menuRethinking Histories of Indonesia
10
How to liberate the colonised archives? Describing the Djogdja Documenten after their return
Michael Karabinos and Rika Theo
Introduction
When it comes to archival descriptions, words matter. When dealing with colonial collections, the terminology used to describe records is increasingly seen as important to reconsider and evaluate as part of a larger project of decolonising knowledge. What we have seen is a prevalence of research into descriptions provided within colonial archives in former settler colonies and the archives of indigenous communities in Canada, Australia, the United States and New Zealand.1 What is missing are studies that look at descriptions of colonial collections in institutions of the former coloniser as well as in former colonies. Museums appear to be ahead of archives in terms of re-evaluating and changing the text they use. This chapter provides one example of why it is also important to critically evaluate archival descriptions. Such descriptions are the first interactions users have with an archive, so the word choices can be the difference between someone requesting a record and leaving it unread.
This chapter takes a unique example, the so-called Djogdja Documenten, a collection of archives that bear witness to a sliver of the Indonesian independence war of 1945–49 between the newly proclaimed Republic of Indonesia and the Dutch colonial power. This collection is now housed at both the national archives of the former colonial power and that of the former colony. This collection is, to use the term from Jeurgens and Karabinos, a ‘colonised archive’—one ‘originally created, owned, and used by local institutions and people’ using items ‘that were collected, looted, bought or copied, and shipped to the coloniser’.2 By examining the descriptions of this ‘colonised’ archive in the national archives of both places, we will show how the repatriated records are represented in each country.
The subject of this chapter is not the history of the Djogdja Documenten or how they came to be found within the collections of each national archive; this information can be found in more detail elsewhere.3 The focus here is on the descriptions provided for these records. However, part of our interest is the fact that the Djogdja Documenten are held at both the National Archives of Indonesia (Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia; hereinafter ANRI) and the National Archives of the Netherlands (Nationaal Archief, or NA), so it is worth highlighting part of the custodial history of this archive.
The Djogdja Documenten are primarily government archives that were created during the turbulence of the Indonesian war of independence against the Netherlands in 1945–49. Materials from this period are unsurprisingly scarce in Indonesia. Most have been disposed of, burned or scattered; much is now held only in various individual collections and archives. The war resulted in the destruction not only of lives and places, but also of archives. The description of ANRI’s inventory of 1945–50 static archives says that information about events in the early years of independence is incomplete. For instance, ANRI has only three boxes of archives for the Indonesian Ministry of Internal Affairs in this period.4
On top of the scarcity of the records from this period, the importance of the seized archives lies more in the fact that these records bear witness to a defining period of decolonisation—the very process of liberation that shaped the new nation-state. They provide evidence of not only the early dynamics of the new republic, but also the conflicts and dissonances that the Dutch faced in their attempt to recolonise Indonesia. Unfortunately, even though in the NA there are many seized documents, such as in the archives of the Procureur-Generaal (Attorney-General) and the Ministry of Defence, only the small portion referred to as the Djogdja Documenten were deemed by the Netherlands to legally belong to the Republic of Indonesia and it was thus only these records that were returned. The NA’s other material includes a wealth of records seized from various individuals, organisations and sociopolitical movements.
Eric Ketelaar states that records ‘may be instruments of power, but, paradoxically, the same records can also become instruments of empowerment and liberation, salvation and freedom’.5 What we see in the case of the Djogdja Documenten is that this paradox applies not only to records, but also to archival institutions. While repatriation may seem to be the undoing of archival seizure, there are lingering traces of instruments of power in archival descriptions, which can similarly become places of ‘empowerment and liberation’. Ketelaar uses the example of Nazi registry records of Jews becoming instruments of liberation as they are used in the restitution of and compensation for Nazi seizures.6 We can also see that restructured descriptions produce similar liberatory effects.
Despite the return of the Djogdja Documenten being marked as a rare successful archival collaboration between a former colony and its coloniser, silences and gaps remain. For instance, information on the selection criteria used to determine which archives were returned is unknown and cannot be found in the archival descriptions at the NA. This is important to know because there are still many Indonesian Government archives captured in Yogyakarta (and beyond) that remain in the Netherlands. If the legal basis of the return was only ‘Indonesian republican government archives’, why were many other seized Indonesian Government records left unreturned? The situation is such that Indonesians must travel to the Netherlands to view the archives that record part of this crucial period in Indonesian history. Access to the records of the struggle against recolonisation, which were created by the formerly colonised, is hindered because these archives remain in the hands of the former coloniser and are catalogued in the colonial language, Dutch.
For the pursuit of decoloniality, an archival institution should aim to do more than just provide access to records. Archival repatriation has been positively seen as a step towards decolonialising the archives, but, through our analysis of the Djogdja Documenten, this chapter will show that further steps must be taken to liberate the archives from the persistent legacy of colonial archival infrastructure. The homecoming of colonised archives should entail not only exposing, redressing and reconciling the past violence of colonialism, but also a process of contesting and dismantling the colonial logic that remains in the archival practices and infrastructures of the present.7 This is a process that has not yet happened for the Djogdja Documenten. As noted by Nurjaman: ‘The decolonisation that was done is only to restore the physical form of the archive, without changing the system and archive structure.’8
This chapter focuses on the description of the Djogdja Documenten as it is the most visible interface that shows us how the archives are represented to users,9 where content and context are told. While the content of the Djogdja Documenten is not the focus of this chapter, it is impossible to tell this story without devoting some time to it, as it was this that led to their seizure by the Netherlands East Indies Forces Intelligence Service (NEFIS).10 This is especially important when considering the terminology chosen for archival descriptions. We will also spend considerable time discussing the context of the archive—its creation, seizure, return and current situation. After this we will begin our analysis of the descriptions at both the NA and ANRI, paying particular attention to how the contents and contexts of the records are portrayed in each place. We believe the context provided for their content is minimal at best in the descriptions of both archives, while any context of their seizure is missing from both institutions. We therefore see a need to impose a new praxis on these descriptions that can better express the history of the Djogdja Documenten. We will present a liberatory praxis for description that, we argue, can play a role in the decolonialisation process of these archives. This will be done by looking at the Djogdja Documenten as a community of records—to borrow a phrase from Jeannette Bastian11—and exploring the potential for a smarter digitisation plan that would allow for the (re)linking of records to add and reignite contextual layers and remove imposed layers of coloniality.
