote areas tended to reinforce a lesson which they had already learned at school-that as a Christianized, civilized people, Minahasans were ‘more elevated and illustrious’ than the other natives of the Indies (Graafland, 1863: 5). The Minahasa status category therefore had a native floor as well as a European ceiling. The pride imparted by this knowledge enhanced group solidarity even if it did little to maintain the serviceability of Minahasa as a vehicle for selfless ideals. Towards the end of the colonial period, Minahasan privilege came under attack from its creators themselves. Except where Europeans were concerned, the absolutist colonial state of the 20th century was often opposed in principle to the kind of ethnic favouritism which had served imperial interests in the past. By 1936, for instance, it was Dutch policy to dispense with Minahasan administrative personnel in the ‘indirectly ruled parts of Celebes as soon as suitably qualitied local people became available (Broeder, 1936: 1008). The most striking illustration of how this trend affected and enhanced Minahasan nationalism concerns a special group of emigrants, those who served in the Dutch colonial army. Minahasans had borne arms for the Dutch even in East India Company times, and in the course of the 19th century they became identified as a ‘martial race’ particularly suited for service in the colonial army (Van Gent, 1923).19 In 1920 they made up 15 percent of its total strength (Koloniaal Verskag, 1921: Appendix C, 5). Institutionalized racial discrimination had reached its apogee in the army, where the intermediate status of the Minahasans between European and other Indonesian troops was regulated with military precision and affected everything from food to pensions. Hailed ass a martial elite among natives and yet frustrated in their aspiration to equality with Europeans, the Minahasans in the barracks of the Indies formed tight communities isolated from other groups by ethnic pride and jealousy (Marcus, 1919: 417; Balner 1925: III, 164). It was members of such a community at the Magelang military base in Central Java who founded the first formal Minahasan nationalist organization, the Pemrikuun Mid or Minahasa Association, in 1909 (Soeharto and Ihsan, 1981: 160). Faced with a plan to abolish their special status in 1919, Minahasan soldiers angrily petitioned the government for immediate legal ‘equalization’ of

DAVIDE. F. HENLEY

45

all Minahasans with Europeans (V 27/12/1921/A14K).20 At the same time they insisted that this was not synonymous with naturalization, and that Minahasans wished emphatically to remain Minahasans (Kilat, 20 May 1919).

Minahasa as a political

cause

Besides reflecting the ethnic stratification of the colonial system, Minahasan politics in the late colonial period both embodied and enhanced the idea of a Minahasan nation as it had developed in the 19th century. Because many Minahasans derived real and perceived benefits from colonial rule, however, their nationalism tended to take a cooperative form which has often been misinterpreted as a direct identification with the Dutch. The ‘equalization’ petition of 1919 brought Minahasans into unusually direct confrontation with the colonial government. Nevertheless, it was also the continuation of a long tradition of political protest. As early as 1877, the Minahasan district chiefs had appealed jointly to Batavia against legislation designating all uncultivated land in Minahasa as state domain (Van Kesteren, 1879: 463-468). Other protest actions, some of them successful, had followed. In 1912, for instance, Pemr&atan Minahasa had protested against proposed cuts to local education in Minahasa-always a politically sensitive issue-and succeeded in persuading the government to water down the plan (Viersen, 1913). The 1919 petition itself was less successful. Minahasan military privileges were abolished as planned in 1921, and the soldiery, partly out of increased realism, gradually became apolitical and conservative. This disappointing development in Java, however, coincided with new evidence of political progress in the homeland itself. In I919 a representative organ for Minahasa, the Minubasaraud or Minahasa Council, was inaugurated in Manado. With a direct system of election and an overwhelming indigenous majority, the Minubusaraad was the most democratic organ of government in colonial Indonesia (Brouwer, 1936: 99-102). Perserikatan Minabasa included ‘loyal pursuit of selfgovernment’ among its statutory goals (Na@z’Minahasa Celebes,10 October 19X3), and the new council seemed to vindicate this paradoxical strategy.‘l Presiding over local taxation and public services, the Minubusaraud abolished co&e labour, initiated a migration scheme to relieve local overpopulation, and involved itself in public health, markets and credit services (Tideman, 1926: 86-88; Van Rhijn, 1941: 56-57). In its consultative capacity, it defended local education against more threats from above (MR 2311927). It also secured an extension of its own franchise from an initial 10 percent to almost 70 percent of the adult male population (Van Aken, 1932: 51). The turnout at elections, moreover, was impressive.22 When Minahasan political demands were met by the Dutch, it was due partly to the fact that such demands were phrased in a way which stressed the essential loyalty of the region to the government, and the reciprocal obligations which this engendered. Indeed, combined with Christianity and cultural westernization, Minahasa’s reputation for political loyalism earned it the epithet of ‘12th province’ of The Netherlands (which had 11). This was, however, a stylized and instrumental type of loyal&m calculated to further the interests of Minahasa as a nation or bungsa. A local newspaper article from 1929 compares the confrontational nationalism of Java and Sumatra, which ‘bangs and smashes at the government’s door’, with the more restrained-and effective-Minahasan variety. Minahasa, which might be called sophisticated, is never slow to face the government either. But it comes respectfully, knocking on the door, requesting

