Despite how intelligent farming is in the Netherlands, I remember living in Singapore where Dutch expats would use the term “farmer” in a tone that meant stupid or thick-headed. It’s funny how meaning changes over time and place, and sometimes, most times... stubbornly sticks to words that proceed it’s context.
The potato checker
The weeding machine
Story 2 - When a word is unmeaningful
We lived in Eagle Heights, a housing complex with lots of families, many of whom immigrated from East Asia. This was in Madison, Wisconsin around 1999. The parents in the community always hosted small events in the shared grass field, like birthday parties or Christian day camp. I got into an argument with a little girl around my age at one of those gatherings. Her family moved from South Korea and our parents were friendly with each other. I think it came from a respect or admiration of each family’s culture or ideas we had of it. She also had an older sister like me. In the sand pits I used the word “house” to describe the buildings where our families lived in. Since we all lived in the same complex, the inside layout was all the same. The little girl got snarked at me, “It’s an apartment , not a house!”
“Same difference,” I said.
“No it’s not. How you would like it if I called you a dog?”.
Story 3 - When words assimilate
I was in an antique shop in Jogja in 2018, stumbling upon old letters that belonged to people a long time ago. These letters were obscured, they were made from thin, almost transparent paper typed with black ink that exuded a bluish hue. Many of the letters were in Bahasa. In one of them, the writer wrote about their new job like they were catching up with the reader. Words such as ‘kamu’ (EN: you) were changed to the Dutch ‘jij’. Words such as ‘aku/saya’ (EN: I/myself) were changed to the Dutch ‘ik’. In Indonesian venacular there are a lot of Dutch words residually passed on from colonial times. Like ashbak (EN: ashtray), WC (EN: toilet), etc. But I’d never read or heard an active presence of Dutchness in conversations like how these letters were using “jij” and “ik” in the landscape of Indonesian words. I’ve lost these letters in my old academy somewhere so unfortunately the owners of these letters cannot be named.
In my last read, “The waxing and waning of a diapora: Moluccans in the Netherlands, 1950-2002,” there is a gradual change in the author’s use of the words: ‘repatriate’ to ‘diaspora’. The paper describes changes of power and organization throughout three generations of Moluccan people in the Netherlands, counting from the first group that arrived in 1950 after the rise of Indonesia’s republic. The refuged Moluccan’s were promised their stay to be a temporary state. The Dutch goverment did not throughly weigh geopolitical circumstances at the time. They were placed in camps with poor conditions and no labour opportunities. The way it’s written is in chronological event-by-event process, uncovering the movements within the “repatriation settlements”. What is missed in this paper, besides for naming the forced encampments, is a dimension where emotions can exist, rocking through each word. Where the effects of imprisoned living are pressed deeply into the paper. How do we ask the ink to fade, as the dreams of returning home fades too? There is a severity that lies between the ‘lexicon’ and ‘syntax’ ...and to be honest I never understood what those words meant. My point here is that a lot of academic and historical writing wears the neutral mask. I must also add that this happened to many refuged Indonesians and Indo-Europeans who repatriated to the Netherlands during this time. Placed in similar conditions, and in some cases, repurposing a former Nazi transit camp as a residential settlement for many of the repatriated migrants. (Westerbork) https://kampwesterbork.nl/en/history/schattenberg-1950-1971/repatriation-camp
I’ve skipped some weeks in my diary entries though. It wasn’t so hard to formulate what I’ve writen so far but it was hard what I’m trying to formulate now. Sometimes it’s not always necessary to use words too. But I’ve found difficulty in writing because I’m worried about how much I’ll miss or meander. Truthfully, I cannot speak or write about diaspora without thinking about the atrocties currently happening in Palestine today and for the past 75 years. I won’t clump these topics together as they are unique situations unlike each other... but still connected. I would argue that there is value in reviewing the politics, language, narrative and semantics in connection to different diaspora and displacement histories. I believe this could reveal patterns of power, patterns of settler colonial systems that govern the great myth of return, both ideologically, politically and physically. In the Israeli context “return” is used for the justification of destruction, we witness this blatantly said by Israeli politicians on our socials flooding from different news sources. In the case of the Moluccan diaspora, “return” was a narrative placed in embalment fluids. Used to as a way to lead, be led towards, and silence. Many Moluccans were forced to leave to leave, the choice was to stay was relatively illusory since staying during a revolution that could mean persecution or violent consequences. Many Moluccans obtained Dutch passports by the 2000s when political circumstances changed in Indonesia, enabling them to return to their ancestral homes on visiting conditions. By the third generation of Moluccans, people could return but as Dutch citizens entering a foreign country. My aim in mentioning these different examples is to question what happens when we look at these processes closely, who permits and regulates? Who are the ones displaced and what systems or people does this displacement serve? Coming back to the subject of Moluccan and Indo diaspora, there is a lot of subjectivity nowadays when sharing stories about ‘home’ and ‘return’. I think it is more important than ever to begin unpacking the terms, tributaries and historical/contemporary contexts of diaspora narratives. In a way that unfolds a story that contributes to a collective present and to be okay with an always becoming identity. What would ‘home’ and ‘return’ have meant to the first generation of Indo and Moluccan people during 1945-1969? What is home and return to the second, third or fourth generation? What is home and reutrn in a today’s transnational conext?
Those who know will feel. I’ve been hearing a lot of stories these days about weighing the option of trading in for a Dutch passport. It’s tempting, mobility is alluring, but I wonder what part of myself they will ask for in exchange. I feel like I’m an expert on the unspoken politics on visas and the art of returning, every year I do until one day I don’t. After visa application after visa application after visa rejection and objection, it feels like beauracracy is imminently another systematic con.
But It’s very scary the world we’re in...
Having these barriers in place...
Not knowing when we can see our loved ones next....
Or when we can come home.
Having these barriers in place...
Not knowing when we can see our loved ones next....
Or when we can come home.
Credit:
Image1: IPhone photo - On the bio farm on the potato checker machine
Image2: IPhone photo - On the bio farm weeding the cikeri fields