Layers of provenance
The Djogdja Documenten are not a ‘colonial collection’, but rather a ‘colonised’ archive. They are records originally created, owned and used by Indonesian institutions and people that were collected, looted, bought or copied and shipped to the coloniser’s home country.12 They were created, seized, re-created, displaced, re-created, returned and re-created again. Each time these records are activated, they are being contextualised and recontextualised—or, in other words, changed. This shows how archives may have multilayered contexts, defying the old notion of single, static and linear provenance of traditional archival principles. To understand the context and content of the Djogdja Documenten, one must follow its genealogy, which we will soon be doing.
The creators of the original documents in the Djogdja Documenten were, for the most part, ministries and institutions of the Indonesian Government. The records were created in the context of a newly independent country that, while facing internal dynamics and dissonances, resisted Dutch recolonisation after World War II and the Japanese capitulation. In December 1948, amid the war of independence, the Dutch military invaded the Republic of Indonesia’s then capital, Yogyakarta (Djogdja). The military not only arrested senior republican officials, but also seized their archives. All these seized archives were collected, arranged and processed by the Netherlands East Indies Forces Intelligence Service.
NEFIS was a large-scale operation, a military intelligence service that was founded by the Dutch colonial government-in-exile in Australia after the Japanese invasion in 1942 during World War II.13 In 1943 it became an independent agency focused on gathering intelligence on the situation in Japanese-occupied Indonesia. In 1945, following the Japanese capitulation, NEFIS relocated to Dutch-controlled areas of Indonesia. Its central focus also shifted to gathering intelligence on active independence movements across the newly declared independent Republic of Indonesia. Its archive contains not only the records created by the institution, but also the thousands of documents ‘collected’ in the former Dutch East Indies over the course of the colony’s existence. NEFIS was renamed the Centrale Militaire Inlichtingendienst (CMI; Central Military Intelligence Service) in 1948.
The records that NEFIS seized as part of its intelligence mission after the invasion of Yogyakarta in 1948 were especially important resources for the Dutch colonial government and were used for reports to influence international opinion and diplomacy towards the Dutch recolonisation effort. Furthermore, as researched by Okeu Yulianasari14 and later expanded by Michael Karabinos,15 the seized archives served as documentary evidence to support Dutch accusations about the incapacity and dysfunctionality of the Indonesian republican government. Records relating especially to the opium trade, insurgency and communism were used, for example, to play to international and often colonial perceptions of a threatening Asia. During talks with international delegations, the Dutch officials felt their claims were being ignored while Indonesian claims were unfairly supported.16 Recorded evidence was then sought, leading to archival seizure.17 A report was written by Dutch officials using such seized archives in February 1949, but international pressure to draw the war to a close led to the paper going unpublished.18 In other words, the records were recontextualised and repurposed during the Dutch recolonisation effort. To that aim, the reports containing the original, copied or translated versions of these raw documents were sent to various Dutch and international bodies. This is one of the reasons the seized records can be found in multiple places across the world and not just the NEFIS/CMI archives. For instance, they were scattered in the archives of the Algemeene Secretarie (General Secretariat), Procureur Generaal (Attorney-General), Rapportage Indonesia and other international bodies and countries outside the Netherlands.
At the end of the independence struggle, the transfer of archives and cultural objects was discussed at the United Nations–sponsored final negotiations on issues related to Indonesia’s sovereignty, the Dutch–Indonesian Round Table Conference (RTC) in 1949. Article 19 of the Draft Cultural Agreement signed at this conference stipulated that cultural objects of Indonesian origin were to be handed over to the Indonesian Government.19 However, the NEFIS archives had already been transported to the Netherlands by boat before the Dutch signed the agreement recognising a sovereign and independent Republik Indonesia Serikat (United States of Indonesia) on 27 December 1949. Thereafter, in the Netherlands, they were appraised and transferred many times between various ministries while remaining closed to the public. The archives were finally placed at the NA and made available for public viewing only from 1990. In the current NA catalogue, the entire NEFIS archive covers 75.5 metres and contains more than 7,300 inventory numbers. A subsection of these collected documents includes the 4,100 files labelled ‘seized, found and stolen’ (‘inbeslaggenomen, gevonden en buitgemaakte’)—what we have referred to as the seized archives. Within this seized archive—but by no means constituting the majority of it—are the so-called Djogdja Documenten. They comprise only 356 inventory numbers—a small number compared with the thousands in the NEFIS seized archives.
This selection of seized documents, inscribed by the state institutions and leaders of the Republic of Indonesia, was returned to Indonesia in two batches in 1976. The NA transferred another batch of archives in 1987, including the papers of Abdul Gaffar Pringgodigdo, who recorded the making of Indonesia’s Constitution. Though archival cooperation between Indonesia and the Netherlands was discussed in the 1950s in the form of a Dutch microfilming project, the bilateral work stalled because of strained relations after president Sukarno’s ‘Guided Democracy’ period and disputes over the control of Papua. The opportunity for the two national archives to work together would not come again until the rise of Suharto in the late 1960s.20
The return itself originated from an unprecedented request from Indonesia, made rather informally during the early microfilm exchange project between the two national archives. The state archivists of both countries played a substantial role in advancing the return amid political instabilities between the two countries. The return was continuously pushed for by Raden Adjeng Soemartini, ANRI’s director from 1970 to 1990, with her many attempts beginning in 1970. Soemartini, who studied in the Netherlands, kickstarted and sustained the former coloniser–colonised archival cooperation by accepting the colonial nature of archives and working with the former colonial power.21 She stressed the cooperation fulfilled the ‘mutual interests’ of both countries and offered numerous Dutch colonial documents held in Jakarta to be microfilmed in exchange. These actions imply that her outreach to her Dutch counterparts used a framework of archives as a shared colonial heritage. Soemartini’s persistence was not the only factor that determined the success of the return. Her counterpart, the NA’s head archivist Ton Ribberink played a substantial role in locating and procuring a further return in 1987 after protracted negotiations and disagreement between Dutch ministries on this matter.
