Baru-baru ini telah meninggal dunia seorang rekan, sahabat dan kawan debat, namanya Lie Hua dan dia bekerja sebagai penterjemah bahasa Inggris di Jakarta Post. Karena itu maka waktu dia meninggal Jakarta Post mengangkat salah satu tulisan tentang dirinya. Saya angkat disini karena ini adalah suatu cerminan orang Tionghua yang tidak bisa berbahasa Mandarin, dan merupakan wakil suatu golongan Tionghua di Indonesia.
We Are Accepted By Our Deeds Lie Hua is a seventh-generation Chinese-Indonesian who works as a translator in Jakarta. Given the periodic flare-ups of anti-Chinese sentiment in Indonesia, it might be assumed that it was a painful experience growing up as an ethnic Chinese in this country. But there are two sides, ups and downs, in any relationship. I was born on April 23, 1951, a seventh generation Chinese-Indonesian (my ancestors arrived in this country in the mid-1700s). I was raised in a Chinese neighborhood in West Jakarta, but I cannot speak any Chinese dialect. In fact, we spoke the Betawi dialect. I got on with indigenous Indonesian kids but of course there were also some cultural differences between us. I went to a government elementary school where most of the students were of ethnic Chinese descent. Some of our teachers were native Indonesians but we were never discriminated against. My best friend was Endang, the son of a Sundanese butcher in our local market. We walked to school together and would watch movies during our free time. Endang was the minority in our school, but he got on well with the rest of us. I continued my studies at Tjandra Naja Junior High School on Jl. Gadjah Mada. Again, most of the students and teachers were of Chinese origin. I spent three and a half years here because of the abortive coup blamed on the Indonesian Communist Party. The school term, which should have ended in July 1965, was extended to December 1966 due to the emergency situation. The upheaval, which led to Soeharto's rise to power, ushered in a very dark chapter for Chinese-Indonesians. The witch-hunt for members and sympathizers of the Indonesian Communist Party, which the government closely linked with the People's Republic of China, led to an intensified anti-Chinese campaign in virtually all aspects of life. The government issued a regulation that Chinese names must be changed into Indonesian names. Chinese characters were forbidden in public places. Even public celebrations of Chinese rites were prohibited. Chinese-Indonesians, for their own safety, converted to Christianity and some to Islam, and tried to shed their Chineseness. But I kept my Chinese name. My father, who taught Indonesian in a Chinese school in Jakarta, always believed that we would be accepted in Indonesian society because of our deeds, not because of our names or other attributes. That is why he sent me and my younger brother and sisters to an Indonesian school, not to a Chinese school where tuition would have been free for us. My family also continued to observe Chinese rites, but this time we did it more quietly, without attracting attention. Despite my distinct Chinese name, wherever I went I never felt discriminated against. Looking back, I think the reason is that I never had any ill feeling towards native Indonesians. Some of my teachers and my friends were indigenous Indonesians and they were all kind to me. In contrast, I felt - and still feel - alienated in the presence of Chinese-speaking Chinese, especially Chinese-Indonesians who have been here for a generation or two. If I am greeted in Chinese, I will just stare, unable to answer in kind, and an inevitable feeling of awkwardness and distance arises between us. In their view, I am not one of them because of my inability to speak Chinese. That's why when I go to Jakarta's Chinatown, Glodok, I always feel uneasy. The moment you show that you cannot speak Chinese, these people seem to be saying: "You look Chinese but cannot speak Chinese, so you are not one of us." After completing my senior high school when the anti-Chinese feeling was at its height, I continued my studies at a foreign language academy and then in 1973-1975 I studied English literature at the Nasional University, where 99 percent of the students were Muslims and native Indonesians. I was well accepted there although many of my friends found it strange that I could not speak Chinese. They assumed that I spoke Chinese at home just like they spoke Javanese, Sundanese or whatever their regional dialect was. I enjoyed my studies at this university even though anti-Chinese sentiment was still prevalent. To put it succinctly, I grew up in a non-Chinese-speaking Chinese community, befriending many native Indonesians but having few friends in the Chinese-speaking Chinese community. And I still have my Chinese name. That is who I am. -- Best regards, Tantono Subagyo
