Our Bold Path to Prosperity

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1. A BIT OF DUTCH-INDONESIAN HISTORY

Indonesia is a country made up of more than seventeen thousand islands. As part of Southeast Asia, it lies between the Indian and Pacific oceans. For over 300 years, Indonesia was a Dutch colony. Japan invaded and occupied the islands in 1942, during the Second World War. Throughout the three years of Japanese occupation, some 42,000 Dutch military personnel were imprisoned and 100,000 Dutch Colonials who could not prove Indonesian descent were forced into concentration camps. As European women were almost nonexistent on the islands, many Dutchmen married native women. The offspring of these mixed Indo-European unions; these Eurasians² who felt the same loyalty to the Netherlands as their white fathers, had full rights as Dutch citizens, were Christians and followed Dutch customs, suffered more than any other victims of the Japanese occupation.

According to a selective process, captured first were the Prisoners of War (POWs), then the adult men and ultimately, women with children. Boys ten years old and older, were forcefully separated from their mothers and placed into camps with adult men.

These so-called Civil Internment Camps, surrounded by barbwire fencing, provided deplorable accommodations and families were compelled to live in crowded conditions. Each person was allocated a 20-inch wide space, approximately the size of a military cot, with no opportunity for personal privacy. Food rations were meager portions and as the food situation worsened, meals were only sporadically provided. These were true concentration camps in every sense.

The offensive Japanese soldiers treated the imprisoned with great disrespect, intimidating and taunting young women, assigning degrading duties such as cutting the grass lawn between barracks with a kitchen knife, or sweeping an entire officer’s floor with a small, short handled brush ordinarily used for polishing shoes, forcing the worker on her knees for long hours at a time. There was a constant fear of punishment, especially collective punishment, which included anything from withholding food to barbaric maltreatment for fulfilling a task that didn’t meet the Camp Commander’s approval.

On August 6, 1945, the Americans dropped the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima, followed by the bomb on Nagasaki three days later, Japan defeated, soon surrendered. On August 22, a confounded broadcast made by the Camp Commanders, reported that the Emperor of Japan was pleased to announce that he decided to end the war. Two days later, Indonesia was officially declared an Independent Republic.

Eventually, the Dutch gradually, returned to Indonesia and tried to re-establish power by reasserting control with political support from the British, who controlled Malaysia and a large part of Borneo. A four-year struggle known as the Indonesian National Revolution of Independence followed. After liberation from the Japanese, some Dutch government high officials felt that the Indonesians were ill prepared to govern themselves, notwithstanding that maintaining the colonies after the war was a heavy financial burden for Holland, where Industry was completely demolished by the Germans. The Dutch government’s financial priority was focused on rebuilding their own infrastructure. Nevertheless, under tremendous political pressure from the American government, the Dutch finally granted Indonesia complete independence and after ten weeks of negotiations, on November 2, 1949, an agreement finally transferred Dutch rule to Indonesia, with Queen Juliana of the Netherlands residing as the ceremonial head of a new Netherlands-Indonesian Union and Achmed Sukarno as President of Indonesia.

The diplomatic struggle ended when the Dutch government released thousands of political prisoners before independence was formally declared and celebrated on December 27, 1949. The new United States of Indonesia, with a population of 78 million, immediately became an important factor in the Southwest Pacific.

Withdrawing the Dutch troops and the colonial population from Indonesia was a difficult undertaking. The Eurasians now called themselves Dutch-Indos, they were despairingly caught between two opposing cultures. As people with Dutch surnames, they suddenly felt misplaced living in independent Indonesia. In their motherland, where they once had riches and wealth, they were now impoverished.

Belatedly, recognizing that a massive immigration of the Dutch-Indo citizens living in Indonesia was inevitable, the Dutch government, established a Repatriation Program, although they discouraged the colonials from moving to post-war Holland where there was a serious shortage of housing and jobs. The program, which was intended to last until 1967, cut short in 1962, made it possible for approximately 250,000 - 300,000 Dutch-Indos to relocate to their fatherland, a significant number of those arriving in Holland for the first time.

Between 1950–1957, the colonial army in Indonesia was totally disbanded. Military personnel and their families were the first to be relocated. According to one estimate, 200,000 fled to Holland during those years, others chose to begin a new life in Canada, Australia or the United States of America.