For this return, records in the NEFIS seized archives were reappraised and selected to meet certain Dutch Government criteria for repatriation. At the time, this meant only the Indonesian Government archives seized in Yogyakarta. Each record was checked and arranged into a new collection called the Djogdja Documenten on approval by the related Dutch Government bodies. Returning the seized archive to Indonesia as the ‘Djogdja Documenten’ essentially meant narrowing the return to just the records captured in the Yogyakarta invasion. This re-creation of the Djogdja Documenten, even though it was for repatriation purposes, was decided largely through a political process by the former coloniser. It resembles exactly what Trouillot22 calls a silence in the moment of fact assembly. This silence lies not only in the process that delayed archival repatriation, but also in the lack of transparency about the repatriation process itself. The brief descriptions in both national archives’ catalogues of the Djogdja Documenten do not cover the repatriation history, including the criteria for selection.
This section has shown how the Djogdja Documenten were created, shaped and reactivated, and the silences therein. There are at least three layers of context of the Djogdja Documenten: their original creation in Indonesia, the re-creation and repurposing of the archives in NEFIS’s intelligence work and the selection of the archives for repatriation. These layers, however, remain obscure in the current descriptions of this collection provided at each archive. The next section explains this obscurity and the consequences for the content and then suggests what should be done to liberate these repatriated archives.
When multiple contexts are obscured
Viewed from the context of their creation by NEFIS, the Djogdja Documenten are records created for and from intelligence activities. A major portion of this intelligence gathering involved the procurement of records, which was done extensively by NEFIS. As well as being a records gatherer, NEFIS was a prolific records creator. After it collected documents from both informants and the seizure of property, each was processed according to its importance to the colonial government’s purposes. NEFIS comprised various divisions and translation and documentation were the jurisdiction of Afdeling (‘Division’) V. Each document that passed through Division V was combined with a geleidebrief (‘routing slip’) that contained metadata such as the date and location of procurement, material, form, language, where it was to be distributed and a NEFIS-supplied document number.
The routing slip created during NEFIS procurements always accompanies the original Indonesian documents in each record folder; however, the original metadata are not always present due to the nature of the seizure and the fact that NEFIS often divided and transferred documents to other government departments for their intelligence purposes. We therefore see more of the imprint of NEFIS in the Djogdja Documenten in both the returned records at ANRI and the ‘copies’ at the NA. The only difference is that, in most cases, ANRI has the original Indonesian documents and the copy of NEFIS procurement records, while the NA has the copy of Indonesian documents and the original NEFIS procurement records.
The consequence is that NEFIS metadata dominantly describe and introduce these seized Indonesian records. Without adequate description, the dominant context of NEFIS intelligence gathering and procurement overshadows the Indonesian context. More importantly, the colonial perspective embedded in NEFIS metadata is stronger in the archival description.
This is obvious in the archival description of the NEFIS seized archives at the NA prior to 2016. The online inventory simply listed the NA’s inventory number, which ranged from 1 to 4,100. No additional information was provided to researchers through the finding aid. This is a perfect example of an insufficient inventory that hindered access to the archive. For such a unique collection—one created in the wake of war and fought over by two countries—it was incredibly lacking. A researcher on the subject had to know that a paper inventory with more detailed descriptions could be requested from the reference desk.
The inventory at the NA received a major boost in 2016 when Dutch scholar of Indonesia Harry Poeze expanded on the descriptions for each record. As the inventory now states, ‘in these new descriptions, attempts have been made to refer as much as possible to personal names, organisation names, placenames and dates’.23 Along with the brief descriptions (generally one or two sentences) are the NEFIS number, the date received by NEFIS, the location where it was found and whether it is an original or a copy. The location where it was found can be a place or an archive, if seized from a Republic of Indonesia ministry or official. With the search function, researchers can find much more than in the original, more restricted descriptions. The Poeze descriptions, and their online availability, therefore came as a welcome addition to the inventory for researchers wanting to consult the archive. However, we will now compare these new descriptions with the inventory at ANRI, revised in 2004 by Eni Yuliastuti and Isye Djumenar and still used by that institution.24
First, the new inventory descriptions of the NEFIS archive at the NA, while certainly more informative than before, still run into linguistic issues and problems of historical perspective. Most of these seized archives are in either Bahasa Indonesia or a local Indonesian language. The inventory of the NEFIS archive does state that knowledge of the Indonesian language is required to read many of the stolen, found and seized records. Given that they were created by groups within the Indonesian independence movement for original distribution within Indonesia, this makes sense. Until the end of 2023, this note and the inventory in its entirety were written in Dutch, which constitutes a linguistic barrier for Indonesian-reading researchers. One must know Dutch to know there are archives in Indonesian. Unlike English in many former British colonies or even Dutch in Suriname, there is very little of a Dutch linguistic legacy in Indonesia. At the National Archives of the Netherlands, therefore, certain Dutch terms for Indonesian events and groups must be known—for instance, Republikeinse Luchtmacht (‘Republican Air Force’) is used in place of Tentara Nasional Indonesia Angkatan Udara (‘Indonesian National Military–Air Force’) or the Republican (Indonesian) Airforce mentioned in NEFIS document number 5392.25
In 2024, the NA added an automatic translator to the online finding aid on its website, so the description can be read in several languages, including Bahasa Indonesia. While it is a first step in improving access, the machine-based translation can only make literal translations of the available text. It cannot capture language nuances and contains translation mistakes due to lack of context or spelling errors. In some cases, the translated Indonesian terms are confusing; they have different meanings as the machine cannot capture context. For instance, ‘militaire intelligentie’ is translated as ‘kecerdasan militer’ as the term ‘intelligence’ in Bahasa Indonesia has two contexts. In this translation, intelligence means intellectual ability, while the correct translation should be ‘intelijen militer’. The term ‘inventaris’ is translated into ‘persediaan’, which means ‘stock’ or ‘supply’, while translation is not needed as Indonesian archives use the same term, ‘inventaris’. Furthermore, the Dutch description contains terms and abbreviations for which literal translation does not work, such as ‘Archief Rep. Min. van BuZa’ and ‘Archief Rep. Min. van Voorl’. For those unfamiliar with Dutch ministerial abbreviations, the machine translation does not help at all, as they become ‘Arsip Rep. Minimal Buza’ and ‘Arsip Rep. Minimal dari Voorl’. These are simple translation problems; the principal issue is that the problematic terms are translated literally, without any explanation. ‘Politioneele actie’ is ‘aksi polisionil’, showing that colonial perspective is reproduced even after translation. This kind of machine translation might improve access to a slight extent but does not work to decolonise the archives. Daniela Agostinho states that digital archives must ‘interrogate and disassemble, rather than repeat, the inherited structure of colonial archives’.26 We argue that the same is true in the presentation of archival information online, whether digitised archives or the online translations of descriptions.
