Medical care as the carrot: the Red Cross in Indonesia during the war of decolonization, 1945-1950.

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Medical care as the carrot: The Red Cross in Indonesia during the war of decolonization, 1945–1950 L. van Bergen

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KITLV-Leiden (Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies) , Leiden , Netherlands Published online: 22 Aug 2013.

To cite this article: L. van Bergen (2013) Medical care as the carrot: The Red Cross in Indonesia during the war of decolonization, 1945–1950, Medicine, Conflict and Survival, 29:3, 216-243, DOI: 10.1080/13623699.2013.814438 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13623699.2013.814438

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Medicine, Conflict and Survival, 2013 Vol. 29, No. 3, 216–243, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13623699.2013.814438

Medical care as the carrot: The Red Cross in Indonesia during the war of decolonization, 1945–1950 Downloaded by [National Sun Yat-Sen University] at 08:25 25 December 2014

L. van Bergen* KITLV-Leiden (Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies), Leiden, Netherlands (Accepted 6 June 2013) During the war of decolonisation in Indonesia 1945–1950, the Dutch Red Cross and the Dutch East Indies Red Cross delivered aid to sick and wounded soldiers and civilians. This was supposed to happen in cooperation with organisations including the Indonesian Red Cross, the International Committee of the Red Cross, the military health service and civilian health services. Due to lack of resources, doctors and nurses, and due to differing interests, cooperation went anything but smoothly, severely undermining medical aid. On top of that, the aid that was given turned out be a tool of propaganda for the Dutch cause. Aid was deliberately – and with Red Cross consent – used as a political–military tool in the service of Dutch national interests. In a military strategy of carrot and stick, medical care served as the carrot. Keywords: Red Cross; decolonisation; Indonesia; medical neutrality

Introduction About noon a message arrives. There are two wounded at post Boearan. They’re natives. I can’t get used to it. If two Dutch boys are hurt, we take off head over heels. Now the order is: eat first. (De Graaff 1989, 23)

In discussions of non-medical reasons for delivering medical care in times of war, and therefore violating medical neutrality, the American ‘MEDCAPs’ (Medical Civic Action Programmes) carried out during the Vietnam war are normally the starting-point (Wilensky 2004; Van Bergen 1991, 85–87). But long before Vietnam, medical practice in the Dutch East Indies prior to the Second World War showed that medical neutrality in a colonial setting – be it a time of war or not – is anything but natural or easy. In the middle of the nineteenth century, physician C. Pruys van der Hoeven was of the opinion that good medical care for the indigenous people was a fine way to heighten their *Email: [email protected] Ó 2013 Taylor & Francis


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trust in the Dutch authorities (Hesselink 2011, 96). During the Aceh wars (1873–1907), Red Cross medical supplies were assembled according to the needs of the Dutch army. In fact, Red Cross neutrality was considered to be applicable only to so-called ‘civilised nations’ (Van Bergen 2004, 15–75). After the bloody Lombok expedition of 1894–1895, which brought the island definitively under Dutch rule, doctors djawa (European-trained indigenous doctors) were employed to combat a smallpox outbreak. Dutch government employee A.J.N. Engelenberg said their role ‘contributed greatly to the work of pacification required on Lombok’. Soon afterwards, malaria and abdominal disorders ruled the day. Again, ‘our medics contributed to bringing the people closer to us’. Engelenberg was clear: ‘To conduct prudent propaganda... the native doctors together with good nurses and orderlies are the appropriate agents’ (Hesselink 2011, 181–182). In 1908, the Committee for the Reorganisation of Health Services also said that ‘providing large scale medical assistance is one of the surest means to win the population’s trust’ (Hesselink 2011, 181). Naturally, the doctor djawa could play a major role in this. He was seen as an outpost of western civilization, at least by E.R.K. Rodenwaldt, who was a teacher at the medical school for indigenous doctors, STOVIA, and a researcher at the famous Eijkman Institute (Hesselink 2011, 181–182). Sadly, his words on western civilization are placed in a somewhat different light when one reflects upon the fact that Rodenwaldt went on to become a fanatical member of the German National Socialist party. These are but a handful of examples in a long list of medical practices being used for, or at least seen as very useful in, achieving Dutch military– political goals during the colonial period. The key question addressed by this paper is: did the colonial strategy of using western medicine to achieve military–political goals continue into the decolonization period? In trying to provide an answer to this question, I will focus on the Red Cross. It sent doctors and nurses to Indonesia almost immediately after the Japanese surrender in August 1945 as it was, at least in name, a far more neutral organization than the armies medical health services. But to what extent was Red Cross aid in Indonesia in the years 1945–1950 defined by ‘pacification’? What did the several Red Cross organizations do? Did they pay attention to all those in need? Did they cooperate with other health organizations? Did they escape political influence during those days of heightened nationalism and the threatened loss of the Dutch ‘Emerald Belt’? The East Indian Chamber Even before the end of German occupation of the Netherlands, the Dutch Red Cross (DRC) was convinced that aid had to be given in Dutch East India as soon as circumstances allowed it (Blokken los 1946). In an anonymous report on the tasks and organization of the DRC, probably written by main board member H.K. Offerhaus (Van Bergen 1994, 447), one reads that:

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On the other side of the globe there is this other important part of our country: the Indies, or in official modern terminology: Indonesia. For its liberation harsh battles now are fought. Here too the DRC shall have to provide aid. Of course the nature and quantity of that aid will be defined by numerous circumstances.


