Tjoa Tek Swat

Recollections of Evolving Personal Childhood Experiences and Its Transformations May 12, 2011 at 5:34pm Recollections of Evolving Personal Childhood Experiences and its Transformation Calling the past to mind to see its transformative formations of meanings and values in the present “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” I Corinthians 13:11 "The future in the present is much more important than the past. Therefore, stand firm with your feet firmly planted on the ground, refusing to be deterred and put off balance by necessary annoyances and nightmares..." --A phrase born out of my own musings Some events, happenings or incidents in the past that are pivotal in one’s life because when they are remembered. They could, in retrospect, become significant as transformative moments in the formation and shaping of one’s personal views and perspectives. From the present vantage point in my life, at the age of seventy-two, as I take a long view back at several experiences in my life during childhood and into young adulthood, I could see how some of these experiences, events, or happenings turned out to help me shape my present attitudes and convictions. Let me try to illustrate. For example, there is one incident when I was four years old. Although it happened long ago, yet it remains indelibly embedded in my mind and this memory surfaces in me at every Christmas season. We were living in Jakarta, and Indonesia had just been occupied by Japanese soldiers. A recent graduate of the Theological College in Indonesia and ordained as pastor, he was twenty-seven years old at the time, served as youth pastor in a large Chinese congregation in Chinatown. Two Japanese soldiers came to our house at night after supper and took my father away to prison. Earlier that afternoon, I was playing outside the house. When my mother called me, I ran inside the house and my small foot accidentally hit the already decorated Christmas tree in the living room, knocking it down on the floor and breaking all the Christmas decorations. Of course my parents were upset. And my father scolded me, grabbed and spanked me and then sent me to my room. When supper time came about, my mother came into my room and told me to apologize to father and to promise not to run in the house again. When we sat down at the table, the atmosphere was quiet. No one said a word. Soon afterward, after we all retired to the living-room, we heard noises of an automobile or motorcycle entering our driveway. Then we heard the doorbell ringing. My mother came to the door and after she opened the door, two soldiers stood by the door and said they came to take my father. I don’t remember what was being said during their conversation. But I do remember my father being led out of the house, into the motorcycle-cab. Then they drove away. It must have been a week or two later, when my mother took me to see my father in prison. She gave me a paper bag filled with candy and chocolate for me to take with me as a gift for my father. At the prison, again, I don’t remember the conversation that took place. But what remained fixed in my mind was when I saw my father sharing the candies and chocolate that I had brought for him with fellow prisoners. I caught a glimpse of that scene when my mother and I exited the prison gate. Just before a guard closed the gate, I turned around and look back, only to see my father freely sharing what I had specifically brought for him with the others around him. I can still feel those angry feelings inside me --feelings of anger and disappointment, of loss , seeing him in prison—angry that he give away to others what I brought for him. But these feelings were also transformed in time to become strong feelings of care and concern for prisoners and those in prison. My father only came home for one full day during his time in prison. Only later, when the war ended, did we receive the news that he was beheaded and killed; only to be honored by being the recipient a medal of the “Order of the House of Orange” – a honor bestowed on those who gave their lives in service of the Dutch government. Here is another vivid recollection. It was a time when I was about six years old attending kindergarten. By this time, Indonesia was under the occupation by Japanese soldiers. Each morning before classes started, the school bell rang and all the children were brought to stand in all the formation before the flagpole in the school yard. As the Japanese flag was slowly raised, we all stood rigidly while singing the Japanese national anthem. Even today, I can still recite a few lines of that song. The memory never left me. But that event also rose to become feelings of protest resentment for those living under foreign occupation. There was one game that we would play as children during the war. Whenever we pass a military garrison where a soldier stood guard in front of the outside gate, everyone was forced to stop in front of the guard to bow before passing through. Because Indonesia was a former Dutch colony, we all were familiar with the Dutch language and the game was a game of daring to stop in front of the guard, then to bow and to say in Dutch in a low voice, “Drop dead.” Whoever dared to do that we considered brave and heroic. And we all proudly laughed. One day, we saw a man in his bicycle carrying fruits and vegetables passing through. It was already late morning, and he was presumably in a hurry to go to market. Instead of stopping in front of the guard and take a bow, he simply went on. For that mistake, he was shot instantly by the guard. No one on the street said a