Hello Indo community and supporters!

As I delved more deeply into the stories you shared with me, I realized how much so many of you have endured. My heart goes out to you. Originally this research was for my Master’s thesis but I have postponed its submission to make it much more thorough. The Indo community deserves it! This survey will provide the information needed to continue my ethnographic research on the Indo people. The goal in this survey is to fully describe what has happened to the Indos and where we are today; geographically as well as within society. With this organized information, I believe we can remind the world around us of our presence. This survey is intended for each generation. We want to hear from everyone!!

This new survey will allow comparisons between information obtained in the first survey and will supplement much of it with even more precise data. Hopefully, we can establish a stronger geographical base and distribution. Through this survey, I hope to have answers for these salient questions:

1)How are we distributed geographically?
2)What have been the patterns of marriage into the general population?
3)What has been our academic progress and contributions to our society?
4)Are there any lingering effects of the migrations and WWII that are still being felt today?

Because of my research, I was invited to join and I have accepted board membership on “The Indo Project.” The Indo Project (TIP) is dedicated to the preservation, promotion, and celebration of Indo culture and history through education and raising public awareness. TIP serves as a portal between the academic world and the experiential world. Being part of TIP led me to the development of this follow-up survey in which I hope you will participate. Once complete, the final report will belong to our community with our community’s statistics available for all to see!

We really appreciate your time, knowledge and information. Because of you, precious pieces of information will not be lost. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for helping us with this research!

Name: Richard E. Coert
Born:   October 5, 1922, Dutch East Indies
Died:   October 17, 2003, California, USA
POW:   Burma-Siam Railway

Richard E. Coert was born in 1922 in what is now Indonesia, where he grew up.  He dreamed of becoming a pilot in the Dutch air force, but before his 18th birthday German forces swept through the Netherlands during World War II.  He was promptly drafted into the army where he became a mechanic.  In the following two years he saw the Dutch declaration of war on Japan after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the invasion of Java, his home island, and his capture.  As a prisoner of war he was forced to work on the Burma-Siam railroad.  Three years later, after being tortured, contracting Malaria, suffering from malnutrition, and seeing many of his friends die, he was liberated by American forces.

Richard returned to his home village where he met and married his wife, Elaine, of over fifty years.  Choosing to remain in the Dutch military he was forced to leave Java for New Guinea following the Indonesian National Revolution.  From there he moved to the Netherlands where the first of his two daughters was born.  In 1959 he retired from military service and he and his family immigrated to Huntington Beach, California.  He worked as a diesel mechanic in Long Beach until 1990 when he retired and spent the remainder of his years in Oceanside, a quiet city in Northern San Diego County.

Opa

I was raised by Richard.  He was my grandfather, or as I knew him, ‘Opa’.   To him I was his only son, and to me he was a father.  He is not only a hero to the Allies of World War II, but a hero to me and my family.  The love and support he gave to his family was the cornerstone of the wonderful environment that I was lucky enough to grow up in.  If it were not for him, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.

Despite the horrors of war and the atrocities of the P.O.W. camps that my grandfather experienced, he remained a kind and gentle man.  He was a devout Catholic and very active in the Church.  His faith, however, went beyond the rituals of the Church; it was also practiced in his day-to-day life, especially with his family.  He gave much of his time to assisting the community, often through the organization the Knights of Columbus.  I have begun to follow Taoist teachings and, although it may seem unrelated, his ability to be at peace with himself and the world around him through his faith has provided an excellent example of spiritual well-being.

The Legacy

I learned the value of education and hard work from my grandfather.  At an early age he taught me the workings of an engine.  Anxious to help him in the work he did from his garage I hunkered over the grinder, smoothing out the edges of valves before dinner.  After dinner he would help me with my math homework, often times pulling out old textbooks from his childhood.  He always recognized my achievements, especially in school, and never failed to give me a reprimand when he felt I wasn’t showing my potential.