Second, while the new NA inventory mentions that the Djogdja Documenten are within inventory numbers 3013 and 7112, it does not mention which records form the Djogdja Documenten or that they were returned to Indonesia and can be found at ANRI. A trip to Jakarta, and a peek at the Djogdja Documenten there, would reveal that what has been given that title amounts to 356 records. Most of the seized material from NEFIS is therefore still held in the Netherlands. Given the size of the NEFIS archive and its scope, the archival context of the Djogdja Documenten is stronger at the NA.
Third, comparing the inventory lists of ANRI and NA, we can see that some records are registered as ‘original’ by both institutions. While this is not only confusing, it also highlights the fact that there is no gap in the NEFIS archive in The Hague since the NA has all the copies of the Djogdja Documenten and the original NEFIS routing slips. At ANRI, however, the Djogdja Documenten sit removed from the larger NEFIS archive.
Fourth, though ANRI’s description of the Djogdja Documenten is in Bahasa Indonesia, the arrangement of the records follows the arrangement of the NEFIS archive. The Western archival principle of respect for original order—first codified in the 1898 ‘Dutch Manual’ (or the Manual for the Arrangement and Description of Archives) by Dutch archivists Samuel Muller, Johan Feith and Robert Fruin—requires records to be arranged in the order in which they were originally found by the archival institution. The main purpose is to preserve the relationship between records that inform the context and, hence, maintain evidential significance inferred from it.27 NEFIS, however, arranged the seized archives based on its intelligence operations in supporting the Dutch recolonisation attempt. Slivers of context from the Indonesian creation can be seen in the routing slips—for instance, from where the records came—but the structure of the records is defined by how NEFIS processed them. This complete restructuring that delinks the seized records from their Indonesian creators shows that they are treated as the property of NEFIS. Not only the structure but also the original purpose and function of the records were altered to follow NEFIS’s own purpose as a colonial agency. In short, the seized records have been colonised.
The NA maintains this re-created NEFIS order as it was the order of the archive when they received it. The NEFIS context is preserved, as is the NEFIS colonial logic. Original ordering can, therefore, obscure layers of context when the colonial order is preserved by the archival institution. In the case of the Djogdja Documenten, ANRI follows the original NEFIS order, and, unfortunately, in so doing, obscures the original order of the Indonesian creators and, consequently, its context. While highlighting the context of seizure, the context of their initial creation is ignored. In choosing this arrangement, ANRI is regarding NEFIS as the creator of the archive, though not the creator of the individual records.
The disorder of Indonesian documents is now even more severe at ANRI than at the NA. In the NA’s revised descriptions, the place where each record was seized, found or received is mentioned, while it is unavailable in ANRI’s descriptions. As a result, the user can only know about the record from the available description of the content, which is often brief and administerial.
We underline the fact that the multiple layers of context of the Djogdja Documenten are their distinctive feature, thus, preserving and revealing all these layers in the descriptions are imperative if they are to be liberated. The original Indonesian documents were seized because of their context and content, the context of the seizure makes us research them and the context of repatriation brings the Djogdja Documenten into ‘being’. Is it even possible to see them at ANRI and the NA if one lacks an understanding or awareness of the context? The multiple layers of context are still greatly lacking in the inventory descriptions of the Djodgja Documenten in both state archives.
Understanding the Indonesian context
The description and arrangement of the Djogdja Documenten in both national archives deprive users of the Indonesian context, even though knowledge of the Indonesian context is essential to understanding these records. The current description, especially at ANRI, offers little help for one not equipped with extra knowledge about the Indonesian context.
The Djogdja Documenten are records created during and providing evidence of the independence struggle of the new republic against the Dutch recolonisation campaign. This is the general context that we know. But, within this, the records provide traces of the struggles of different Indonesians: the government and its parties, the sociopolitical movements, different military divisions and individuals throughout a turbulent period that was also affected by the Cold War. Most records in the Djogdja Documenten date from 1948–49, when internal divisions in Indonesia intensified among various groups—namely, the nationalists, the right-wing and left-wing groups, parties and figures.
After the result of the Renville Agreement on 17 January 1948, which Indonesians highly criticised for its detrimental effect on them, the then left-wing prime minister Amir Sjarifuddin had to resign. Mohammad Hatta, who was also the Minister of Defence, replaced him and led a centrist cabinet without incorporating any left-wing representatives. It is unsurprising, then, that during the Dutch invasion of the capital of the republic, Yogyakarta, many archives were seized from Hatta and the Ministry of Defence. In this archive are records of Hatta’s policies and decisions during defining events of Indonesian history. Not all these archives were returned to Indonesia; some remain in the NA.