46

Regionalnationalismin a colonial state admission and asking that its wishes he granted. Those Minahasans who have some political awareness know how to make practical use of politics, know exactly what to do and how to behave in order to benefit their land and bangsa. @iran, 6 April 1929)

Witbin Pemrikutun Minubusu, which attracted many civilian as well as military members in the years before the gel#stelling petition, bangsa Minubusu was explicitly perceived as a nation on the European model. At the inauguration of a civilian branch in the homeland in 1915, one speaker even exhorted Minabasans to draw inspiration from the bloody patriotisms of the First World War. Mirtahasa, my bangsa! Do not be discouraged by fatigue, adversity, ridicule or oppression. Look at what is happening in Europe, where each man so loves his 6ungsu that if he dies on the battlefield it is as iI to say: take my worthless body, I fought to the death for the glory of my country and the good of my 6angsu.24 ‘There is a sense of nationality, a Minahasan nationalism’, confirmed two Minahasan leaders in a Dutch-language article published in 1917. ‘Everything Minahasan, everything which involves a national ideal, is concentrated in Pemrikutun Mitiu’ (Ratulangie and Laoh, 1917: 472-473). Christianity also contributed to this nationalism, which inherited from the Wth-century missionary project not only an ideal of unity but also one of emancipation. The NZG had sometimes been at odds with the secular colonial authorities, and had not shrunk, for instance, from publishing attacks on government policies in rjahaja Sijang (Graafland, 1898: II, 393). ‘Christianity produces loyal subjects’, one Minahasa missionary wrote, ‘but a people which understands the notions of right and justice must also be treated justly’ (Graafland, 1898: II, 135). In the ecclesiastical sphere, the NZG went further by supplying a vision of independence from Dutch leadership. Despite their hostility to the idea of training Minahasan pastors immediately, most missionaries agreed that their ultimate goal wasto make themselves redundant by creating an autonomous Minahasan church (Opleiding, 1867: 83; Van ‘t Hof, 1951-52: IV, 123). After 1875, however, financial difficulties forced the NZG to transfer its Minahasan congregations to the care of the state-sponsored ‘Indies Church. For half a century the church in Minahasa became a rigid appendage of the colonial government. Yet much of the school system remained in mission hands, and Minahasan teachers at the NZG schools, most of whom remained lay preachers too, kept the ideal of ecclesiastical independence alive through their organization Pungkul Seth (Lapian, 1985: 93). Resentment also persisted among some Minahasan employees of the Indies Church itself. In 1933 members of both groups founded an independent national church called the KGPM or Minahasa Protestant Church Union (Lapian, 1985: 94-95). The Indies Church now accelerated its own belated autonomy programme, so that the established church in Minahasa received formal independence in 1934 as the GMIM or Minahasan Evangelical Protestant Church (Lintong, 1978: 27). The GMIM, with its great institutional momentum, remained preponderant, but KGPM grew rapidly (Lapian, 1985: 95). It did so while retaining close links with secular nationalism in the form of Persutumz Minabmu (Minahasa Union), a political party which replaced the civilian wing of Pemrikutun Minubusu in 1927 (MR 154x/1940). Minahasa and Indonesia With the migration of Minahasans to other parts of the Netherlands Indies from the middle of the 19th century onward, and with the territorial consolidation and centralization of the