My grandfather always encouraged me to participate in extracurricular activities.  He never missed any of my high school football games.  We shared a love for the outdoors.  As a child he took me camping every year for as long as I can remember. When I was a Boy Scout he often joined my troop for outings.  After his retirement his favorite pastimes were reading and working in his garden.  Kung Fu and my study of Taoism have made me aware of something that he has already taught me; the mind cannot be healthy unless the body is healthy, and vice versa.

My Opa was very happy when he found out that I was attending college full time and that I had set new goals for myself.  When I spoke to him about going to school on the East Coast, he was saddened that I would be so far away.  Even so, he said that it may be for the best and gave me his full support.  When he became ill, I knew that I had to stay near, for my time with him was waning.  The decision of where to go for my education was going to have to wait.

My grandfather passed away last October.  He won’t be sitting in the audience at my graduation, but he’ll always be with me and I’ll know I wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for him.  He is the greatest man I have ever known, and I aspire to be like him.  I will not squander the tools that he has given me to succeed in life and in his memory I will always try to be a good man.

March 12, 2004 by Jason A. Dixon

Life Changing Moments in America

Keeshonden (The national dog of the Netherlands) are part of our family. A  Korean veterinarian who completed his internship in the Netherlands opened a practice in town. His experience and medical knowledge made us loyal clients. During the 14-year span of knowing this man, he always maintained a certain distance.

More accurately, it was a disdainful reserve. My American husband had no trouble communicating with him. It hurt me deeply that Dr. Hahn was buddy-buddy with my American husband and literally ignored me. When I did work up the nerve to ask him a direct question, he answered in an emphatic and autocratic manner.

Eventually, I let my husband take our Keeshonden to the vet without me.  Yes, I could have easily changed veterinarians and put the awkward situation to rest. Yet, something I couldn’t articulate held me back.

My husband was out of town when our 15-year-old Keeshond, Katjie lost her battle with congestive heart failure. I asked Dr. Hahn to euthanize her in our home, her home. The thought of that day still brings tears to my eyes.

My poor Katjie was indignant about seeing the ‘dreaded’ vet in her living room. As a means of calming her, he asked me to give him a tour of the house. As we walked into the hallway, he held his hands behind his back and viewed my family photos. At the end of the hall, he spotted a large photo of my mother.

This self-contained man ran to the photo and exclaimed, “Who is this?”  I sighed, “That’s my mother.” In disbelief, he placed his hands on his temples and staggered backward. Dr. Hahn pointed at another photo– and in mild irritation I answered, “That’s my aunt.”

In speechless shock, he turned on his heel and looked at me. Finally, the words tumbled out in broken English, “Maja, you’re an Indo! Why didn’t you tell me you were an Indo? I thought you were Dutch.”  In confusion I whispered, “It never came up in conversation.”

The man stepped back and took a long intrusive look at me. The blood drained from his face and he blurted, “Maja, Oh Maja what HAPPENED to you?”  I pointed at a picture of my blonde Frisian father, “That’s my Father.”

A forlorn expression crossed his face and he murmured, “Do you like the way I look?” An odd question, but I knew what he meant– do you accept me as an Asian. I didn’t bother to answer I kissed his cheek and smiled.

Over the years, we shared countless family stories over Korean-Indonesian potluck dinners. Ja-Hoon Hahn lost his grandparents to the Asian Holocaust of WWII and many relatives to the Korean War.  In the Netherlands, he had some ‘negative experiences’ with the Dutch prejudice.  The Indo community embraced him as a native son.

Our dear friend passed away several years ago. His last words to me were, “You have a very big heart.” Ja-Hoon was a North Korean, a South Korean, an American and an Indo at heart.

Book:  Ambushed under the Southern Cross

Author:  Capt. George W. Duffy

Highly decorated Capt. George W. Duffy has authored the book “Ambushed under the Southern Cross . . . The Making of an American Merchant Marine Officer and His Ensuing Saga of Courage and Survival”.  Among several of his experiences, he also recounts his three years of imprisonment in ten Japanese labor camps scattered throughout South East Asia on the islands of Java, Singapore and Sumatra.  The following is an account of an incident in his life on Sumatra, used by permission.