For the records returned to ANRI, they are scattered throughout the Djgodja Documenten because they are still arranged according to the NEFIS document numbers. In addition, the descriptions sometimes obscure the content of these files. For example, the content description of records in NEFIS inventory number 5722 at ANRI says merely: ‘Berkas bulan Oktober–November 1948 tentang organisasi dan susunan Komando Djawa [October–November 1948 file on the organisation and composition of the Javanese Command].’ The description of the same records at the NA states: ‘Documenten over de organisatie van het Republikeinse leger; met besluit Hatta over rationalisatie/reconstructie Komando Djawa TNI, Jogjakarta, 28-8-1948; met richtlijnen over uitvoering besluit; met organieke samenstelling; met reorganisatie ministerie van defensie, Jogjakarta, 4-11-1948 [Documents on the organisation of the Republican Army; with Hatta’s decision about rationalisation/reconstruction of Javanese Command TNI [Indonesian military], Yogyakarta, 28-8-1948; with guidelines on implementation decision; with organic composition; with reorganisation Ministry of Defence, Yogyakarta, 4-11-1948].’ The NA’s description gives far more information on the Program Rekonstruksi dan Rasionalisasi (RERA; Reconstruction and Rationalisation Program), Hatta’s policy of restructuring the Indonesian army from 460,000 to only 160,000 soldiers, which brought social and political consequences.28 Other documents about RERA in the Djogdja Documenten are the records with NEFIS number 5328, described by ANRI thus: ‘Catatan singkat rapat informal di Tjode tanggal 31 Agustus 1948 tentang perubahan organisasi [Brief notes of the informal meeting in Tjode on 31 August 1948 regarding organisational change]’, without mentioning this related to the army. The description at the NA gives more clues on the content: ‘Verslag van een vergadering van hoge officieren over de reorganisatie van het Republikeinse leger, 31-8-1948 [Report on a meeting of high officers on the reorganisation of the Republican army, 31-8-1948].’
These documents also include information on pivotal events in Indonesia that are not clearly indicated in the labelling at ANRI. In 1948, for example, Indonesia faced various internal revolts, the most prominent of which was the Madiun Affair—a left-wing uprising in September 1948. This and other events before and after are recorded in the seized archives, since one of NEFIS’s interests was to prove communist influence in Indonesia. Various records belonging to the Indonesian Communist Party (Partai Komunis Indonesia, PKI), the Socialist Youth of Indonesia (Pemuda Sosialis Indonesia, known as Pesindo) and the People’s Democratic Front (Front Demokrasi Rakyat, or FDR), as well as military and government documents, can be found here. But, again, the descriptions at ANRI obscure the content of these records.
In some instances, the PKI is not mentioned at all. For example, records with NEFIS number 5324 are described by ANRI as: ‘Surat dari Sutjiono kepada Jaksa Agung Tentara tanggal 10 November 1948 tentang laporan singkat daerah pendudukan pendapat organisasi Barisan Terpendam, dengan lampiran [Letter from Sutjiono to the Attorney-General of the Army dated 10 November 1948 regarding a brief report on the occupied areas, the opinion of the Barisan Terpendam organisation, with attachments].’ Meanwhile, the NA mentions the content of the report in detail: ‘Rapport over activiteiten Barisan Terpendam in bezet gebied Semarang, na arrestatie van zijn leider luitenant-kolonel S. Sudiarto, betrokken bij de PKI opstand; met resolutie Barisan Terpendam met verzoek Soediarto vrij te laten, 7-11-1948 [Report on Barisan Terpendam’s activities in occupied Semarang territory, after arrest of its leader Lieutenant Colonel S. Sudiarto, involved in the PKI uprising; with resolution Barisan Terpendam with a request to release Soediarto, 7-11-1948].’
These are examples of how descriptions obscure the context and content of the records. Other than this, the descriptions in both state archives are problematic in relation to the terminology used. For instance, we found the term ‘politionele actie’ (‘police action’) is still used without any explanation by either institution. This term was used by the Netherlands and represents the Dutch perspective of the conflict as a domestic conflict needing policing rather than a war with military engagements. In contrast, the general term used in Indonesia to refer to what happened in the 1945–49 period is ‘revolusi kemerdekaan’ (‘independence revolution’) or ‘perang kemerdekaan’ (‘war of independence’), while the Dutch military attacks are called ‘agresi militer’ (‘military aggression’).
Liberatory praxis in decolonialising the archives
In 2022 a new layer of context was added to the NEFIS archive—and, by extension, to the Djogdja Documenten—because of the use of selected original documents held only at the NA in the ‘Revolusi!’ exhibition at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. The chosen records offer us a glimpse of some of the unreturned NEFIS archive, including photographs, photo albums, pamphlets, posters, drawings and written records. Their inclusion has highlighted archival seizure and the vast looted cultural heritage held at Dutch institutions. This led to intense discussions of the NEFIS archive in the Dutch press.29
The publicisation of these seized archives (photographs, diaries, political posters) was presented in relation to the 2022 implementation of a 2020 advisory report on colonial collection policy that stated that seized colonial art would be returned in cooperation with former colonies, including Suriname and Indonesia.30 The decision did not include archival material, however, and a gallery full of looted material at the Rijksmusem highlighted the need for further debate on seized material held in Dutch archives. In March 2024, the Dutch Raad voor Cultuur (Council for Culture) published Dealing with Shared Sources from Colonial History, an advisory report to the Ministry of Education, Culture and Science on ‘redress and restitution in relation to colonial archives’.31 This report, which was meant to fill the archival void in the 2021 decree, focused not only on repatriation of seized archives, but also on restorative justice through the management of archives. Though the final report does not provide explicit recommendations on the NEFIS case, it mentions a 2023 parliamentary motion to return the archive. The NEFIS archive is featured in the report as an outstanding case of colonial archives from Indonesia and their use in the ‘Revolusi!’ exhibition can be seen as one of the catalysts for the report, as it highlighted the omission of archives from the 2021 report.
Inclusion of the NEFIS archives in the ‘Revolusi!’ exhibition further delineates repatriated archives (the Djogdja Documenten) from those that were not returned. But, as we have seen, the reasoning behind repatriation and continued custody at the NA is unclear and the differences in the records of each are negligible. So, while there is a clear new context added to the exhibited records—these records have been shown in the Rijksmuseum, they were chosen by curators, they morphed from archival records to museum objects—we also see through this exhibition a new context for the Djogdja Documenten. The records at ANRI are historically connected to those still at the NA. By having the NEFIS archive spark a debate about displaced and seized archives in the Netherlands, the return of the Djogdja Documenten represents one aspect of what could be done for the rest. Without a change in how the Djogdja Documenten are described and contextualised, however—at both the NA and ANRI—their repatriation means that the records are only slightly altered from those still in the Netherlands and displayed at the Rijksmuseum.