DAVID E. F. HENLEY

47

colonial state as a whole at the beginning of the 20th century, it became possible for Minahasa to see itself as just one part of a much larger country. At the same time, literacy in the Malay and Dutch languages was opening up the region to news and information from the outside world (Schouten, 1978: 62). Minahasan political leaders were already alert to conditions elsewhere in the archipelago in 1877, when they complained that neighbouring territories, though less loyal and less profitable to the government than Minahasa, were not subject to the state coffee monopoly or the state domain law (Van Kesteren, 1879: 465). In the 20th century they began to look to Java, where the foundation of Perserikutun Minahasa in 1909 must have been connected with the establishment of military chapters of the new Javanese national organization Budi Utomo in the same year (Nagazumi, 1972: 94). Ethnic rivalry, however, and the determination not to be outdone by any other bangsa, were much more important thay any interest in solidarity here. ‘Minahasans’, as one writer bristled in 1922 at the suggestion that other groups were more patriotic, ‘can rival anyone in the Indies in love for their homeland’ (7’@u,aja Q&g, 7 June 1922). In 1911 the Znd&be Pa-t& a new political party dominated by Dutch Eurasians, began to suggest that all people born in the Indies actually shared one great common homeland (Ricklefs, 1981: 163,173). The overt response to this idea from Minahasans was cautiously positive. 25 Some of their motives here were still strongly ethnocentric, however. A quarter of a million strong among a population of more than 50 million, they sensed that their future might ultimately depend not upon Dutch protection, but upon the goodwill of their neighbours. ‘We must beware’, observed one Minahasan in 1923, ‘of what might happen if, in times to come, we should find ourselves alone and isolated’ (Tjahaja Sijang, 20 October 1923). The Znd&zbe Purtij ultimately lost the support of more popular sectional groups like the Muslim Surekut Islam (Islamic Bond) and failed to form the nucleus of an Indonesian national movement. The really difficult choices for Minahasa were therefore postponed until the appearance of Sukarno’s Indonesian National Party or PNI in 1927. Some Minahasan students in Java played important roles in the youth movement from which the new Unitarian nationalism of the PNI drew much of its strength.26 Persatuan ~inahasa itself entered an alliance with Indonesian nationalist parties in 1939 (Pluvier, 1953: 83, 118, 136). On the other hand, Petwtuun Minahasa did not join the PPPKI, a historic pan-Indonesian federation of nationalist parties sponsored by Sukarno and the PNI in 1927 (Blumberger, 1931: 306). It is also striking that although two Unitarian nationalist parties were present in Minahasa, they never had much support there despite an unusually tolerant local Dutch administration (MR 679X.0932; MR 389X/1938). In so far as it was politicized along party lines, the Minahasaraad was dominated instead by Persutuun Minahasa, to which one half of its elected members belonged between 1934 and 1938.” Persahan Minahasa derived its popularity partly from its close attention to specific local issues-school funding, ecclesiastical autonomy, an unpopular state copra freight monopoly-and partly from its explicit appeal to Minahasan national sentiment. The Persutuun Minabusu leader, G.S.S.J. Ratulangie, explained his opposition to the PPPKI federation partly in terms of its interpretation of kebungsuan or nationality.28 ‘The peoples of Indonesia’, he argued, ‘can be divided into territorial units, each with its own rights as a bungsa’ (Fikirun, 23 June 1928). One reason for the central committee’s refusal to join is that the PPPKI is based upon ke6ungsaan in name only. In reality its unity does not reflect the rights of each bangsa in Indonesia. The Surekut Islam party and the PNI in particular, although they claim to act on the basis of kekwzgsaan, do not represent specific bangsa in the sense just explained. (F&kzwz,23 June 1928)

48

Regional nationalism in a colonial state

While some radical Minahasans in Java objected to this attitude, most regarded it as entirely natural. One newspaper correspondent in the homeland even opined that Minahasa should seek its own independence ‘with or without Indonesia-after all, Minahasa is a bigger country than, say, the Republic of Haiti’ (&man, 11 June 1932). Ratulangie’s own view in 1938, and the official standpoint of Persatuan Minahasa, was that there was no necessary contradiction between Minahasan independence and Indonesian unity (Nationale Commentaren, 26 November 1938). The only ideological way to reconcile the old Minahasan nationalism with the new Indonesian one, however, and the only practical way to allay Minahasan fears of domination by other more numerous bungsa, was federalism. Ratulangie had always recognized Indonesia as a geographic and political unit, but in 1922 he was already insisting upon federalism as the basis for its political development (MiRevue, 31 March 1927). In 1930 he assured a public meeting in Manado that ‘the organisation of the future state must be based upon the federal principle, with full recognition of the rights of each autonomous bangsa within the Indonesian framework (Fikiran, 31 May 1930). This remained his position, and that of most Minahasans, until the end of the colonial period. Only within an established nation-state-and often not even then-can there be full agreement on the distinction between a nation and a region. In a colonial context, where the state is not a nation-state and no putative nation can boast its own state, both concepts must remain matters for debate. The conceptual status of late colonial Minahasa in this respect was ambiguous. For many of its people, Minahasa satisfied all reasonable criteria for nationhood. On the other hand, it is also true to say that the number for whom Minahasa was ever the only conceivable national identity was smaller. Barely had Minahasan nationalism been expressed in the form of modern political organizations when it was caught up in broader developments which made it impossible to see Minahasa as an entirely exclusive cause. Nevertheless, Minahasa retained such autonomy as a focus of social ideals, political endeavours and patriotic loyalties that even in 1942 the ambiguity persisted. Minahasa was still a tunub air or homeland-literally ‘earth and water’, an emotive phrase now reserved for Indonesia as a whole-rather than a &era.b, the modern Indonesian term for ‘region’.29 It remains to consider to what extent Minahasan nationalism had become a mass affair by 1942, or whether it remained an elite phenomenon. While there was no real mass political mobilization in Minahasa during the colonial period, the organizations which espoused regional nationalism did penetrate rural society. In 1936, for instance, Persatuan Mhubasa had 27 branches in the homeland alone, many of them in small villages (MR 389X/1938). The Minahasan situation, moreover, has to be seen in the context of very low levels of nationalist activity elsewhere in colonial Indonesia. The PNI itself never boasted more than about 10000 members, and a survey conducted by an Indonesian lawyer in 1940 estimated the total number of ‘politically and socially conscious Indonesians’ at around one in every 300 inhabitants of the colony (Ingleson, 1979: 106; Van der Wal, 1964-65: II, 594). In Minahasa, with its high literacy rate and unique representative council, this proportion must have been much higher. Minahasa after 1942 This story would not be complete without some consideration of what happened to Minahasan nationalism after 1942 to conceal its very existence from later writers. Although a powerful sense of regional patriotism persists among Minahasans today, it subsists within a more or less unquestioned Indonesian national identity. Bungsa Minahasa appears to have settled down as one of the many sukubangsu or ‘ethnic groups’ which make up