The Repatriation Program, provided intermittent immigrant ship transportation for Dutch-Indos from Surabaya to the Port of Rotterdam in Holland. Forced to leave their belongings in hostile Indonesia, refugees left with only the clothes on their backs and whatever small items they could fit into a single steamer trunk. When they reached the shores of Holland, Social Workers took them to live in low-cost government assigned housing in large complexes. The Dutch government provided each destitute family of four, a Grant Loan of ƒ2,000 gulden (Dutch money), to buy basic furniture and household items. The meuble voorschot loan, literally meaning furniture advance, was to be paid back within ten years.

While these brown-skinned, Dutch-Indos tried to assimilate into their new culture, they received a cold welcome and were discriminated against by the fairskinned people of their new land, who deemed them to be opportunists and a financial burden to their society.

Nevertheless, feeling estranged and unwelcome, many endured, mingled in with Dutch civilization and never looked back at their painful past.

² In the Indonesian language, Eurasian means a person born to Dutch and Indonesian parents. Indo is a slang abbreviation of the term Dutch-Indonesian or Dutch-Indo used to describe Eurasians who are a migrant population of the former Dutch Colony in Southeast Asia that became Indonesia after World War II.

2. A BIT OF FAMILY HISTORY

The Dutch-Indos who remained living in Indonesia after the Indonesian National Revolution of Independence were struggling to pick up the pieces. Before the war, my family lived an affluent lifestyle, in my great-grandfather’s house in the village of Probolinggo; where the mountains meet the northerly coast of East Java. My great-grandfather Gerrit worked as an accountant for the Dutch government, his elegant white mansion with imposing pillars and a wrap-around porch, surrounded by lush tropical gardens, included a large fertile farm with chickens and goats. Oma (Dutch word for Grandmother) Erna often spoke proudly about the goat that bore eleven kids, providing them with milk and meat. A lover of dogs, my mother had several, her favorite was a magnificent German Shepard named King. My family owned fancy cars and hired Indonesian servants who became part of our extended family. Life in Indonesia before the war was like living in Paradise.

When the Japanese invaded, they bombed the major cities and men were separated from their families to fight for Indonesia, while women and children escaped to safety by moving to the smaller villages in the mountains. Gateway to some of the world’s most famous volcanoes, Erna moved her two daughters; Aasje and Evie to Bondowoso, where my granduncle Leo owned a plantation. One night, when the plantation was ultimately sieged, Erna, Evie, Aasje and two servants hid in the muddy rice paddies before the Japanese soldiers could count the women they were about to take captive. My mother recalls that night as the most fearful of her life. When the Japanese occupation became inevitable, my grandmother buried jars full of money, gold and jewelry in the fields behind their home, unfortunately there was no restitution after Indonesia was liberated, the jars were never recovered.

At the end of 1949, the tragedy and stress of World War II had taken a toll on my grandparent’s marriage. Imprisoned by the Japanese, my Opa (Dutch word for grandfather) was not the same man when he returned to his family and my grandmother was not the same woman. While he was held captive in a men’s camp, Erna was detained in a women’s camp, where she continued to raise her two (now) teenage daughters under the most trying circumstances imaginable. When my grandparents finally reunited after three years of separation, Aasje and Evie had become strong-willed, independent young women who did not seek their father’s permission before they acted, consequently my grandfather, no longer his family’s authoritative figure, felt negated and unwanted in his own home. Eventually my grandparents separated, Erna and her daughters moved into a small house in Tangerang, near Jakarta, my mother was nearly nineteen years old.

After Indonesia’s liberation, Noke, who had been set apart from his family, was en route to Jakarta on a blinded train from No Man’s Land in Besaki. As a secret home-coming surprise, Aasje stitched together a blouse made from an American flag, which she intended to wear to welcome her brother home at the train station. As the train approached Dutch controlled territory near the station in Jakarta, the windows flung open and before the train came to a halt, Noke spotted his sister standing on the platform in full glory, wearing the ultimate symbol of freedom; the American flag. Deeply moved and overwhelmed with emotion, words couldn’t describe their joy when brother and sister reunited, flew into each other’s arms. My uncle was seventeen years old.