This, however, was the revised version. Before it was decided to write the report in as neutral terms as possible, as was indicated in the margin, the text had read: Of course the nature and quantity of that aid will depend on whether Jap[an] has capitulated before the end of the European war. If so, the government can probably suffice with sending a rather small expeditionary force and the DRC aid can be limited to assisting with the repatriation of the many POWs and internees, together with their families, who are probably in a deplorable state... However, if victory in the East still has to be won after the European war has ended, then of course the Dutch Government has to very quickly send an expeditionary army, as large as possible. Assuming an army of 250,000 men, besides numerous doctors and nurses about 2000 bearers and 5000 female assistants would be needed. (Rapport inzake de Taak 1944, 11–12)

By that time, aid to civilians could be left to the Dutch East Indian Red Cross (DEIRC) – by then hopefully reconstituted – which was officially a section of the DRC, but for obvious reasons enjoyed a certain amount of sovereignty (Van Bergen 2004, 15–17). According to the DRC board, sending physicians to the Archipelago was necessary, if only as a gesture to the allied liberators of Indonesia. Aid had to be given, even at the expense of aid in the Netherlands itself (Rapport inzake de Taak, bijlage 3, 3). For this purpose, the DRC Daily Board set up the East Indian Chamber (EIC) in June 1945, at the request of the First DRC Deputy Chairman J.C.E. Van Lynden, after deliberations with the Ministry of Overseas Territories. Key figures in the EIC were the former army commander in the Indies, lieutenant-general M. Boerstra, physician W.C. Aalsmeer and botanist L.M.G. Baas Becking. The latter would also become a member of the DEIRC central committee. However, during the first so called ‘politionele actie’ (police action), in July–August 1947, he would swap this position for fieldwork at Soekaboemi (Kluit Kelder 1950, 9 [21]). Originally intended to support Dutch troops fighting the Japanese, the EIC changed its plans because Japanese capitulation came earlier than expected. A group of 30 to 40 specialists had to be formed and shipped off as soon as possible, for scientific as well as educational work. They would be NICA (Netherlands Indies Civil Administration) employees wearing NICA uniforms. But they worked under DRC auspices, which was made clear by the Red Cross signs on their sleeves, accompanied by the word ‘Nederland’ (Netherlands) (Roode Kruis werkt voor Indië Sept 1945; Resumé April 1949; Verspijck 1967, 209). The EIC had six members and four consulting members. It advised the DRC board on all Red Cross matters concerning Indonesia and organised the



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Red Cross employees’ expedition, the so-called Mission of the DRC, which was headed by the general representative of the DRC at Batavia/Jakarta. It worked alongside the re-installed DEIRC, dismantled by the Japanese in 1942, with whom it of course closely cooperated. Nevertheless, the Mission remained independent until 1950, and its employees – even those working for the Military Health Service (MHS) or Public Health Service (PHS) – stayed under the control of the DRC representative in Indonesia (Oost-Indische Kamer April 1949; Verspijck 1967, 209). The Chamber proposed to form a large number of medical units who would follow the army wherever it went, forming a so-called second line of care (MHS being the first). It also wanted to form units of medical specialists, a blood transfusion unit and a nutritional unit. Around 160 ‘civilian teams’ had to be set up, removing sole responsibility from the DEIRC. A 1950 history of this body read as follows: The proposition got the [DRC’s] Daily Board’s and Dutch Government’s support. Its genesis was the hypothesis that public health in Dutch East India would be deplorable; the belief that health services would have to be rebuilt from scratch; that this would take considerable time; that the DRC would help overcome this and that it would withdraw as soon as Government services functioned well enough to make Red Cross aid superfluous. It was supposed that this moment would arrive sometime around the beginning of 1948. How differently things went in practice. (Oost-Indische Kamer Sept. 1950; Oost-Indische Kamer Without date (1950), 52).