DAVIDE. F. HENLEY

49

barzgsa hdm,mkz.

It is arguable that this transformation has become complete only in the 1965. The key changes, however, occurred in the tumultuous decade following the Japanese invasion of 1942. Even recent Indonesian nationalist accounts concede that the Japanese occupation of Minahasa gave violent impetus to the idea of a unitary Indonesian nation after the ‘regionalism’ of the Dutch period.

period

since

But when Japanese troops landed in the region, forcing their way into houses with fixed bayonets and asking in menacing voices: ‘Dutch or Indonesian?‘, then of course the answer, for the sake of our lives and property, had to be ‘Indonesian!‘. (Wowor, 19777:18) During the Japanese conquest of Minahasa in January 1942, many local colonial troops and volunteer militiamen were killed in action or executed after capture (Nortier, 1988: 22-60). As in other parts of Indonesia, occupation policy over the subsequent three and a half years combined harsh exploitation and repression with intensive anti-western propaganda, paramilitary conditioning for the young, and selective cooptation of prewar radicals as leaders and advisers of various kinds3’ By the time of the Japanese surrender in 1945, the few veteran Unitarian nationalists led a substantial body of revolutionary youths who regarded themselves as the local vanguard of the Indonesian national cause (Manus et al. [ 19801). On the other hand, they also faced bitter hostility from compatriots who saw them as unprincipled collaborators, and the returning Dutch as deliverers. This polarization was contrary to the spirit of prewar Minahasan society and politics, and it left little room for Minahasa as an independent category. The proclamation of the Indonesian Rebublic in Jakarta on 17 August 1945 presented a dilemma for politicians and officials whose primary orientation had previously been toward Minahasa. Such people cherished the idea of political independence even if they mistrusted Sukarno and his Unitarian nationalists. For those who decided to ride the tide of revolution, the indivisibility of Indonesia became an obligatory shibboleth whether they believed it or not. Those who preferred an accelerated version of the old decentralized evolutionary process, on the other hand, found themselves depending upon a Dutch-sponsored federal plan widely interpreted as an attempt to restore colonial power.31 As late as 1949, an organization of intellectuals and moderate politicians called the Minahasa Constitutional Committee campaigned for the formation of an autonomous Minahasan state, with its own constitution, within a future United States of Indonesia (Komite Ketatanegaraan Minahasa [1949]). But by that time there was no more scope for Minahasa as a political cause in its own right. Too many Minahasans, conservatives as well as revolutionaries, had learned to see things in Indonesian terms, and too many non-Minahasans were disinclined to recognize a specifically Minahasan point of view. The Republicans were bent on a unitary state, while the Dutch still believed that they too could play for Indonesian rather than regional stakes. In the end, the choice for opponents of the Republic in the regions was between acquiescence in integration and unilateral declaration of regional independence. When the flimsy federal structure erected by the Dutch began to collapse under pressure from Jakarta after the official recognition of Indonesian independence in 1949, most Minahasans saw which way the wind was blowing and chose integration. The local assembly voted to join the Republic at the end of April 1950, while Minahasan military units still under Dutch control unilaterally declared themselves part of the Republican army a few days before the arrival of a central government expeditionary force in the following month (Manus et al. [1980]: 222-231).