Life and Death on the Death Railway Through the  Jungle of  Sumatra

Whenever an American Fire Department or Police Department is struck by tragedy, the out-pouring of public grief and sympathy is overwhelming.  Thousands of their fellow officers from all over the United States, including bagpipe bands and color guards, travel to pay their last respects and take part in the funerals, memorial services, and burials.

On such occasions my thoughts always revert to the last twelve months before the Japanese surrender in World War II.  In those days, I and about 5,000 Allied military personnel – mainly Dutch and English, with a little over 200 Australians and 15 Americans – were held as prisoners of war by the Japanese.  We were engaged in the building of a narrow-gauge railway across the central portion of the island of Sumatra (in the Dutch East Indies, ed.), now known as Indonesia.

The northern terminal was the city of Pekanbaru (new Indonesian spelling).  Thereafter the project became known as the Pekanbaru Rail Line.  In more recent years, a Dutch author dubbed it “The Death Railway Through the Jungle.”  Indeed death was no stranger here.  We were overworked, underfed, provided with little medicine, and subjected to constant physical and mental abuse by our Japanese overseers. A “hospital” for prisoners with malaria, dysentery, pellagra and beri-beri  where they languished,  was simply a dilapidated bamboo-framed, thatched roof barrack.  The sick were “housed” here, awaiting their eventual death.  Once in a while, a man recovered his health and returned to the daily camp routine, but that was an exception.

In April 1945, I was living and working in the Base Camp where this “hospital” was located. Deaths that month totaled 106 and an additional 14 died out in the construction camps along the line, as recorded in my journal.  My job, together with other officers, was to cut down rubber trees and carry them into camp.  There, another group sawed and split them for the cookhouse, and the locomotives running on wood burning boilers. Rarely did the full complement of 30 report to work.  Everyone was afflicted with malaria which reduced our number to about 20 on a given day.

We worked in teams of three – an axe man and two carriers.  Rubber trees grow tall and straight. The wood is fairly soft – and wet.  Each of us became quite adept at felling a tree and we even had contests to see who could most accurately predict the line of fall.  One man chopped while the other two went in and out of camp.  Burlap bags were used to protect the log carrier’s shoulders and also hide an occasional smuggled dried fish, or fruit, or vegetables, purchased from a passing native vendor.

The “wood party” therefore offered an invaluable, though risky opportunity for its members to create a “black market” inside the camp.  We always had a single Japanese guard with us.  Due to the nature of the work, we were spread throughout the plantation.  So most of them simply spent the day sitting by our camp fire reading the pornographic books they all carried, or  simply snoozed.

The railway workers carried their mid-day meal with them when they left in the morning.  We, on the “wood party” came into camp at noon for our meager cup of steamed rice and a watery soup made of tree leaves. Before we went to work in the afternoon, someone from the “hospital” would tell us how many deaths had occurred in the previous 24 hours. For each deceased, four of us would be detailed to carry the straw-matting wrapped body to the cemetery, adjacent to the plantation. Out of respect for the dead, we covered our nakedness with a shirt or jacket as the sole item of daily apparel was a Japanese-style loincloth.

Several prisoners labored at the unending task of digging graves and burying the remains.  Most of the time, we never knew the identities of the lost souls whom we carried over the creek and up the hill.  Only if a prisoner had five friends was he accorded a proper burial, generally at the end of our work day. Such was the case on May 29, 1945, less than three months before V-J Day.  Sidney M. Albert, one of the cooks on our ship, the American Leader, had died.  In the evening, Stan Gorski (our ship’s bosun) a U.S. Marine, an English soldier and I, were pallbearers.  Another shipmate, Carl Kalloch, carried the shovels and the cross.

All clergy had been left behind on Java when we came to Sumatra.  The committal service for anyone off my ship became my responsibility.  It was brief:  The Lord’s Prayer, the 23rd Psalm read from a borrowed Bible.  Lower the body.  Fill the hole. Erect the wooden cross and, under the watchful eyes of the Jap sentry, trudge back to the gate and inside the barbed wire camp before dark.