Except that, in spite of two extra years of presence, in 1950 the conclusion had to be reached that public health was still not as it should be, and the DRC had to admit that its plans had been far too ambitious. For instance, of the intended 160 social–medical teams, only 20 had got off the ground (Verslag 24–10 1947, 111). Nevertheless, between 1945 and 1950, 1786 men and women left Dutch harbours to deliver medical aid under the Red Cross flag, divided between Red Cross personnel and about 800 persons send out on request of the Dutch government. Amongst them were 75 doctors, 34 other academics, 598 nurses, 361 nurse assistants, 108 pharmaceutical assistants, analysts, laboratory technicians, dental assistants, technicians and handy men. Having the status of Red Cross employees, the group of governmental doctors and nurses were either part of the PHS (760) or the MHS (40). Eighteen of them would not return: 11 Died, 7 were killed in action (Oost-Indische Kamer Without date (1950), 52; Verspijck 1967, 210). The first aid The first Red Cross team set foot on Java on 2 October 1945. It was headed by W.B. Doorenbos, who shortly thereafter would become general representative of the DRC at Batavia/Jakarta. It has regularly been noted that the team’s

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arrival even preceded that of Governor-General H.J. van Mook (Verslag 24–10 1947, 41; Oost-Indische Kamer Sept. 1950; Verspijck 1967, 208–209). However, although true, Van Mook had already made sure the Red Cross would not be placed in a situation of absolute chaos by formulating some conditions on behalf of the Supreme Allied Commander Louis Mountbatten. Number eight concerned aid: [The first things to be done are] to liberate all P.O.Ws, civilian internees, interned or consigned women and children and political prisoners; to provide adequate accommodation, clothing, food and medical supplies; and to allow and to facilitate the activities of Red Cross and other charitable organisations in this respect. (Drooglever 26–8 1945)

At about the same time as the creation of the Doorenbos team, a second team was put together to do food research, for instance into hunger, diseases and the indigenous population’s food situation (Stolte 1947, 3404, 3409). These two teams were quickly joined by four repatriation teams, placed on board of the ships leaving for the Netherlands. The task they faced, however, became so immense that it had to be left to the government’s repatriation service. But Red Cross and government cooperated closely, resulting in Red Cross delegates being sent to stopover in Egypt. On 1 August 1946 the repatriation service was ended (Verspijck 1967, 211).

The re-establishment of the Dutch East Indies Red Cross Meanwhile there had been some activity – to put it mildly – in Indonesia, as it was called by the indigenous people since they had unilaterally declared independence on 17 August 1945. Immediately after the Japanese had surrendered, several local aid organizations were established, quickly to be brought under the auspices of the Red Cross. Not everybody held these local Red Cross branches in high esteem. K. Posthumus, head of the government propaganda service, wrote that many of its employees were not fit to deliver humanitarian aid due to their character, past or knowledge. Furthermore, the branches were recognized neither by the Japanese nor the Greenhalgh Commission, a sevenperson strong committee which had to report on the situation on Java in the days immediately after war’s end (Drooglever 17–9 1945). They were, however, supported by RAPWI (Recovery of Allied Prisoners of War and Internees), the aid organization set up by the British, of which the first team had set foot on Indonesian soil on 8 September 1945. For instance, in Batavia/Jakarta apostolic vicar J. Willekens took the initiative to give aid to the internees in the city’s surroundings. Up to April 1944 the inhabitants had been able to take care of their food supplies, so not everything had to be built from scratch. Three weeks after Willekens’ work had been brought into a Red Cross context, naming it the Batavian Red Cross, the



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ICRC at Geneva recognized this local committee. It mainly took care of the evacuation of women, children, the sick and the old to the Netherlands, New Zealand and Australia. J. Ramaer became its president. On request of Van Mook, in 1946 his wife, E.M. Ramaer-Sibbinga Mulder, was appointed president of the DEIRC (Verspijck 1967, 205–207). W.F. Wertheim was another man at the intersection of all these organizations. In an attempt to strengthen aid to internees he tried to revive the DEIRC (De Jong 1986). He was asked to do this by H.J. Spit, former president of the DEIRC and vice-president of the ‘Volksraad’, the Dutch East Indian People’s Council. Officially, the DEIRC was set up on 31 December 1945. In practice, however, the several existing Red Cross departments were already being referred to as DEIRC (Verspijck 1967, 207). According to his own recollections, Wertheim did his utmost to keep aid outside of politics. He ‘just’ wanted to help those in need (Wertheim 1961, 7, 10). But as early as October he was reprimanded by Spit who was worried about the connexions Wertheim had with Republican authorities, precisely because of his wish to keep aid in general, and Red Cross aid in particular, non-political and neutral. Out of principle Spit thought Wertheim’s cooperation with the Republicans was wrong as by so doing Wertheim was in close contact with ‘a rebel government’. ‘In no way whatsoever... [the DEIRC], having a semi-official status, should engage into this’ (Wertheim 1961, 15). However, after some deliberations Spit had to admit that in the confused post-war period some contact with Indonesian authorities was almost inevitable. But the seed of the controversy – cooperation or non-cooperation with Indonesian nationalists – was sown (Archive Algemene Secretarie 8–10 1948). The Indonesians saw Red Cross aid, including the aid Wertheim tried to deliver, as a political instrument because it revealed to the world the deplorable state the Republic was in, which could damage the nationalistic ideal. Wertheim – who would become an adversary of Dutch military actions in the Archipelago – sighed: It turned out to be impossible to stay ‘outside politics’, even within the humanitarian Red Cross. And this is quite understandable in a country in which even turning on a water tap can be an act of politics. (Wertheim 1961, 19)