50

Regional naMh

in a colonial state

Some authors have tended to treat the Japanese and revolutionary periods in Indonesia as if they revealed the true essence of prewar political developments by bringing into the open ideas and conflicts suppressed by Dutch colonialism.32 Where Minahasa is concerned, however, such a teleological approach would be misleading. The fact that the exclusively Minahasan nationalism of the late colonial period dissolved after 1942 was not a reflection of its weak or artificial character before that date, but a result of the radically changed ideological, social and political environment of occupation and revolution. The dissolution, furthermore, was far from complete. While Minahasa was finally swallowed by Indonesia in the years 1945-50, it was nevertheless swallowed whole. Former Pemztuun MiWu leader G.S.S.J. Ratulangie, for instance, had pretended to renounce Minahasa by declaring himself ‘an Indonesian and not a Minahasan’ (Wowor, 1977: 41), but his homeland knew the difference between strategy and sentiment. When his body was returned there after his death in 1949, posters hailed him as ‘the father of the whole Minahasan people’ (Tot-at-, 1985: 110). Former soldiers of the colonial army, as well as Republican militiamen, lined the path of his bier (ASB I 1/1O/2/8).33 Now an Indonesian national hero, he continues, posthumously, to provide an important shackle between Minahasa and the Indonesian nation. In the circumstances, the very acceptance of integration into the Indonesian state was itself partly an act of Minahasan patriotism. Certainly it spared Minahasa the extreme suffering incurred by another region, Ambon, which did attempt to secede from Indonesia in 1950 as the ‘Republic of the South Moluccas’ and was immediately invaded by Republican troops (Chauvel, 1990: 347-406). A few years later, however, it was the turn of Minahasa to take up arms against Jakarta. The 1950s saw the Minahasan economy seriously weakened by a central government monopoly over copra purchase and marketing, while an underfunded local government was unable to maintain the extensive but crumbling transport system and other infrastructure. In 1957 mounting popular grievances in Minahasa intersected with a broader movement for regional autonomy called Permestu or ‘Inclusive Struggle’ and sponsored by a fragile coalition of eastern Indonesian soldiers and politicians in Makasar, South Celebes, When Jakarta went to war against Pemestu in 1958, Minahasans were the only group to offer serious resistance, and the rebellion quickly became a purely Minahasan affair (Harvey, 1977). That resistance was so tenacious that even after the fall of Manado to central government forces, fighting continued in the hinterland for three more years. Among large sections of the peasantry, ~ermesta received what one postwar anthropologist describes as ‘unconditional support’ (Lundstrom-Burghoorn, 1981: 44). Perrnestu was led by men who had been in the forefront of the Indonesian national revolution, and they proclaimed to the bitter end that their goal was another type of Indonesia, not a disintegrated Indonesia (Harvey, 1977: 128, 164, 166). Yet the character of the rebellion at the popular level confirms that the Minahasan patriotism of prewar writers and politicians had not been merely a shallow elite phenomenon. Although Minahasans can never again be a privileged people to the former degree, they have recovered a measure of dignity as well as welfare under the authoritariandevelopmentalist ‘New Order’ regime which has ruled Indonesia since 1965. This rehabilitation has occurred by courtesy of the Indonesian state, and amid such a proliferation of national institutions that a new generation of Minahasans has grown up for whom Indonesia seems neither an abstraction nor an ideal, but a concrete matrix of daily life. Yet Minahasa continues to mean something more special to its people than do other Indonesian regions. As late as 1984, for instance, the local government entitled its official

DAVIDE. F. HFNLEY

51

handbook ‘Mix-&a.%, the Beloved Land’ (Minahasa Tanah Tercintu, 1984); it is difficult to imagine an equivalent in any other Indonesian regional context. In the light of current upheavals in the former Communist countries and in parts of Africa, it does not seem inconceivable that, given a changed set of political conditions, Minahasan regionalism might yet be upgraded once more to the emotional, moral and ideological status of an autonomous nationalism.

Synopsis The making of the Minahasan nation, like that of the Indonesian, began when a discrete territory was excised by sharp colonial boundaries from an indigenous political geography characterized by aterritoriality and fragmentation. The ‘Manado region’ so defined had at its core what might be regarded as an etbnie. This consisted of a sizeable group of communities which shared some basic cultural patterns, recognized a common genealogical origin, and expressed their unity in the sphere of ritual and religious belief. The cultural emphasis, however, was on systematic and complementary differences rather than on homogeneity and solidarity, and the ethic as a whole had no name. Moreover, it shared the region with a substantial minority of alien groups which did not fit into the same genealogical and cultural pattern. An ethnic account of the Minahasan perceived community is valuable only in combination with explanations stressing the impact of the colonial experience. In the 19th century, that experience was one of deep and rapid transformution. Enormous ecological, economic and political changes destroyed the most concrete features of the old cultural order. At the same time an intensive evangelical campaign successfully introduced Christianity in almost all parts of the territory, a territory now called Minahasa-‘unity’-as a result of its political unification by the Dutch. A subjective sense of unity was implicit in the commonality of these experiences and explicit in the message of the missionaries, who associated it with Christian brotherhood. One old cultural feature which did survive Christianization was a powerful social and spiritual orientation toward genealogy and ancestry. This the missionaries exploited in order to stabilize the new Christian community, promoting a standardized genealogy which portrayed Minahasa as one great family. A compiementary development was the articulation of Minahasa as an integrated and exclusive communication community. This was activated by the structure of the new government and mission institutions, which transcended the old w&k boundaries, and by the appearance, initially under missionary tutelage, of a Minahasan press. Despite extensive imitation of Dutch culture among Minahasans, but also precisely because of the sensitivity to European rebuff and the new political techniques which such westernization brought with it, a reaction against European policies and prejudices began to enhance Minahasan identity among local chiefs and mission personnel before the turn of the century. This reactive nationalism accelerated as more Minahasans entered modern institutions, including the colonial army, where ethnic stratification was rigorous, Matters were complicated by the consolidation of The Netherlands Indies as an overcapping territorial and communication community, and above all by the entry of Minahasans onto a wider stage in prominent but not always applauded roles as colonial auxiliaries of various kinds. This experience promoted Minahasan solidarity even if it did little to maintain the serviceability of Minahasa as a vehicle for higher ideals. The active political dissemination of Minahasan nationalism began in 1909 with a movement to improve the situation of Minahasan soldiers in Java. This was so reactive in