The cause of Albert’s death was malnutrition, or as it was called out there, “beri-beri”.  Lack of protein and vitamins caused kidney malfunction which resulted in fluid retention.  A victim would first notice a soft swelling of his hands and feet, which eventually progressed to the torso.  He ballooned in size to as much as 250 pounds, losing mobility and putting a severe strain on his heart.

My exertion in carrying him to his burial site so sapped me that the next day I suffered “the worse attack of malaria that I’ve had yet.  I worked for 31 days without a break, most of the time axe work, and when the “old bug” hit, I “went down for the count”.  It was the whole package: fever, chills and sweats.  I never imagined it could be so bad. (Notes from my journal.)

Albert was 49 years old.  Out of the 700 who perished, the average age was 37 years and 3 months.  Five were 57, one was 58, another 66.  They probably had wives and children. Yet when most of them died they did not have five friends to mourn for them.  On Sumatra there were no columns of fellow soldiers, sailors, or airmen.  No color guards, no pipers nor drummers.  No flowers.  No eulogies.  Death on Sumatra rarely arrived as a thunderclap.  It moved slowly and inexorably through the ranks at the “hospital”. The men who died knew it was coming and there was nothing to prevent it.

It is a great mystery, isn’t it ?  The 700 unfortunates of Sumatra are just as dead as those American firefighters and police officers. By contrast, how fortunate were those 7 US men to have their lives celebrated with such pomp and ceremony.  How fortunate indeed are we all to be living in a civilization that prides itself on such responses.  How fortunate that we won the war!

This is a remarkable web site called Pacific War Animated.  How did the war end up in the Dutch East Indies ?  With dramatic music in the background, you can follow the progression of invading Japanese forces (link below).  At the bottom is a red arrow pointing to each red-framed window which you click.  Before Pearl Harbor was attacked, Japan occupied Manchuria, Korea and major parts of China.  They had arrangements with French Indochina where planes and troops were positioned.  This animation shows you the strategic route.

Click here to see animated map of Dutch East Indies.

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Official U.S. Navy Photograph, National Archives Collection

USS Wichita (CA-45)  Ship’s Chief Petty Officers listen to the radio broadcast of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s address to the Congress requesting a declaration of War against the Axis powers, circa 8 December 1941.  Note phograph of President Roosevelt on the bulkhead.

The Good and the Bad

They’re in the same month.  You can’t talk about Christmas without remembering Pearl Harbor.   Hard to imagine what it was like to prepare for the holidays when your nation has been attacked.  Such it was for our parents, grandparents and greatgrandparents – only a couple generations ago.  Some of them are still with us to share their thoughts of that historical event.

Remembering the Attack

On the day of the attack on Pearl Harbor I was in Soekaboemi (West Java) walking home from school. I was 10 years old at that time and heard the news from an older friend who had a radio at home. Our family  didn’t have a radio at that time and I shrugged my shoulders at the news as I didn’t know what it meant.  It was much later that I realized the seriousness of the attack. I was at school at that time in a dugout with the teacher and all other classmates when a Japanese plane hit the town. Three bombs fell close to the school, about 200 yards away and exploded with a devastating noise.  The target was a radio tower nearby but it missed the target.  Herman Leembruggen, USA

I was 2 years old.  I was on a sugar/tobacco “onderneming” close to Yogya.  P. Volkert, USA

I was 1 year and about 8 months old (born 24 April 1940 in Surabaya) and we were living in Malang – East Java.  For me Pearl Harbor means that finally the Americans were involved in WWII and because they declared war on Japan it meant that Japan would ultimately attack the Dutch East Indies. This would leave a lifelong scar on my family.  We were first interned into Camp Malang and after that into the horrible prison Banyu-Biru or Camp 10 !   Some of my indirect family members were killed by the Japs including a 24 year old cousin Kees van Benthem. Gerard Willem Charles Lemmens, UK

I was 1-1/2 years old living in Batavia.  I was probably sleeping. Edward E. E. Frietman, USA