As a young student desiring a higher education, Noke, was the first member of our family to leave, realizing that if he remained in post-war Indonesia, his goal for a brighter future was virtually unattainable. In April 1950, on a one-way ticket to Rotterdam, he boarded the MS Sibajak (meaning Rich One); a Dutch Mail Ship named after the most beautiful mountain on Sumatra. Filled with hope and optimism, he anticipated the array of diverse opportunities open to him in Holland. One month later, Noke arrived in the Port of Rotterdam.

With no time to look back, he established his priorities and searched for work to fund his education. After living in the sunny Indonesian tropics, however, acclimating to the cold, rainy weather, was difficult and the outwardly unfriendly welcome and vicious discrimination of the Dutch citizens was inescapable.

Two years after his repatriation, Noke was drafted into the Dutch Army, assigned to serve in Suriname, South America. Enthusiastic to be back in his native climate and able to save enough money to pay for his college education, those were the best years of his life.

Life for the surviving Dutch-Indos still living in Indonesia grew to an unbearable situation. Nevertheless, every cloud has a silver lining and on May 2,1950, soon after they met, Thierry Adriaan de Ruyter married my mother, at twenty years of age, Evie was a blushing young bride. Together with my grandmother, the newly wed couple moved to Surabaya, where I was born nine months later.

Aasje, began to make plans to follow her brother to Holland and encouraged her mom to do the same.

In September 1951, my father, mother and I boarded a cargo class Victory ship called the "Groote Beer" (Great Bear) destined for the Port of Rotterdam. Originally built in 1944 as a Liberty ship in Richmond, California, the converted Victory ship was faster, longer, wider and consequently used to transport Dutch immigrants who fled Indonesia after the Second World War. The newly designed ship accommodated 830 passengers, however many more were crowded on board.

Appointed a shared-family cabin with Eddie Jonathans, his wife and baby daughter Gwendolyn, my parents were grateful for the opportunity to flee Indonesia.

On a voyage only designated for Dutch military personnel and their families, Erna and Aasje could not join us. My father, was in the Royal Dutch Marines and Eddie Jonathans was in the Navy. Separated from her mother for the first time in her life, Evie was devastated and heartbroken leaving her in worn-torn Indonesia, nevertheless, Erna encouraged her to go and vowed that she and Aasje would be on the next ship scheduled to leave, however with no way to communicate once the Groote Beer left the shore, Evie didn’t know when she would see her mother again.

3. HOLLAND

A NEW BEGINNING IN THE LAND OF OUR FATHERS

The Groote Beer, operated by the Holland-America Shipping Lines, left Surabaya in the afternoon; navigated through the strait between Java and Sumatra, continued on her voyage to Colombo, Egypt, Genoa, Algiers, Lisbon and Southampton until she finally reached the Port of Rotterdam, Holland nearly one month later.

Since most passengers fled Indonesia under great duress, there was quite a cross section of people aboard, consequently the atmosphere was often bleak and somber, to say the least. My mother once told me that I was kidnapped on board by a sailor and that the ship’s police searched for hours before finding me abandoned in another cabin, safely asleep in my baby carrier.

Numerous elderly and sickly passengers were on board, accordingly, sea funerals were often performed. As we watched the wooden coffins toss into the sea, those ceremonies were the saddest of all, to think that someone almost made it to peace and safety in a new land was painstakingly sorrowful. When we reached the Suez Canal, connecting the Mediterranean and Red Seas, we waited long hours for our turn to pass through the locks, while strangely dressed, loud and rudely mannered Arabians came on board to sell their wares, they frightened my mother profusely.

Pregnant with her second child, Evie was often seasick along with countless passengers who became ill almost immediately after our ship set sail. There was a complete hospital aboard, nevertheless, the beds were constantly occupied and due to the lack of available doctors, the standing line to consult with one, was long and tiresome. Moreover, the swells were constant, the seas were especially rough when the boat reached Lisbon, making the last few days of the dreadful passage seem endless and the most challenging to endure. Now extremely eager to set foot on solid ground, everyone looked forward to arriving in the Port of Rotterdam.

At the Arrival Terminal, passengers were met by government officials; representatives from an organization known as Sociale Zaaken (Social Affairs) were assigned to help immigrants integrate into Dutch society. Entrusted with my family’s welfare, along with several others, was Mr. P.A Smits, my parents spotted him immediately, standing at the arrival meeting point, holding up a handwritten sign with our name on it. My father carrying me and my pregnant mother pushing a vacant baby stroller, walked towards Mr. Smits’s extended hand. A gregarious looking man, he was charismatic and held a cigar in the side of his mouth as he greeted us.