52

Regional rx&onulti

in a colonial skate

nature that it briefly became associated with revolutionary socialism. After 1919, however, tensions between Minahasans and the colonial government were brought substantially under control by increased political realism and by the institutionalized democracy of the Mikubasaraud. A bargaining relationship, already foreshadowed in the 19th century, emerged between Minahasan elites and the state. In the 1930s the Minahasaaud, the Minahasan churches and the political party Persansan Minubusa combined to provide an institutional shell in which Minahasa could retain a degree of conceptual and practical autonomy while coming to terms with Indonesian nationalism. Bungsa Mi?zubasa had enough historical momentum to do so without losing its own national cachet, despite stigmatic elitist associations. Nor should it be assumed that a willingness to accept non-Minahasans as compatriots always reflected a generous idealism. Indeed, Indonesian nationalist warnings against the long-term dangers of political isolation from the rest of Indonesia often appealed explicitly to Minahasan self-interest. After 1942, the Japanese occupation and the Indonesian revolution presented the prewar Minahasan nationalists with a stark choice between adapting to the ascendant unitarian Indonesian nationalism or gambling everything on Dutch support for Minahasan autonomy. At the same time, intensive Japanese and Republican political propaganda spread the Indonesian national ideal to an unprecendented extent in the villages. Nevertheless, Minahasan nationalism survived in covert form to inspire a regional rebellion in 1958.

Regionalism

and nationalism

in colonial Indonesia

The Minahasan case confounds some common assumptions about nationalism and regionalism in colonial Indonesia. 34 While the politically moderate character of Minahasan ‘regional’ nationalism was certainly conditioned by an unusually benevolent colonial history, it would be incorrect to dismiss Minahasa’s claim to its own national identity as reactionary or defensive in spirit. That claim preceded Indonesia’s both historically and morally, and the federal idea represented an honest attempt to reconcile it with Indonesian nationalism. At the same time, Minahasan nationalism cannot be characterized as a ‘primordial’ phenomenon either. Pre-colonial tradition, in fact, was a factor only in the minds of intellectuals who attempted to portray it as a tribal premonition of liberal democracy, and thus to link it with the Minahasaraad (F&k-an, 23 December 1933; Menudo Bulletin, 14 September 1939). A wave of rather unrealistic cultural nationalism among some young educated Minahasans between 1930 and 1942, concentrating on the belated promotion of the indigenous Minahasan languages, leant heavily upon Dutch missionary literature and ideas (Dajoh [1937]: 27-34, 51). In retrospect, it is tempting to dismiss colonial Minahasa as a political anomaly, a privileged region with a vested interest in the kind of incremental, decentralized emancipation favoured by the Dutch. But for Minahasans themselves, Indonesia was the anomaly. It was their misfortune that by 1942 their own vision of Indonesia as a federation of autonomous bangsa was not as widely shared as they might have wished. Even the Ambonese of the South Moluccas, often compared with Minahasans on the basis of their similar reputation for loyalty to the Dutch, did not have such a strong sense of their own separate nationality. Although bangsa A&on constituted a perceived community of sorts in the late colonial period, it was deeply divided between Christians and Muslims, weakly supported by Ambonese institutions, without a clearly defined national territory, and preoccupied even in the last years by stark questions of loyalty and disloyalty to the Dutch