RAF Wing Commander T.S. Tull, chief commanding officer of RAPWI Soerakarta, similarly ascertained in the days following the Japanese surrender that medical aid was political. He pointed to a strong local Red Cross committee, led by two Swiss citizens, who had good relations with local authorities and the Indonesian Red Cross, the Palang Merah Indonesia (PMI). Delivering goods on an equal basis to both these Red Cross committees, he noted, ‘has had a good political effect’ (Archive Collectie De Weerd 7–10 1945). This was confirmed by an English General who said that the two Red Cross mobile teams working in Indonesia at that time were of more value to him than an entire battalion (Penris 1947, 2877).

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The PMI and the ICRC Although I focus here largely on the DRC and DEIRC, and on the work done by these organizations in Indonesia itself, it is important to have a look at two other important Red Cross organizations: the PMI and the ICRC (International Committee of the Red Cross). The fact that I mostly leave the PMI aside is, aside from sources being scarce, due to the fact that in the years immediately after the war it was a very frail organization. On top of that, its staff was much too small to really make a difference. It largely restricted itself to keeping an eye on respect for the Geneva Conventions, for instance by inspecting camps, as did the ICRC. But this small task nevertheless delivers some insight concerning medical neutrality and warfare. For instance, in 1949 the ICRC inspected some POW camps. The reports it wrote were, from a Dutch point of view, rather negative. Camp Siantar, on Sumatra, received particularly severe criticism, with the ICRC delegate reporting gross physical abuse of prisoners. The Dutch authorities contradicted his findings, accusing him of bias and subjectivity. On top of that, a major of the Royal Dutch East Indian Army (RDEIA) pointed out that a PMI delegation had also visited the camps, giving a positive verdict. This was considered strange as well as telling, since the Republican PMI ‘could be expected [to be] very anti-Dutch, only too keen to find even the smallest mistakes from our side’ (Archive Algemene Secretarie 15–11 1949; 17–11 1949; 23–11 1949; 12–12 1949). Be that as it may, the fact is that ICRC reports were almost always contradicted, although usually because it was said that they judged too mildly. In general the Dutch looked upon the ICRC with severe distrust. It had not made a favourable impression on the DEIRC during the years of Japanese occupation, precisely because it had not condemned the Japanese camps. According to L.F. Jansen, former acting secretary of the Indian Council and the man who had set up a report on the Osaka camp, ICRC physician F. Paravicini was a ‘half senile Italian count’ (Van Bergen 2004, 117) and the ICRC representative W. Weidmann ‘was not prepared to take any risks and had done nothing on behalf of the POWs’. Even if true, this was not entirely Weidmann’s fault. The Japanese saw him at best as a ‘neutral stranger’ with whom no information was to be shared (Van Bergen 2004, 116; De Jong 1985; Wertheim and Hetty Wertheim-Gijse Weernink 1991). But given this history it was a controversial decision to have him stay on as ICRC representative after the war. The DEIRC department at Bandung, West Java, for example, had misgivings when they recollected Weidmann’s visit some weeks after the Japanese capitulation at a gathering also attended by Lieutenant Colonel Anami (who, according to J.E.R. Feith of Red Cross Bandung, was ‘known as the ‘butcher of Amboina’ and in the meantime judged as a war criminal who should be hanged’). To his great dissatisfaction, Feith noted that Weidmann directed his speech almost solely to Anami. He thanked him for his


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cooperation and for treating all his requests ‘in the most cordial and loyal spirit’. Also shocking was the part of Weidmann’s speech in which he told the internees that Mountbatten had ordered ‘that the camps must remain closed until the arrival of the allied forces, because they want to have the joy to release you. ... You are still under Japanese military law which is a very serious law, a fact well known to you. I repeat, keep strict discipline’. Feith commented: This speech took place some days after administering physical punishment in the Tjimahi camps for raising the Red-White-Bleu on 31 August. No word whatsoever on the treatment of prisoners. (Archive KITLV Leiden After the capitulation)