When all families were present, we followed Mr. Smits to a desk where he efficiently processed our documentation, gave us warm clothing and, noticing that Evie was pregnant, he handed her a brand new pink baby blanket which my mother promptly asked if she could exchange for a blue one. She was certain that her baby would be a boy.

Lastly, Mr. Smits proposed to escort us to our new home as he handed my father a set of keys and a piece of paper with an address on it:

de Heer en Mvr. (Mr. and Mrs.) Thierry de Ruyter

Koornwaard Straat 14C

Overschie

Rotterdam, Holland

Our home was a third floor apartment in a four story, grey concrete building complex in Overschie; a well established, older suburb of Rotterdam. The living space, equipped with basic furnishings and an adorable pot-belly coal burning stove, consisted of a family room with large windows that provided plenty of natural light, an adequate kitchen with a glass door that lead to a balcony, three compact bedrooms, a washroom with a toilet and sink and a separate step-up shower stall; similar to an oversized sink. My elated parents were proud to call this tiny apartment Home. After more than eight years of living through tumultuous times, they were finally safe and free in Holland; the Land of Their Fathers, in a home of their own, ready to create a flourishing life as newlyweds expecting their second child!

THE FIRST FIVE YEARS

The first five years in Holland were wonderful times, albeit difficult times; wonderful because we were creating a new life, in a new land, in a home of our own; difficult because after years of living through political conflict, my parents were impoverished and felt displaced in a country where the culture was a stark contrast to the Indonesian way of life. As a young child, Evie’s parents took the family to Holland for an extended one year vacation, granted by the Dutch government where my grandfather worked as an accountant, however, my mother’s naiveté about the ethnic differences could not have prepared her for a permanent relocation in later years. Nevertheless, Ted and Evie were extremely optimistic and embraced the opportunity to start anew.

While my father fulfilled his duties as a Marine on base, my mother worked to transform our apartment into a cozy and comfortable home, suitable for the three of us, including accommodations for the highly anticipated, soon-to-be born new addition to our family. Decorating with the few precious keepsakes brought from Indonesia; she draped a beautiful piece of handprinted batik fabric on a living room wall over a credenza. Two wooden sculptures which Evie called kakek and nenek; Indonesian words for grandfather and grandmother, were proudly placed on a cabinet and two handcrafted wooden picture frames were quickly filled with black and white photos; all reminders of the life they loved in Indonesia. From a piece of brocade upholstery fabric, my mother sewed drapes for the large living room windows and from a gray cloth with green palm leaves and colorful tropical flowers, she created a skirt for her vanity table. Within a few months, the apartment began to look and feel like Home.

On June 2, 1952, at the hands of a midwife, our miracle from God, my sister Ellen Maureen Christine de Ruyter was born. Convinced that my mother was giving birth to a son whom my parents would name Allen, the name Ellen was a natural replacement, Maureen after Maureen O’Hara; a famous film star of the time and Christine after my father’s mother who’s name was Christine; although she was known to us as Tine; Oma Tine.

Ted and Evie, overjoyed beyond believe, were suddenly a bustle of increased activity and although at eighteen months old, I may not have completely understood the blessing bestowed upon our family, I sensed that I shared my parents’ attention with another little life, who was sweet and adorable and I already loved her immensely.

While my father and mother continued to build our new life, they continuously checked public records for names of family members aboard the passenger lists of arriving immigrant ships from Indonesia. In November 1952, aboard the MS Roma, Oma Erna and Aasje finally arrived and eventually so did my father’s sister Daisy (nicknamed Puck; meaning small) and her husband Gerrit, his parents; Opa Taco and Oma Tine, followed by the oldest member of our family; my great-grandmother Oma Sinem; my father’s grandmother. Arriving sporadically, everyone was assigned housing in different parts of the country. My father’s parents and grandmother, sister and her husband settled in The Hague, not far from where Oma and Aasje were assigned a small apartment, my granduncle Leo and his wife Netty settled in Amsterdam, as did Leo’s brother Kité and his wife Nini, nevertheless, our entire family eventually fled Indonesia and, sooner or later, throughout the first five years, we reconnected and helped each other settle and adjust to our new culture.

Adapting to the bland, tasteless Dutch cuisine, consisting