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crown which would have seemed anachronistic in Minahasa (Chauvel, 1990). In North Sumatra, Christian Bataks enjoyed a somewhat clearer national consciousness generated by missionary institutions similar to those in Minahasa, but this was not reinforced by a representative body or a strong political party (Castles, 1972; Hutauruk, 1980). More traditional in structure and outlook, the numerous non-Christian societies of the Netherlands Indies were mostly even less prone to ethnic nationalism. Even those groups which offered violent resistance to the Dutch did not usually do so out of any sense of ethnic or communal solidarity. Prince Diponegoro, the rebel leader in the Java War of 1825-30, was much concerned with ‘the land of Java’, but his objective was to conquer it, not liberate it from the Dutch, whom he did not even perceive as a collectivity (Anderson, 1991: 11). The best known ‘patriotic’ text from the even more bitter Aceh War of 1873-1904, conversely, is clear about the identity of the Dutch infidel, but makes no mention of Aceh (Dam&, 1928). Its author, moreover, writes in Acehnese-rather than holy Arabic-not out of national pride, but ‘so that even the ignorant can understand it’ (Dam&, 1928: 599). Some of the larger ethnic groups of Indonesia did nevertheless begin to develop their own exclusive national consciousness in the 20th century. Javanese nationalism and its misrepresentation in the historical literature have already been mentioned, but a better comparison with Minahasa is perhaps the Sundanese region of West Java. As an ‘autonomous’ province with its own representative council created under the decentraltiie programme in 1926, West Java acquired an official institutional shell to complement the unofficial one being built up from below by Pasundun, a modern organization formed in 1914 to promote the ‘mental, moral and social development’ of the Sundanese (Blumberger, 1931: 38). Like Perwtuun Minubasa, Pasumhn was led by politically moderate Dutch-educated intellectuals and followed a cooperative nationalist policy concentrating primarily on regional issues (Pluvier, 1953: 82; O’Malley, 1980: 608-609). Although Pusundan wascloser to the Unitarian nationalist movement than were the Minahasan parties, its activities, combined with a sense of territoriality and a homogeneous culture expressed in a considerable local press, gave some Sundanese a polycentric understanding of Indonesia comparable to that current among Minahasans.

Conclusion The strength and character of Minahasan nationalism owed much to specific experiences of conversion to Christianity and of colonial favouritism, but the Sundanese comparison shows that similar movements could also develop in the absence of either. I would suggest that if there is any broad analytic model which can illuminate the whole phenomenon of regional nationalism in colonial Indonesia, then such a model must have to do with the uneven impact of modernization in time and space. Essentially, it was local ‘islands’ of mutually reinforcing modern institutions which tended to cradle nations narrower than Indonesia. In Minahasa, the mission school system, the local state and press, the Minabasaraad, Perserikatan and Persatuun Minahasa, and the two Minahasan churches all combined to generate and maintain the idea of an exclusive Minahasan community. And because they also embodied ideals of unity, progress and autonomy derived mainly from Dutch sources, they made that community a national community. Where the framework of such institutions was less complete, as in Ambon or the Batak lands, or where the time lag between the crystallization of the local nation and the emergence of equivalent pan-Indonesian institutions was short, as in the Sundanese case, fissiparous tendencies were relatively weak. But in Minahasa, where the local

54

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institutional shell had its origins in the 19th century, the demotion from bangsa to s&ubangsa or ethnic group was more difficult to face. Indonesia, for Minahasans , was not part and parcel of modernity. Minahasa itself had already served as the social vessel of modernization. Indonesia was only a problematic option faced by a people already welded into unity by a dramatic social transformation. Anthony Smith has distinguished between ‘perennialist’ and ‘modernist’ interpretations of nationalism, the former assuming that nations have existed throughout the historical record and the latter that they are recent phenomena (Smith, 1986:11-13). In terms of this distinction, the results of the present study obviously favour modernism. Although supported in some ways by pre-colonial circumstances, Minahasan ‘regional’ nationalism, like Indonesian nationalism, was essentially a product of modernization-in this context, of colonialism-rather than a perennial phenomenon inherited from the pre-colonial period. So whatever the situation with classic ‘perennial’ nations like Cambodia or Burma, it is not always necessary to invoke the prior existence of a perennial nation in order to explain the occurrence of an anti-colonial nationalism in which the nation is not defined with reference to the colonial state as a whole. At the same time, it is clear that the features of a colonial situation which may be conducive to regional nationalism are numerous and complex. They include not only patterns of political competition generated by the state between indigenous ethnic groups-the single factor emphasized by John Breuilly in his particular modernist model-but also the uneven geographical distribution and chronological development of modern communication media, educational systems and representative institutions. Ultimately, the only way to do justice to the range of factors behind a particular instance of ‘regional nationalism’ under colonial conditions is to study the evolution of that nationalism idiographically, as a historical phenomenon in its own right. Frequently, this is also the only way to prevent subsequent history and current political geography from exerting too strong a teleological influence on the analysis. In this article I have tried to show how, with the aid of five thumbnail ‘models’ of nationalism, such a study can be approached. Notes This article draws on the author’s 1992 Australian National University PhJ3 thesis, Nationukm and Regionalism in a Colonial Context: Minkzsa in the Dutch East Indies.