I was in Surabaya.  I was 10 years old and in the fifth grade.  According to grandpa we will be at war pretty soon.  He was right.  March 1942 the Japanese planes attacked Surabaya.  They had to come from aircraft carriers because the Japanese was already in the Java sea on their way to Java.  About one month later we were occupied by the Japansese.   Frans Krajenbrink, USA

I was 10 years old.  We lived in Bandoeng.  I was sleeping.  BDJ, USA

I was just 6 years old on Dec. 7, 1941 and living in Bandung with my parents and two younger sisters.  I have no memory of what I was doing at that time, probably just attending school.  Joyce (Hoeke) Kater, USA

I was 2 years old, living in Bandung with my parents and two older sisters. I do not know what I was doing that day or time.  Amani Fliers-Hoeke, USA

I was 14 years old and went to school in Malang. I remember that many people were worried about what could happen to us in the former Dutch East Indies. Others were telling that the Japanese could never win from America. I was intern at an RC boarding school so the nuns and we girls did a lot of praying. Yet it was still a happy time for we didn’t know what was coming later on.  Elizabeth van Kampen, The Netherlands

I was 2 years old.  We were living in Buitenzorg on Java.  I was sleeping as the time zone was different.  A.B.

We were crowded around our little Philco radio in an apartment in White Plains, New York, and I was about 7 years old.  All I understood was the consternation in my parents’ eyes.  And this was the first time I saw my parents cry.  That’s what sticks in my mind 70 years later. Anonymous

I was 1-1/2 years old living in Sukabumi, Indonesia.  I do not recall what I was doing at the time.  Pamela D.

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Name:  William Boon
Born:    December 17, 1917, Java, Dutch East Indies
Died:    June 10, 2011, California, USA
POW:   Camp Tjimahi, West Java, Nov 20 , 1942 camp 4e Bataljon

Dad wearing one of his favorite caps

The Early Years

Dad was born on December 17, 1917 on the island of Java, Indonesia to a Dutch father Cornelius Boon and mother Fela Robinson of Chinese-English heritage. He was one of six children with brothers Jan Boon (AKA Tjalie Robinson), Alex Boon, Kees Boon, Henk Boon and sister Elisabeth Boon.

The War Years

My parents met during the war through the prison camp experience. My mother’s brothers were his fellow prisoners. After Liberation, during the Bersiap period (Indonesian Revolution) he was eventually chosen to guard the women’s camp where my mother was captive. This is how they became acquainted.

Both left as single parents, they married shortly after Liberation. He lost his first wife to tuberculosis and was left with an infant son Billie (born May 29, 1940). He married my mother Sylvia Van Ommen (born June 21, 1921) in Sawahloento, West Sumatra on December 12, 1945. Sylvia was a war widow left with an infant daughter Linda (born November 29, 1942). Together they had a son Arthur (born September 7, 1946) in Indonesia and a daughter Sylvia (born October 30, 1950) in the Netherlands. Arthur passed away in May of 1990.

The Netherlands

After the war they started a new life in the Netherlands living in a one-room pension in Gelderland. I was told many times how tough it was starting out again. When he became a civilian, he became a cartoonist for Maarten Toonder in Hilversum and held a supervisory job. Dad had provided well for the family and life was on the upswing. We had a television when no one else owned one, a car (a true luxury then). My parents traveled throughout Europe and made sure my oma (Sylvia’s mother) was well taken care of and eventually she came to live with us.

America

The USA started to beckon and on January 18, 1962 we emigrated after living in the Netherlands 11 years.

Sponsored by his brother Kees, our first place of residence was Pasadena. His first job was in a plastic factory making less than minimum wage. He got laid off within a few months of arrival. With a few bumps in the road, perseverance and Indo connections he went from White Collar to Blue Collar back to White Collar. His artistic talent won out and he landed a job with the Automobile Club of Southern California around 1964. He became a top Cartographer. His specialty was “mountain relief” work. He retired after 17 years with the Automobile Club at age 62.