Our analysis has shown that neither the NA nor ANRI contextualises the Djogdja Documenten in a way that successfully conveys its nuances and unique history. The fact that even ANRI’s descriptions hide or obscure layers of context leads us to believe that any process of archival decolonisation cannot end at repatriation. There is a deeper coloniality of archives at work—one rooted in the recordkeeping system that was passed down from coloniser to colonised and lingers within the structure and work processes at ANRI.
Jeurgens and Karabinos32 wrote of archival coloniality in two ways: colonial archives (such as those of the Dutch East India Company or the colonial administration) and colonised archives (seized local archives such as the Djogdja Documenten). What we see on display on a deeper level in the Djogdja Documenten is a third archival coloniality—one of archival structures, which can manifest even in archives that superficially have no connection to colonial history. It is how we archive, not what, that has an entrenched coloniality. In the case of the Djogdja Documenten, its coloniality is therefore twofold: as a colonised archive that was seized and with structural coloniality due to how it has been archived, along with the insufficient contextual descriptions.
By focusing on seizure as the main source of an archive’s coloniality, repatriation is seen as a way towards an archive’s decolonialisation. But rather than speaking of only decolonialising the Djogdja Documenten, we instead must propose a new structure—one that is not merely decolonialised, but also exists outside the colonial system and is noncolonial in nature.
Therefore, we seek a liberatory archival praxis that liberates the Djogdja Documenten from the coloniality of its archival structures. Digital repatriation or simple digitisation will not dismantle the colonial logic and system inherent in this colonised archive, especially if the same archival structure—its description and arrangement—is reproduced.
Liberatory archival practices treat records not only as mere traces from the past that are preserved for a vague potential future use, but also as sources to be reactivated and connected to current liberation struggles.33 Instead of featuring a single provenance of the NEFIS seizure and colonial perspective, the noncolonial structure provides descriptions with multilayered context that attends to the interests and benefits of the community to whom the records belong.
References
Primary sources
Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia (ANRI). 2004. Daftar Arsip Djogdja Documenten [List of Djogdja Documenten Archives] 1945–1949. Jakarta: National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia.
Collectie S.H. Spoor. 1946–49. Nummer toegang [Access number] 2.21.036.01. The Hague: National Archives of the Netherlands.
Nationaal Archief (NA). n.d. ‘Algemeen Rijksarchief (ARA), Tweede Afdeling, nummer toegang 2.14.04, inventarisnummer 201. NL-HaNA, Netherland Forces Intelligence Service en Centrale Militaire Inlichtingendienst in Nederlands-Indië, nummer toegang 2.10.62, inventarisnummer 6702 [General State Archives (ARA), Second Department, Access Number 2.14.04, Inventory Number 201. NL-HaNA, Netherland Forces Intelligence Service and Central Military Intelligence Service in Dutch-India, Access Number 2.10.62, Inventory Number 6702].’ The Hague: National Archives of the Netherlands.
NA. 1942–45. Inventaris van het archief van de Marine en Leger Inlichtingendienst, de Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service en de Centrale Militaire Inlichtingendienst in Nederlands-Indië [Inventory of the Archives of the Navy and Army Intelligence Service, the Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service and the Central Military Intelligence Service in the Dutch East Indies]. No. 2.10.62. The Hague: National Archives of the Netherlands. www.nationaalarchief.nl/onderzoeken/archief/2.10.62.
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Bastian, Jeannette Allis. 2007. ‘Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens: The Provenance of Place, Space and Creation.’ Archival Science 6, nos 3–4: 267–84. doi.org/10.1007/s10502-006-9019-1.
Caswell, Michelle. 2021. Urgent Archives: Enacting Liberatory Memory Work. London: Routledge. doi.org/10.4324/9781003001355.
Christen, Kimberly. 2015. ‘Tribal Archives, Traditional Knowledge, and Local Contexts: Why the “s” Matters.’ Journal of Western Archives 6, no. 1: Art. 3. doi.org/10.26077/78d5-47cf.
Council for Culture. 2024. Dealing with Shared Sources from Colonial History: Advice on Recovery and Restitution in Relation to Colonial Archives. The Hague: Council for Culture. www.raadvoorcultuur.nl/documenten/adviezen/2024/03/25/dealing-with-shared-sources-from-colonial-history.
Gouda, Frances, and Thijs Brocades Zaalberg. 2002. American Visions of the Netherlands East Indies/Indonesia: US Foreign Policy and Indonesian Nationalism, 1920–1949. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.
Groenewoud, Afran. 2022. ‘Tentoonstelling Revolusi! in Rijksmuseum bevat geroofde eigendommen [Exhibition Revolusi! in Rijksmuseum Contains Looted Property].’ DPG Media, [Antwerp], 11 February. www.nu.nl/binnenland/6183271/tentoonstelling-revolusi-in-rijksmuseum-bevat-geroofde-eigendommen.html.
Hapsari, Kris, and Neneng Ridayanti. 2019. Layanan Akses Arsip Statis Di ANRI [ANRI’s Static Archive Access Services]. Subdirektorat Layanan Arsip Direktorat Layanan dan Pemanfaatan Arsip Nasional RI [Subdirectorate of Archives Services, Directorate of Services and Utilisation of the National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia]. anri.go.id/storage/attachment/Layanan%20Akses%20Arsip%20Statis.pdf.pdf.pdf [page discontinued].
Hedstrom, Margaret. 2002. ‘Archives, Memory, and Interfaces with the Past.’ Archival Science 2, nos 1–2: 21–43. doi.org/10.1007/BF02435629.
Jeurgens, Charles, and Michael Karabinos. 2020. ‘Paradoxes of Curating Colonial Memory.’ Archival Science 20: 199–220. doi.org/10.1007/s10502-020-09334-z.
