Max Havelaar;

by Multatuli

There are five such districts in the Residency of Lebak. Now if one chooses to believe that the number of stolen buffaloes was less in those parts that had not the honour of being governed by the son-in-law of the Regent, I will grant that; though the question still remains, whether the rapacity of other chiefs was not founded on as sure ground as that of near relationship? For instance, the district chief of Tjilangkahan on the south coast could in default of a father-in-law, of whom one was much afraid, rely upon the difficulty with which the poor in their complaints had to contend, that, namely, of walking forty or sixty miles before hiding themselves during the evening in the ravine near Havelaar’s house. And if we observe the fact that many started never to reach that house, that many did not even leave their village, frightened as they were by their own experience or by the sight of the [[301]]fate which overtook other plaintiffs, then I believe that we should be wrong in thinking that the multiplication by five of the number of buffaloes stolen out of one district would be too high an estimate of the number of cattle stolen every month in the five districts, to provide for the wants of the Regent of Lebak’s court.

And it was not buffaloes alone; nor was buffalo-robbing the main thing. A somewhat less degree of shamelessness is required—above all in India, where statute-labour is still lawful—to summon the people unlawfully for unpaid labour, than is necessary to take away property. It is easier to make the population believe that the Government wants labour without wishing to pay for it, than that it should claim the poor man’s buffalo for nothing; and even if the timorous Javanese dared to investigate whether the statute-labour required of him agreed with the regulations on the subject, even then it would be impossible to succeed, as the one has nothing to do with the other, and he cannot therefore calculate whether the fixed number of persons has not been exceeded ten or fifty times. Where also the most dangerous, the most easily discovered abuse, is executed with such boldness, what may not then be thought of the abuses that are much easier of execution, and less liable to discovery? I said that I was going to relate the history of the Javanese Saïdjah; yet I am compelled first to make one of those digressions which are so difficult to avoid when describing situations that are quite strange [[302]]to the reader. I will state at the same time the causes that make it so difficult for those who have not been in India to judge of Indian affairs.

I have repeatedly spoken of the people as Javanese, and however natural this nomenclature may appear to the European reader, it must have sounded wrong to the ears of any one acquainted with Java. The Western Residencies of Bantam, Batavia, Preangan, Krawand, and a part of Cheribon,—all together called Soondah-countries,[2]—are not considered as belonging to Java proper; and not to speak now of the foreigners that came from over the sea into these regions, the aboriginal population is quite different from that of the middle of Java, or that of the so-called east corner. Language, character of the people, manners, dress, change so much as you go eastward, that, indeed, there is more difference between the Soondanese and the Javanese proper, than between the English and the Dutch. Such differences are often the cause of disputes in judging of Indian affairs. If we observe that Java alone is so sharply divided into two distinct parts, without marking the many subdivisions of these, we may calculate how great the difference must be between populations that live further from each other, and are separated by the sea. He whose knowledge of Dutch India is confined to Java, can no more form a just idea of the Malay, the Amboynese, the Battah, the Alfoer, the [[303]]Timorese, the Dayak, or the native of Macassar, than he who never left Europe; and for a person who has had the opportunity of observing the difference between these populations, it is indeed often amusing to hear the conversations, and afflicting to hear the speeches, of persons who get their knowledge of Indian affairs at Batavia or at Buitenzorg. I have often wondered at the courage with which, for instance, a late Governor-General endeavoured, in the Representative Chambers, to give weight to his words, by a pretended claim to local knowledge and experience. I esteem very highly the knowledge acquired by profound study in the library, and have often been astonished at the extent of the knowledge of Indian affairs which some have displayed without having ever trod Indian ground, and when a late Governor-General gives proofs of having acquired such knowledge in this manner, we feel for him the respect which is the legitimate reward of the conscientious and fruitful labour of many years. This respect would be still greater for him, than for the scholar who had fewer difficulties to conquer, because he at a far distance, without inspections, ran a less risk of falling into the errors which are the consequence of a defective view, as was the lot of the late Governor-General.[3] [[304]]

I said that I was surprised at the confidence which some have shown in the treatment of Indian affairs. For they know that their words are heard by others than those who think it enough to have passed a few years at Buitenzorg, to know India; that these words are likewise read by those persons in India itself, who were the witnesses of their inexperience, and who, as much as I, are astonished at the boldness with which a man, who, only a short time ago, tried to hide this incapacity behind the high rank which the King had given him, speaks now all at once as if he really possessed a knowledge of the affairs of which he treats.