He became restless again. In the early1980’s he purchased an empty lot on the big island of Hawaii in a little town 28 miles south of Hilo called Pahoa where it rained most of the year. My feeling was always that this move was Dad trying to get as close to his roots as possible without returning to Indonesia. I don’t know how else to explain his restlessness. He uprooted, left his kids and grandkids and convinced Mom that this was where they should live and grow old. They built a brand new, 1300 sq ft house on this lot and of course became immersed in the little Indo community that had already formed there.

However, after the first year, they started traveling back to California for 2 months during the holidays and did so for the remaining 6 years in Pahoa. As their friends started having health issues and were unable to get the medical help locally Dad realized that maybe staying there was not so wise. They sold the house in a timely manner and returned to California in 1987. Upon their return they eventually purchased a mobile home in Dominguez Hills, California where they lived for another 24 years.

While the grandkids were growing up their favorite thing to do with their Opa was to sit at the table with him. They would draw a line or squiggle on a piece of paper and their Opa would create something out of nothing. Over the years he also became famous for taking faces out of pictures or paintings. His grandchildren would bring home numerous boyfriends and girlfriends who became part of our family photos. These photos would remain in our family history but with the ever changing of partners with the grandkids, he was asked once to remove someone which he of course did with ease. Kind of became a joke because over the years he continued to remove other faces and at one point he requested that the “newby” not stand in the middle but at the end so the removal process became easier.

Wall Hanging from Prison Dish

The most treasured of his work was gifted to me. It was a wall hanging of great significance. Dad created a work of art from an object representing greatest despair. This was his eating dish in the camps during his time as a prisoner of war. One of his hobbies was engraving. He used an ink pencil to draw the design on one side. He outlined the design using an engraving tool and pounded the design out with a “stomp nail”. This is how he described it in an accompanying letter he left. It’s entitled “De Roep der Vrijheid” (A Call for Freedom) Tjimahi (Indonesia) 20/11/1942. Japanese P.O.W. camp 4eBataljon. It’s a beautiful picture of a Buck standing among flowers looking toward the mountains. It is engraved with his name and those of his brothers, Jan, Lex, & Kees who were also held in a camp. Once he was freed he presented this to his mother who took care of his son Billie for the duration of his captivity while she was in a civilian camp. Once his mom passed away it was returned to him. Apparently it was decided then that since I carry the same name as his mom (Fela) he wanted it passed on to me.

Our family grew to 15 grandchildren, 31 great grandchildren and 2 great-great-grandchildren. He left us before Father’s Day. One of my daughters brought me the Father’s Day card she had chosen for him. I could not stop crying. It was a card with a bunch of shoes on the front and inside it simply stated “no one can fill your shoes”. That says it all.

December 24, 2010 Christmas Eve.  The same day we buried Mom.  Dad is flanked by two daughters, 10 of his grandchildren, a handful of great-grandchildren, 1 great-great-granchild, and a smattering of spouses and girlfriends.

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By Andrew A. van Dyk

Overview of the Japanese Imprisonment Experience

The Japanese High Command on Java attempted to coerce the Indo-European members of the former Royal Netherlands-Indies Army, Navy and Air Force to enlist in the Japanese army.  A goodly number of Indos who refused were summarily executed and many ended up in camps.  Additionally, the Japanese tried to force the Indo-Europeans to renounce their allegiance to the Dutch queen and to become Indonesian citizens.  Those who refused were thrown into enslavement camps.  By early April 1942, there were a variety of enslavement centers in operation throughout the Dutch East Indies, and they could be classified in eight types:

1.   Prisoner for war (POW) camps.  These camps held members of armed forces of Allied nations, including Dutch, British and other commonwealth forces, Australians and Americans in addition to other nationalities such as Africans, Canadians, South Africans, Chinese, Arabs and Malays.  These men were billeted by nation of origin and service.  Later on, many civilians were imported to maintain the numbers for organized work parties after the majority of POWs were sent overseas to work on the infamous Burma-Thailand railroad, to Formosa (now Taiwan), to Hainan and to Japan itself to perform labor on docks and in the coal mines.