Karabinos, Michael. 2013. ‘Displaced Archives, Displaced History: Recovering the Seized Archives of Indonesia.’ Bijdragen Tot de Taal-, Land- En Volkenkunde [Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences of Southeast Asia] 169, nos 2–3: 279–94. doi.org/10.1163/22134379-12340027.
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Karabinos, Michael. 2015. ‘The Shadow Continuum: Testing the Records Continuum Model through the Djogdja Documenten and the Migrated Archives.’ Doctoral thesis, Leiden University, Netherlands. hdl.handle.net/1887/33293.
Karabinos, Michael. 2017. ‘Indonesian National Revolution Records in the National Archives of the Netherlands.’ In Displaced Archives, edited by James Lowry, 60–73. London: Routledge. doi.org/10.4324/9781315577609-5.
Ketelaar, Eric. 2002. ‘Archival Temples, Archival Prisons: Modes of Power and Protection.’ Archival Science 2, nos 3–4: 221–38. doi.org/10.1007/BF02435623.
Kleinnijenhuis, Jan. 2022. ‘Nationaal Archief worstelt met roofkunst in collectie bij Indonesiëtentoonstelling [National Archive Struggles with Looted Art in Collection of Indonesia Exhibition].’ Trouw, [Amsterdam], 11 February. www.trouw.nl/binnenland/nationaal-archief-worstelt-met-roofkunst-in-collectie-bij-indonesie-tentoonstelling~b9477780/.
Lee, Oey Hong. 1981. War and Diplomacy in Indonesia, 1945–1950. Townsville: James Cook University of North Queensland.
Legêne, Susan, and Els Postel-Coster. 2000. ‘Isn’t It All Culture? Culture and Dutch Development Policy in the Post-Colonial Period.’ In Fifty Years of Dutch Development Cooperation 1949–1999, 271–88. The Hague: SDU Publishing. research.vu.nl/en/publications/abaab046-a28c-466d-ad21-0c1671e52038.
Luker, Trish. 2017. ‘Decolonising Archives: Indigenous Challenges to Record Keeping in “Reconciling” Settler Colonial States.’ Australian Feminist Studies 32, nos 91–92: 108–25. doi.org/10.1080/08164649.2017.1357011.
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NOS Nieuws. 2022. ‘Geroofde objecten te zien in Rijksmuseum-tentoonstelling Revolusi [Looted Objects on Display in Rijksmuseum Exhibition Revolusi].’ NOS Nieuws [Dutch Broadcasting Foundation News], 11 February. nos.nl/artikel/2416790-geroofde-objecten-te-zien-in-rijksmuseum-tentoonstelling-revolusi.
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1 See, for instance, Trish Luker, ‘Decolonising Archives: Indigenous Challenges to Record Keeping in “Reconciling” Settler Colonial States’, Australian Feminist Studies 32, nos 91–92 (2017): 108–25, doi.org/10.1080/08164649.2017.1357011; Kimberly Christen, ‘Tribal Archives, Traditional Knowledge, and Local Contexts: Why the “s” Matters’, Journal of Western Archives 6, no. 1 (2015): Art. 3, doi.org/10.26077/78d5-47cf; Hannah Turner, ‘Decolonizing Ethnographic Documentation: A Critical History of the Early Museum Catalogs at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History’, Cataloging & Classification Quarterly 53, nos 5–6 (2015): 658–76, doi.org/10.1080/01639374.2015.1010112; Sue McKemmish, Shannon Faulkhead, and Lynette Russell, ‘Distrust in the Archive: Reconciling Records’, Archival Science 11, no. 3 (2011): 211–39, doi.org/10.1007/s10502-011-9153-2; Siobhan Senier, ‘Digitizing Indigenous History: Trends and Challenges’, Journal of Victorian Culture 19, no. 3 (2014): 396–402, doi.org/10.1080/13555502.2014.947188.
2 Charles Jeurgens and Michael Karabinos, ‘Paradoxes of Curating Colonial Memory’, Archival Science 20 (2020): 199–220, doi.org/10.1007/s10502-020-09334-z, at 207.
3 Michael Karabinos, ‘Displaced Archives, Displaced History: Recovering the Seized Archives of Indonesia’, Bijdragen Tot de Taal-, Land- En Volkenkunde [Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences of Southeast Asia] 169, nos 2–3 (2013): 279–94, doi.org/10.1163/22134379-12340027; Michael Karabinos, ‘The Djogdja Documenten: The Dutch–Indonesian Relationship Following Independence through an Archival Lens’, Information & Culture 50, no. 3 (2015): 372–91, doi.org/10.7560/IC50304; Michael Karabinos, ‘Indonesian National Revolution Records in the National Archives of the Netherlands’, in Displaced Archives, ed. James Lowry (London: Routledge, 2017), 60–73, doi.org/10.4324/9781315577609-5; Rika Theo, ‘The Djogdja Documenten Revisited: Repatriation, Silence, and the Seized Archives of the Decolonization War’ (Master’s thesis, University of Amsterdam, 2021), scripties.uba.uva.nl/search?id=c4364542; Okeu Yulianasari, ‘Deciphering the NEFIS Archives: Investigating Dutch Information Gathering in Indonesia 1945–1949’ (Master’s thesis, Leiden University, Netherlands).
4 Kris Hapsari and Neneng Ridayanti, Layanan Akses Arsip Statis Di ANRI [ANRI’s Static Archive Access Services], Subdirektorat Layanan Arsip Direktorat Layanan dan Pemanfaatan Arsip Nasional RI [Subdirectorate of Archives Services, Directorate of Services and Utilisation of the National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia, 2019].
5 Eric Ketelaar, ‘Archival Temples, Archival Prisons: Modes of Power and Protection’, Archival Science 2, nos 3–4 (2002): 221–38, doi.org/10.1007/BF02435623, at 229.
6 ibid., 229.
7 Jeurgens and Karabinos, ‘Paradoxes of Curating Colonial Memory’; Michael Karabinos, ‘The Shadow Continuum: Testing the Records Continuum Model through the Djogdja Documenten and the Migrated Archives’ (Doctoral thesis, Leiden University, Netherlands, 2015), hdl.handle.net/1887/33293; Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010).