The work of DRC and DEIRC Returning to the DRC and the DEIRC, in the first weeks following 17 August 1945 the main task of the DRC was aiding the civilian population, which later changed to looking after former internees. Specialist care was organized. Food, medicines and clothing were sent and repatriation taken care of where possible. Furthermore, it was seen as a DRC task – later on supported by the DEIRC – to set up hospitals, not least because only then could the education of nurses start. DRC and DEIRC had to establish and maintain first aid posts as well as both fixed and mobile outpatient clinics and emergency hospitals. A blood donor service was organized. Transportation groups were equipped and trained. In cooperation with the PHS, the transport of the sick and wounded was made possible and medicines were distributed. Twice a day soup was delivered to 10,000 people. On request of the organizations actually responsible, social–medical support was given (Van Helvoort 1988, 91). On top of that, the DEIRC’s successor, DRC-DI (Dutch Red Cross, Department of Indonesia) – which on 1 November 1949 had 6000 employees, divided amongst 35 departments and 104 sub-departments – cooperated in the Society to Combat Tuberculosis (SCT) in Indonesia. While the need to provide assistance to former internees gradually decreased, aid to the civilian population increased. According to a DRC-DI estimate in 1947, 90% of its aid benefitted the local population. This aid was mainly delivered by local Red Cross hospitals in several polyclinics – 37 at the beginning of 1947, spread throughout the entire occupied area – and by mobile teams directly behind or with the army. Mobile ambulances delivered aid at about 150 outposts. These polyclinics were visited extensively. For instance, between March and July 1946, 31,000 different patients asked for help 143,000 times. Five Red Cross teams performed 1700 treatments daily. Between 1945 and 1950, 9,000,000 people visited an outpatient service, including those of RAPWI and mobile teams. In the hospitals, 45,000 people


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were treated. However, even the Red Cross itself admitted that these numbers were anything but reliable (Kluit Kelder 1950, 10). At first work was limited to Central Java and Sumatra (Archive KITLV 16–3 1945), but the two ‘police actions’ – at the end of July and beginning of August 1947; and during the second half of December 1948 – greatly expanded the territory. This was a direct consequence of the mobile teams operating near the armed forces and under their protection. In cooperation with these forces polyclinics were set up and contact with the population was sought. As a result, after the second action the Red Cross was taking care of about 25 million extra people. Eleven additional teams were formed for this purpose (Nerkai Febr 1949). The mobile teams The mobile teams played a crucial and central role in assisting the civilian population. Therefore, some special attention is warranted. At the end of 1945, Baas Becking set up the first so-called ‘Inspection and Mobile Team’, working under the auspices of RAPWI. He was one of the leading figures in the EIC and soon joined the DEIRC’s central committee. The team was an amalgam of NICA, MARVA (Dutch female navy nurses) and Red Cross staff. But in line with the upcoming elimination of RAPWI, from the third mobile team onwards they were 100% Red Cross personnel. As a consequence, the third team has become known as the ‘first team’, for it was the first one from the DEIRC Inspection and Mobile Teams Department. Nevertheless, they did not fall completely under the Red Cross medical service’s responsibility. Supervision was also by the secretary of the Medical Coordination Committee (MCC), which was set up in 1946. The first goals of the teams were taking care of housing, hygiene, education, welfare and instruction, everywhere where aid was asked for or inspection had shown that it was necessary. At the beginning of 1946, polyclinic care to those populations in areas with very limited (or no) care was prioritized. If polyclinic care was impossible, the teams took to travelling around. In principal such a team consisted of one physician, two nurses, four assistant nurses, one medical analyst, one assistant pharmacologist, one secretary, one head of the household and one male helper, the so-called ‘handyman’. However, in practice teams varied from four to 17 people including hired Indonesian personnel (Archive Directoraat Generaal nr. 1224, 452–453). Officially, the reasons why teams were seldom at full strength was put down to a variety of factors from climate problems to marriage preventing former personnel from returning to Indonesia (Archive Directoraat Generaal nr. 1216, 21). But the lack of enthusiasm amongst Dutch doctors for going to Indonesia certainly had an impact as well (De Wit 1994, 6). The decision of Prime Minister W. Drees in 1949 not to make a public call in the newspapers because of the lack of medical personnel in the Netherlands itself (Archiuve Hoofdkwartier Generale Staf 11–18 Febr. 1949, 4; Archive