Every POW had to perform manual labor, either inside camp or on the outside.  It did not take long for clothing to deteriorate, and the majority of the prisoners soon wore only the military green shorts, Indonesian style clogs, and some kind of hat, often one formerly used by the military service. They made their own eating utensils.

2.  VIP camps.  Several camps housed inmates who were holders of high office in the former colony’s government, such as governor-general, members of parliament, commissioners, residents, administrators, lawyers, doctors, professors, clergymen, industrialists, officers of the rank of general and other dignitaries.  However, it was not long before they too were dispersed to other islands, such as Formosa, Hainan and Japan.

3.  Boys’ camps.  These held boys between the age of nine and thirteen.  After they turned fourteen, they were usually moved to civilian internment camps.  In Cimahi, there was Camp 6 for this purpose in which the author of the original article by the same title (Andrew (Andre) A. van Dyk) in “The Defining Years…..”, spent one year.

4.  Civilian internment camps.  Here males age fourteen and upwards were held. These inmates were continually transferred between camps throughout the three and one half years of captivity. Working parties were assembled each and every day, every month of every year.  Such working parties labored on construction projects at various distances away from camps.  When the job was in close proximity, the group marched on foot to reach it, escorted by one or two Japanese soldiers for every 40 to 50 inmates.  However, when the job was far away, the working group was transported by army truck, some 70 men packed standing up on the flat bed, escorted by two to three guards.

5.  Jahat camps. These camps were for the “bad” enemy.  They held captured guerrilla fighters, many of whom had been betrayed by the Indonesian for cash awards; escaped and recaptured POWs; members of certain Allied units which caused Japanese invasion forces much grief, such as demolition and special forces units; and captured civilians who were allegedly discovered as being spies.  Eventually all of these people were eliminated, usually by means of decapitation, after interrogation by the infamous Japanese military police, the Kempetai.

6.  Prisons and jails.  These institutions held criminals already held by the Dutch before the surrender as well as persons suspected of running black market operations as go-between trafficking in medicines, food and cigaretts between Indonesians and inmates.  Also incarcerated here were members of clandestine newspapers, resistance group members, and persons who hid or otherwise aided escapted Allied servicemen.  These unfortunates would be tortured by the Kempeitai and later disposed of. Examples of these facilities were Struiswijk, Glodok and Sukamiskin.

7.  Protection camps.  In these camps, billeted for their own safety and protection, were members of Axis countries-German, Italians, Hungarians, Rumanians, and others-as well as some citizens of neutral countries such as Switzerland and Sweden.  These camps are not to be confused with camps by the same designation after the war, during the Bersiap period, which housed persons who were in need of protection from marauding Indonesian youth.

8.  Concentration camps.  Here, all females except those held for interrogation in other institutions, boys under age 12 and, in some early cases, very old men were interned.  These camps held inmate population between 100 and 18,000 and were found on nearly every island all over the Indies, primarily Java and Sulawesi.

The most frequently discussed camps were the so-called Cihapit camps in Bandung, West Java, which took up most of the city and held nearly 18,000 persons.  The other infamous camp was Cideng camp in Jakarta, capital of the Indies, located on the north coast of West Java.  In this camp a brutal Japanese camp commander, Capt. Kenichi Sonei, held sway during the last years of the war.  After the war, he was executed as a war criminal for his action while in charge of this camp.

All concentration camp inmates had to be part of working parties.  Even women up to age 60 had to perform manual labor.  Inmates were used as garbage and junk collectors, sewer and drain cleaners, kitchen workers, furniture removers, clerical workers, grass cutters, and laborers to perform other chores outside camp jobs.

(Excerpts from Chapter 1 – The Defining Years of the Dutch East Indies, 1942-1949:  Survivors’ Accounts of Japanese Invasion and Enslavement of Europeans and the Revolution That Created Free Indonesia – 2003 [1996], Edited by Jan A. Krancher, used by permission of McFarland&Co, Inc., Box 611, Jefferson NC 28640 – www.mcfarlandpub.com)

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