1. The Burmese voted for continued union with India in 1932, but changed their attitude once it became clear that Burma would not have the right of secession from an Indian federation (Hall, 1981: 783-784). 2. On the use of these terms, see Smith (1986: 11-13). For ‘perennialist’ views of the Burmese and Cambodian nations respectively, see Harvey (1946: 80) and Chandler (1992: 13). Liebermann (1978) challenges the perennialist interpretation of pre-colonial Burma. 3. Nationalist demands for political independence, however, are not necessarily immediate or absolute. The Scottish nation, for example, is a reality for many more Scats than would wish Scotland a soverign state, and even in India or Germany the sovereignty demand was a relatively late development in the evolution of the nation as a moral community. 4. The anti-colonial nationalisms of Latin America, for instance, had virtually no ethnic dimension, yet metropolitan prejudice against colonial-born Anzeriuz~~.~ still contributed to the rise of national consciousness there (Anderson, 1991: 56-61). 5. This was the case, for instance, with the Karen sub-Cl&e in colonial Burma, whose own nationalism was stimulated by that of hostile Burmese. 6. Drake (1989: 44-59, 256-270) provides a general survey of ‘national integration’ issues in modern Indonesia.

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7. If, that is, we exclude the Republic of the South Moluccas, an abortive attempt by essentially pro-colonial elements in the Ambonese islands to opt out of the newly recognized Indonesian Republic in 1950 (Chauvel, 1990). 8. West New Guinea was unilaterally retained by the Dutch until 1962, while East Timor was a Portuguese colony until shortly before its invasion by Indonesia in 1975. 9. For a general overview of Indonesian politics in the late colonial period, see Ricklefs (1981: 155-184). 10. Attempts to reconstruct a picture of the w&z.& from diverse Dutch sources have been made by Schouten (1978: 23-31) and Supit (1986: 43-69). 11, The Company became bankrupt in 1799, whereupon ah of its possessions passed to the Dutch state. 12. The earliest evidence of this usage is from 1822 (Reinwardt, 1858: 583). 13. Territorial boundaries, for instance, had existed only in those places where population pressure was high enough to generate competition for land and forest resources (Riedel, 1872a: 538). 14. Another factor here was population growth, which led to more frequent land disputes. Due to factors connected with the colonial presence, the population of Minahasa grew from approximately 73 000 in 1825 to a reported 162 576 in 1894 (Tammes, 1940: 190). 15. Short histories of most of the wakzk, adapted from oral sources, are given by Riedel (1862), Jasper (1916) and Domsdorff (1937). 16. Approximately 26000 out of 89000 in 1846 (Schouten, 1978: 11, 14). 17. From the Malay lyrics reproduced in Tjahaja Sijang, 1 October 1921. 18. Figures calculated from the 1930 Netherlands Indies census (Volkstelling 1930,1933-36, Vol. V). 19. On the general subject of ‘martial races’ in colonial states, see En& (1980). 20. This and all other official documents cited here are from the Algemeen Rijksarchief (General State Archive) in The Hague. 21. In economic terms, too, the 20th century was kinder to Minahasa than the 19th. Compulsory coffee cultivation was abolished in 1899, and copra, good prices for which brought conspicuous prosperity to Minahasan coconut growers, became the staple export. Even in those parts of Minahasa less suitable for coconut trees, a relatively even pattern of land ownership, a growing rice market and remitted wages precluded absolute poverty even during the Great Depression. 22. Totals of 76,71 and 68 percent in the elections of 1930, 1934 and 1938 respectively (Herziening, 1929: 883; Van Rhijn, 1941: 195). 23. At this period the Malay word bangsa, originally a very flexible classifier of human groups--bungsa perquan, for instance, meant ‘the female sex’-was undergoing a semantic drift similar to that already completed by n&o and its derivatives in Europe. In the 18th century, Germans too had taIked of women as a ‘nation’ (Zematto, 1944: 353). In quotations I will leave bangsa untranslated so that its meaning can be assessed contextually. 24. N@-i Minubusa, 31 July 1916, reproduced by Soeharto and Ihasan (1981: 167). 25. Several leading members of Pemrikatan Mihabusawere also involved in the Ind&be Pm-t@(MR 779X1920; V 20/5/1924iR6X). 26. Two of the seven speakers at the first Indonesian Youth Congress in 1926, for instance, were Minahasans (Lajwran Kongres Pemuda, 1981). 27. MR 740X/1935. The remainder, like ah Minahasaruud members prior to 1930, seem to have claimed no formal party afhliation. 28. On Ratuiangie, the most important Minahasan political figure of the 20th century, see Pondaag [1966]. 29. The phrase tanah air wasfirst applied to Minahasa in Minahasan sources in 1900 (Tjabaja Sijung, 8 March 1900). 30. For an overview of the Japanese (1942-45) and revolutionary (1945-50) periods in Indonesia, see Reid (1974). 31. Dutch policy was to recognize the authority of the Republic in Java and parts of Sumatra, but elsewhere to promote the formation of regional states which would counterbalance it in a future federal Indonesia.

56

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32. For instance, Chauvel(l990) on Ambon. 33. ‘ASB I’ = ‘Algemene Secretarie to Batavia, eerste zending’ (archive subdivision in the Algemeen Rijksarchief, Den Haag). 34. Such assumptions are conveniently summarized by Pluvier (1953: 15,81). 35. Square brackets indicate dates of publication not specified on items concerned.

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