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Hoofdkwartier Generale Staf 22–2 1949, 2) will not have helped to solve this problem. Of course, this had consequences. It was not only due to the population’s enmity (to which I return below) but also because a limited number of doctors and nurses were attempting to provide services to an enormous number of Indonesians in need of medical assistance, that shortly after arrival in the Archipelago aid was restricted to former internees and mostly Indo-European IFTUs (‘Inhabitants friendly to us’), who were interned for their own protection. But the lack of personnel also had a positive effect: cooperation between the different organizations became unavoidable (De Wit 1994, 8) which, sadly enough, is not to say that it was always successful. The teams were set up to fill the gap between the immediate, but superficial and by nature non-neutral, aid of the MHS (Van Helvoort 1988, 147) and the later, more or less permanent, aid of the PHS. The MHS handed over its work to the mobile teams who organized the care and in turn handed it over to the PHS once the latter organization was up to strength (Penris 30–11 1946, 292, 295). To prevent their work from being in vain, the intention was for the mobile teams to stay in the same place for at least a couple of months. If possible, removing personnel before medical continuation by the PHS was ensured was avoided. All in all, in general the time a team remained in one place varied from five weeks to 16 months (Archive Directoraat Volksgezondheid nr. 1224, 455; Penris 30–11 1946, 293; Penris 1947, 2868). However, every once in a while the mobile teams had to leave, following the army, even though the PHS was not ready to fill the gap. Also, sometimes an area already abandoned by the MHS was not considered save enough for the mobile teams to step in, in spite of military protection (Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ 1946, 5–6). Incidentally, military authorities obstructed a plan devised in late 1945/ early 1946, to let mobile teams, on a voluntary basis, provide aid in front of (and therefore not secured by) the army (Archive Directoraat Generaal Volksgezondheid nr. 1216, 19). The Medical Coordination Council (MCCl) It will be clear by now that several aid organizations were active in Indonesia. Cooperation, however, was lacking. During a meeting at the end of August 1945, questions were already being raised as to why the delivery of aid was in such chaos. Although the aid itself was considered satisfactory, some order would, to put it mildly, not hurt (Drooglever 25–8 1945). Three months later these concerns were repeated – the Minister of Overseas Territories, J.H.A. Logemann, wrote to Van Mook that the need for coordination was indisputable (Drooglever 27–11 1945). A short overview clarifies Logemann’s concerns. Active in Indonesia, first of all, were NICA and RAPWI. Confusingly enough, they and the Allied Military Administration, Civil Affairs Branch (AMACAB) created in


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December, were merely different names for one and the same organization: ‘Binnenlands bestuur’ (Civil Service). In fact, the work of RAPWI (which ended in 1946) was continued by AMACAB, which was a successor to NICA. In addition there was the PHS, the SCT and the MHS. Over time these organizations were joined by the National Effort Welfare Provision India, the Central Bureau Attendance War Victims, the Queen Wilhelmina Fund, The Netherlands Help India, The Netherlands India Committee, Social Affairs, Trade and Industry, catholic and protestant missions, and several organizations working from within the Netherlands, mostly with a religious background (Rode Kruis Solo 6–4 1946). And then, of course, there were the aforementioned Red Cross organizations, joined by other Red Cross organizations such as the South East Asia Command Red Cross, the Red Cross Curaçao, the British and the Chinese Red Cross. In spite of the shared name, here too coordination and cooperation were anything but self-evident. For instance in Bandung, DEIRC and DRC employees were under RAPWI command, in Surabaya they were under AMACAB command, and in Semarang they operated on their own. Furthermore, they were put at the disposal of PHS and MHS. All this led to the creation of the Medische Coördinatie Raad (Medical Coordination Council [MCCo]) at some point in 1946 (sources differ from April to October) (Drooglever 27–11 1945; Archive Kabinet legercommandant 2–4 1946; April 1946; Archive Directoraat Generaal Volksgezondheid nr. 1216, 28; Brenkman 15–8 1947; Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3459) which was the Indonesian counterpart of the Dutch MCC. Its task was to bring some uniformity to the very wide-ranging conditions in which the various categories of Dutch personnel were working, as well as promoting cooperation between the health services of the RDEIA and navy, the PHS, the DRC, and the DEIRC medical services. The chairman was a former air force pilot and professor in psychiatry and neurology at Batavia, P.M. van Wulfften Palthe. Contrary to the wishes of the Dutch MHS inspector, General F. Daubenton, the MCCo did not have a military character. Daubenton wanted the entire health service to share the military status of the Red Cross personnel (DEIRC as well as DRC). In fact the opposite would be the case (Archive Kabinet legercommandant Indonesië 2–4 1946; April 1946; Archive Directoraat generaal volksgezondheid, nr. 1216, 28; Brenkman 15–8 1947; Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3459).

The demilitarization of the Red Cross In September 1946, General S. Spoor, army commander as well as head of health services, wrote to A. Fiévez, the Minister of War, that the ‘seemingly military status of Red Cross staff in Dutch East India had given rise to unwanted developments and feelings’. Combined with the fact that it often involved men not even officially officers, Spoor decided, only a few months