8 Jajang Nurjaman, ‘Dekolonisasi Arsip Sebagai Warisan Budaya: Kajian Awal Pengembalian Arsip Statis Era Hindia Belanda [Decolonisation of Archives as Cultural Heritage: A Preliminary Study of the Return of Static Archives from the Netherlands East Indies Era]’, Khazanah: Jurnal Pengembangan Kearsipan [Khazanah: Journal of Archival Development] 13, no. 1 (2020): 75–90, doi.org/10.22146/khazanah.55713, at 83.
9 Margaret Hedstrom, ‘Archives, Memory, and Interfaces with the Past’, Archival Science 2, nos 1–2 (2002): 21–43, doi.org/10.1007/BF02435629.
10 The full name of this organisation is clouded with ambiguity. While the Netherlands Institute for Military History and other sources refer to it as the Netherlands East Indies Forces Intelligence Service, the National Archives (NA) and more refer to it as the Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service.
11 Jeannette Allis Bastian, ‘Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens: The Provenance of Place, Space and Creation’, Archival Science 6, nos 3–4 (2007): 267–84, doi.org/10.1007/s10502-006-9019-1.
12 Jeurgens and Karabinos, ‘Paradoxes of Curating Colonial Memory’, 207.
13 Yulianasari, ‘Deciphering the NEFIS Archives’.
14 ibid.
15 Karabinos, ‘The Shadow Continuum’.
16 Oey Hong Lee, War and Diplomacy in Indonesia, 1945–1950 (Townsville: James Cook University of North Queensland, 1981), 193.
17 Karabinos, ‘The Djogdja Documenten’, 375.
18 ibid., 375–76. The report can be found at Collectie S.H. Spoor, Nummer toegang [Access number] 2.21.036.01 (The Hague: National Archives of the Netherlands, 1946–49).
19 Susan Legêne and Els Postel-Coster, ‘Isn’t It All Culture? Culture and Dutch Development Policy in the Post-Colonial Period’, in Fifty Years of Dutch Development Cooperation 1949–1999 (The Hague: SDU Publishing, 2000), 271–88, research.vu.nl/en/publications/abaab046-a28c-466d-ad21-0c1671e52038, at 272.
20 Karabinos, ‘The Djogdja Documenten’, 376–78.
21 Karabinos, ‘Displaced Archives, Displaced History’.
22 Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History, 20th anniversary edn (Boston: Beacon Press, 2015).
23 Nationaal Archief [hereinafter NA], Inventaris van het archief van de Marine en Leger Inlichtingendienst, de Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service en de Centrale Militaire Inlichtingendienst in Nederlands-Indië [Inventory of the Archives of the Navy and Army Intelligence Service, the Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service and the Central Military Intelligence Service in the Dutch East Indies], No. 2.10.62 (The Hague: National Archives of the Netherlands, 1942–45), www.nationaalarchief.nl/onderzoeken/archief/2.10.62.
24 Arsip Nasional Republik Indonesia [hereinafter ANRI], Daftar Arsip Djogdja Documenten [List of Djogdja Documenten Archives] 1945–1949 (Jakarta: National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia, 2004).
25 NA, ‘Algemeen Rijksarchief (ARA), Tweede Afdeling, nummer toegang 2.14.04, inventarisnummer 201. NL-HaNA, Netherland Forces Intelligence Service en Centrale Militaire Inlichtingendienst in Nederlands-Indië, nummer toegang 2.10.62, inventarisnummer 6702 [General State Archives (ARA), Second Department, Access Number 2.14.04, Inventory Number 201. NL-HaNA, Netherland Forces Intelligence Service and Central Military Intelligence Service in Dutch-India, Access Number 2.10.62, Inventory Number 6702]’ (The Hague: National Archives of the Netherlands, n.d.).
26 Daniela Agostinho, ‘Archival Encounters: Rethinking Access and Care in Digital Colonial Archives’, Archival Science 19, no. 2 (2019): 141–65, doi.org/10.1007/s10502-019-09312-0.
27 Society of American Archivists, Dictionary of Archives Terminology [Online] (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2005–24), dictionary.archivists.org/.
28 Frances Gouda and Thijs Brocades Zaalberg, American Visions of the Netherlands East Indies/Indonesia: US Foreign Policy and Indonesian Nationalism, 1920–1949 (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2002).
29 See ‘Geroofde objecten te zien in Rijksmuseum-tentoonstelling Revolusi [Looted Objects on Display in Rijksmuseum Exhibition Revolusi]’, NOS Nieuws [Dutch Broadcasting Foundation News], 11 February 2022, nos.nl/artikel/2416790-geroofde-objecten-te-zien-in-rijksmuseum-tentoonstelling-revolusi; Jan Kleinnijenhuis, ‘Nationaal Archief worstelt met roofkunst in collectie bij Indonesiëtentoonstelling [National Archive Struggles with Looted Art in Collection of Indonesia Exhibition]’, Trouw, [Amsterdam], 11 February 2022, www.trouw.nl/binnenland/nationaal-archief-worstelt-met-roofkunst-in-collectie-bij-indonesie-tentoonstelling~b9477780/; Afran Groenewoud, ‘Tentoonstelling Revolusi! in Rijksmuseum bevat geroofde eigendommen [Exhibition Revolusi! in Rijksmuseum Contains Looted Property]’, DPG Media, [Antwerp], 11 February 2022, www.nu.nl/binnenland/6183271/tentoonstelling-revolusi-in-rijksmuseum-bevat-geroofde-eigendommen.html.
30 See also Boonstra’s Chapter 9 in this volume for further reflection on the advice and its consequences.
31 Council for Culture, Dealing with Shared Sources from Colonial History: Advice on Recovery and Restitution in Relation to Colonial Archives (The Hague: Council for Culture, 2024), www.raadvoorcultuur.nl/documenten/adviezen/2024/03/25/dealing-with-shared-sources-from-colonial-history.
32 Jeurgens and Karabinos, ‘Paradoxes of Curating Colonial Memory’, 207.
33 Michelle Caswell, Urgent Archives: Enacting Liberatory Memory Work (London: Routledge, 2021), doi.org/10.4324/9781003001355.
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