word, even those who witnessed what had just happened went their own way as if this brutal and cruel act was something that was part of a normal every day event. I still remember the fear and horror I felt. And no one said anything. But it is this feeling of fear and horror, of helplessness in the face of injustices that turned me against violence and war. Twenty years later, when I was a foreign student in the United States in my early twenties, I saw the late Eric Severeid, a CBS news anchorman on the evening news coming out to speak out against what was shown earlier during the news program. He spoke out against a group of soldiers and one who was carrying and showing off a glass jar that contained cut-off human ears of what they said were “the gooks” and “viet-congs and commies” (These were derogatory terms that were commonly used at the time.) Watching that news-clip was the trigger that prodded me to want to learn more about the Vietnam war. I read news reports, attended lectures, went to events, listening to pro and antiwar speakers about the war. And all at the same time, while doing all this, memories of my own childhood experiences of war time returned and came back to bring out those uneasy feelings of insufferable anxiety and fear again. Long before the Tonkin Gulf Resolution [i]that our Congress approved t did not take long before I was convinced that the war in Vietnam was not only unjust, but immoral. Growing up during war and under Japanese occupation was difficult. With my father in prison, my mother along with my younger sister and brother, moved us to live with our grandparents in a different city about forty miles from Jakarta. I remember how food was scarce. During meal time, mother would serve us very small portions of rice, sprinkled with few peanuts and a dash of soy sauce. Sometimes, she would fry one egg which was then divided between the four of us. But always, before every meal, she would bid us to pray. That scene remained fresh in my mind, because hungry though I was and finding little food, I found it difficult to be thankful for such a meager portion that was given to me. But of course, none of us, as children, complained. The fun came when afterwards we would be playing outside with other children and to scrounge for food around the neighborhood in garbage bins. Each night, before going to bed, my mother would gather us together as she read stories from the bible. She told us stories of Adam and Eve, of Abraham who sacrificed his son, Isaac, the stories of Samson and Delilah, of the people of Israel wandering in the wilderness hungry and being fed manna the bread that came from heaven, and other stories as well. Then she would ask us to close our eyes as she prayed. Her prayer begins with praying for an end to the war, for the people who suffer and die during the war, for us as a family, for grandfather who was alcoholic. And then, she would conclude with a prayer for our father, in these words: “…please send Daddy, home, if it be your will. Amen.” That last line has remained with me as a prayer for comfort and strength during difficult moments in life. Growing up in a Christian family where Christians are a very small minority in a predominantly Muslim country. Most of my friends in the neighborhood and in school were Muslims. These friends would often chided or make fun of me for not only being a Christian, but also belonging to the same faith as that of the colonialists – the Dutch. In order to fit in with the crowd, I regular join my friends at the nearby mosque to pray, recite the Islamic verses in Arabic. One side of me would like to be a Muslim. I also wished I could change my name to “Mohammad” instead of “Max”—which is European in origin. But one side of me that felt that to do so I would have to renounce my whole family background and tradition. That would just be too costly a price for me. But these experiences subsequently taught me to respect others of different faiths. In fact, aside from these experiences I had never experienced religious exclusion or rejection from those of other faith traditions. Later on, when Indonesia gained its independence from the Dutch, Christianity along with Islam, Buddhist and Hinduism, became the officially accepted religions of the Indonesian Republic. There were family members within our own family who were not only Christians; but also Buddhists, Muslims, adherents of Confucius and even atheists. And as family members, including some of our friends and neighbors, we not only tolerated our religious differences, but also respect and honor their beliefs. We visited and feasted during our respective religious holidays, exchanging and sharing foods and gifts in the homes. As a result, from an early age, I learned to accept differences in religious preferences, not simply tolerate them. After all, people around me are accepted as my friends and family members. [i] A resolution put before the U.S. Congress by President Lyndon B. Johnson on August 4, 1964 to approve and support the President as Commander in Chief to take all necessary measures to repel any armed attack against the forces of the U.S – which was tantamount to giving total approval to wage the war in Vietnam. eereveld in tAncol, Jakarta, which we visited to see the sight where my fatyher, Ds. Tjoa Tek Swat was executed by Japanese Occupational Soldiers in 1944 eereveld in Ncol, Jakarta.....marker where Ds. Tjoa Tek Swat was executed by Japanese Occupational Soldiers in 1944 Eereveld Ancol, Jakarta, a military cemetary of World War II victims of the Japanese Occupation; including a mass grave of those executed Sluiten