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after the establishment of the non-military MCCo, to also demilitarize all Red Cross personnel (Archive Kabinet legercommandant Indonesië Sept. 1946). This was very much against the will of the DEIRC. It had been officially militarized in 1941, although unofficially it had for decades been part of the Dutch East Indian military health service (Kluit Kelder 1950, 14 [26]). As a consequence, despite the general demilitarization of the Red Cross, the militarization of the mobile teams – although in a sense autonomous, but certainly officially part of the DEIRC – continued. Spoor, an advocate of cooperation between MHS and Red Cross, opposed it. Militarization should be resisted, he thought, not because it endangered neutrality but because it hindered the employment of the necessary Indonesian and Chinese assistants (Archive Kabinet legercommandant Indonesië 18–10 1946; 2–4 1946). This, by the way, also explains the change of name from Dutch East Indian Red Cross to Dutch Red Cross, department of Indonesia, which even had a bilingual journal (De Wit 1994, 11; Verspijck 1967, 211). The local population would be more inclined to accept aid from an organization not having a clearly colonial name. The difficulty in demilitarizing the Red Cross was that this process could not be taken too far: if it was the aid workers would no longer fall under the protection of the Geneva Conventions. Although the first Geneva Convention (1864) only mentioned military health personnel, the second (in 1906) explicitly mentioned Red Cross workers. Nevertheless, the Geneva rules only applied to those authorized by military authorities to wear the Red Cross insignia. Hypothetically, a total demilitarization could lead to the paradoxical situation in which the organization called ‘Red Cross’ would no longer be allowed to wear the red cross sign; the sign of the MHS, not of the Red Cross. In accordance with the DEIRC’s wishes, a solution was found. In spite of a more disconnected relationship between army/MHS and the Red Cross, Red Cross workers would remain subject to military rules and regulations. Furthermore, for special military activities, parts of the Red Cross could be re-militarized (Archive Kabinet legercommandant Indonesië 19–12 1946; Archive Procureur generaal Nederlandsch-Indië 13–2 1947). Ties between Red Cross and army, therefore, were not entirely broken – and understandably so. Mobile teams were intended to advance with the Dutch army to give aid to the so-called liberated population as quickly as possible, and in doing so they were escorted by army units to ensure their safety. Furthermore, there was constant interaction with military doctors whose work often had to be taken over (Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ 1946, 5; Wicherts 1974, 47, 54, 61; In Patjet gestrand Febr. 1947; Drooglever Middle 1946). Every now and then, indeed, cooperation was so close that the head of the MHS, Ph. Simons, no longer spoke of an independent Red Cross (Simons 1946, 873). This could have had the consequence that Red Cross workers would no longer be neutral or humanitarian, even if we put aside the order that


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civilians or uniformed members of the official Indonesian forces, the Tentara Nasional Indonesia (TNI), could be helped, but not so-called ‘peloppers’ – Indonesian warriors active in Dutch occupied territory. In such cases total subjection to the MHS transformed Red Cross workers into military health personnel. Due to the lack of manpower they were occasionally (and, by the way, seldom under protest (De Graaff 1989, 50)) even expected to do nonmedical military tasks, for instance serving as marksmen or trench builders. A. de Graaff quoted military health employee Wim Huys who had written that ‘in Poerwokerto they had served as normal infantry soldiers; on guard, on action and patrol and night-watch’. De Graaff noted that ‘There was hardly any room left for their normal MHS tasks.’ (De Graaff 1989, 44, 49). A dental assistant shot six natives without checking whether they were engaged in hostile activities. Five of them were initially badly wounded but received the coupe de grâce. His sergeant major ordered him to kill the one less seriously wounded as well, but he refused. Aid, however, was not given (De Wit 1994, 15; Van Helvoort 1988, 150; De Graaff 1989, 32–33). Friction Despite demilitarization, the army and navy authorities were in general welldisposed towards the DRC, partly because the Red Cross organizations took it upon themselves to care for the morale of the Dutch soldiers (Archive Hoofdkwartier Generale Staf 5–4 1949; Archive KITLV 1947, 18; Kluit Kelder 1950, 21 [33]). Nevertheless, every now and again friction between army/MHS, government and the Red Cross reared its head. Generally this was caused by a lack of medication, personnel and time. Questions about who was going to get what and when, and how best to mitigate the negative effects of scarcity, were not always answered in a way deemed satisfactory by all parties (Kluit Kelder 1950, 14 [26]; De Graaff 1989, 21, 43, 64, 69, 79, 89, 95). However, the friction sometimes went deeper. On a few occasions Red Cross members were accused of corruption (Drooglever 16–2 1948; Archive Collectie De weerd 25–9 1945) or Red Cross employees mocked the MHS (Archive KITLV 9–4 1947). Tensions also existed between the two DRC organizations. It is telling that, in April 1947, Feith noted ‘with great joy’ that representatives of DEIRC and DRC had shaken hands (Archive KITLV 9–4 1947). Of course, characters clashed (Drooglever 4–1 1949; Wicherts 1974, 57–58; Archive Hoofdkwartier generale staf 25–1 1949) and envy arose between Red Cross and government nurses because working conditions of the former were superior (Archive Hoofdkwartier generale staf 5–4 1949). Friction of an entirely different nature, this time concerning neutrality, started when at the end of 1949 Dutch troops began to withdraw. A number of nurses said that they did not want to remain in the hospitals to take care of Indonesians. They had come to look after Dutch soldiers, with whom they wanted to have some fun in the evenings. If the Dutch soldiers left, they would


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leave too (Wicherts 1974, 64; Ketwich Verschuur Jan. 1947; Van Helvoort 1988, 126, 165–166).