Again and again, therefore, you hear complaints of incompetent interference, again and again this or that system is opposed in the Representative Chambers by denying the competency of him who represents such a system, and it would perhaps not be inopportune to make an exact inquiry into the qualities which make a person competent to judge of competency. Generally, the touchstone of an important question is not the matter of which it treats, but the value which is ascribed to the opinion of the person who speaks of it; and as he is often one who is considered to be qualified above all others, one who had, in India, such “a high position,” the consequence of it is, that the results of the voting bear generally the colour of the errors that seem to stick to “these important positions.” If this is the case where the influence of such [[305]]a person is only exercised by a member of the Representative Chambers, how great then will be the inclination to judge wrongly if such influence is accompanied by the confidence of the King, who placed this functionary at the head of the ministry of the colonies? It is a peculiar phenomenon (perhaps owing its origin to a sort of dulness, which shuns the trouble of judging for ourselves), how easily one gives his confidence to persons who know how to give themselves the appearance of more knowledge, when this knowledge has been drawn from a foreign source. The reason perhaps is, that self-love is less hurt by the acknowledgment of such an ascendency, than would be the case if one could have recourse to the same expedients when anything like emulation should arise. It is easy for the representative of the people to give up his opinion, as soon as it is combated by a person who may be deemed to pass a more accurate judgment than he, and this accuracy need not be ascribed to personal superiority, confession of which would be more difficult, but only to the particular circumstances wherein such an opponent has been. And not to speak of those who have filled high offices in India, it is indeed strange how often value is ascribed to the opinion of persons who really possess nothing to justify the credit given them, than the remembrance of a residence of so many years in those regions, and this is so much the more strange, because they, who attach importance to such a source of information, would [[306]]not readily believe all that would be told them, for instance, about political economy in Holland, by a person who could show that he had lived forty or fifty years in Holland. There are persons who have lived more than thirty years in Dutch India without ever coming in contact with either the population or the native chiefs; and it is sad that the Council of India is often totally, or for a great part, composed of such persons,—that the means have even been found to make the King sign the appointment, as Governor-General, of a person who belonged to this class.

When I said that this supposed capacity of a newly appointed Governor-General might be considered as implying that he was held to be a genius, I did not mean to recommend the appointment of geniuses. Besides the difficulty of having this important employment continually vacant, another reason pleads against this. A genius would not be able to work under a Minister of the colonies, and would therefore be useless, as geniuses generally are.

It would, perhaps, be desirable that the main faults given by me in the form of a diagnosis should get the attention of those who are called upon to the choice of a new Governor. Taking it for granted that all the persons considered eligible are conscientious, and in the possession of a faculty of comprehension sufficient to enable them to learn a little of what they will have to know, I think it a main thing that the avoidance may be expected of them [[307]]of that presumptuous self-conceit in the beginning, and, above all, of that apathetic sluggishness in the last years of their administration. I have already said that Havelaar, in his difficult duty, thought he could rely upon the help of the Governor-General; and I added that this opinion was naïf. That Governor-General was expecting his successor … his rest in Holland was near. We shall see what this sluggishness brought upon Havelaar, and upon the Javanese Saïdjah, whose monotonous history—one amongst many—I am now about to relate.

Yes, “monotonous” it will be! Monotonous as the history of the activity of the ant, which had to carry up its contribution for the winter store over the clod—the mountain—which blocks up the way to the storehouse. Again and again it falls back with its burden, to try again to put its feet on that little stone high there on the rock at the top of the mountain. But between it and this top there is an abyss, a depth which a thousand ants could not fill——this must be passed. Therefore the ant, that has scarcely the strength to drag its burden on even ground—a burden many times heavier than its own body—that can hardly lift it up and balance itself on an unsteady footing, has to preserve its equilibrium—when it climbs with its burden between the fore-legs, it has to sling it round to the side to make it come down on the point which stretches out on the rock,—it staggers, totters, is frightened, sinks down, endeavours to take hold of the [[308]]half rooted-up trunk of a tree—of a blade of grass—which, with its top, points to the depth—it loses the fulcrum which it sought for, the tree gives way, the blade of grass yields under its weight, and the ant falls back into the depth with its burden. Then it is still for a moment, which is long in the life of an ant. It is stunned by the pain of its fall—or does it yield to grief that so much exertion was in vain? No, its courage does not forsake it. Again it seizes the burden, and again drags it aloft, again soon to fall into the depth. So monotonous is my tale. But I shall not speak of ants, whose joy or sorrow escapes our observation through the dulness of our organs; I shall speak of men who move in the way same as we do. It is true he who shuns emotion, and would fain avoid compassion, will say that those men are yellow or brown—many call them black,—and for them the difference of colour is reason enough for turning the eye from their misery, or at least for looking down on it without emotion. My narrative is therefore only addressed to those who are capable of the difficult faith, that hearts throb under that dark epidermis, and that he who is blessed with a white skin, and the civilisation thereunto belonging—generosity, mercantile knowledge, and religion, virtue, etc.—might use these qualities of the white man better than has yet been experienced by those less blessed in colour and mental capacity.

Yet my confidence in your sympathy with the Javanese [[309]]does not go so far as to make me imagine when I tell you how the last buffalo has been carried off from the enclosure, in broad daylight, without fear, under protection of Dutch power, when I cause the stolen cattle to be followed by the owner and his weeping children, and make him sit down upon the steps of the robber’s house, speechless and senseless, absorbed in sorrow, to be chased away with outrage and disdain, menaced with stripes and prison.…

See! I neither claim nor expect that you will be moved by this in the same manner as you would be if I sketched the destiny of a Dutch peasant whose cow had been taken away. I ask no tear for the tears that flow on such dark faces, nor noble indignation when I shall speak of the despair of the sufferer. Neither do I expect that you will rise and go with my book in your hand to the King, saying: “Look here, O King, that happens in your empire, in your beautiful empire of Insulinde!”…