Neutral medical assistance? These frictions do not diminish the general picture of close cooperation between Red Cross, government and army, a cooperation strengthened by their mutual goal: putting Indonesia back into Dutch hands. Nearly all Red Cross reports testify to the anti-republican attitudes of the (in theory neutral and nonpolitical) Red Cross and its employees. The Indonesian population, so it was said, was on the side of the Netherlands who brought – ‘as in the old days’ – peace, order, prosperity and health to the archipelago. But they were intimidated by a handful of extremists, ‘Hirohito-collaborators’, who were rightly opposed by Dutch ‘police-troops’ (Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ Without date [Jan. 1946]; Wicherts 1974, 52, 67; Bense 1946; Nederlandse Rode Kruis Without date [1947], 5, 11, 14; Boerstra April 1947; Oost-Indische kamer 1949; Penris 30–11 1946, 295–296; Penris 1947, 2868; Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3434–3435; De Langen 1946; De Wit 1994, 4–5). This is seen especially clearly in the case of Red Cross team leader H.A. Wicherts’ book Herinneringen (Remembrances). In this book his employee Fharensbach, who did not make a secret of her admiration for her boss, recalls a conversation between Wicherts and a TNI member (who Wicherts described as ‘the little brown Hitler-boy’): There he is, this little man, covered with klewang [an Indonesian sword. LvB], club, revolver. He rattles his toys and looks up to the face of the white man in front of him.

Wicherts naturally refused to follow the orders of the TNI member which, according to Fharensbach, infuriated him: There he is, powerlessly wriggling against this great blond man who, without making a sound, looks at him with his eyes hard as steel. (Wicherts 1974, 35)

Of course cooperation with the Dutch army and organizations like NICA, RAPWI and AMACAB, who were seen as hostile by the Indonesian nationalists, had repercussions on the attitudes the Indonesians had towards the DRC, added to by the fact that their work was entirely paid for by the Dutch government (Beleid van de Oost-Indische Kamer Sept. 1950; Brenkman 15–8 1947; De Wit 1994, 11). The DRC and DEIRC were identified with the Netherlands and therefore seen as hostile, which resulted in attacks on ambulances and hospitals. Indonesians working with the Red Cross were harassed by nationalists (Drooglever 8–1 1947; Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ Without date [Jan. 1948]; Archive Collectie Weerd 7–7 1946; Wicherts 1974, 16, 19, 59;


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Brenkman 15–8 1947; Van Helvoort 1988, 70; De Graaff 1989, 21). This happened in spite of appeasing speeches by Indonesian leaders. Sukarno, the Indonesian president, understood that the Republic had suffered considerable damage by the violent pemuda activities during the Bersiap period – an extremely bloody period of several months almost immediately following the declaration of independence – and therefore promised RAPWI every assistance imaginable (De Wit 1994, 12). Men like Soetan Sjahrir and Mohammed Hatta promised to allow the Red Cross to work, although Hatta added that this work should be done in cooperation with the PMI (Drooglever 25–7 1947; Drooglever 30–11 1948). There were, however, also statements in the 1945–1950 period, starting soon after the declaration of Independence, showing that the anti-Dutch (and as a consequence anti-Red Cross) attitude was not limited to ‘extremists’. It was shared by large parts of the Indonesian population, certainly in urban areas. Doorenbos wrote in his report on Red Cross aid between October 1945 and October 1946 that, as a consequence of a ‘clearly negative attitude’, aid to the Indonesian people had not been effective during the first months following the Japanese capitulation. In combination with the former internees’ poor health condition, this attitude was even seen as being behind the shift of attention from the population to internees (Archive Directoraat Generaal Volksgezondheid nr. 1216, 2–3). J. Soesman, DEIRC board member at Malang, also spoke of the animosity towards RAPWI, which spread to the Red Cross (Archive Collectie De Weerd 7–7-1946). This perception was shared by Wertheim who, in May 1946 wrote that the impression given of a Dutch-friendly Indonesian population was false – as he, as a Red Cross employee, had noticed time and again. That was exactly why Red Cross attempts in September 1945 to achieve some kind of cooperation with Indonesian doctors had failed completely (Drooglever and Schouten Without date). Even Simons spoke of the ‘every once in a while still hostile attitude of the Indonesian population’ (De Wit 1994, 6; De Graaff 1989, 74). However, Ch.W.A. Abbenhuis, chief commanding officer AMACAB-Batavia, ascribed the limited possibilities for providing aid to the local population to the fact that this population was simply absent, driven away by ‘extremist elements’ (Drooglever Middle 1946). Friction and animosity had direct negative medical implications, as was proven in September 1946. An attempt was made at cooperation between British, Dutch and Republican aid organizations to organize care for 180 leprosy patients in the Poeloe Si Tjanang leprosarium at Belawan, on the east coast of Sumatra. They had not received any medical treatment in 10 months. The Republican authorities promised to allow aid from the Red Cross and the Salvation Army, who had been in charge of the leprosarium before the war. But after a few weeks of having accepted the sending of medication and regular aid from a Dutch physician, the last of the remaining staff living on the premises fled. They were afraid they would be seen as NICA collaborators.


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J.J. van de Velde, government employee and liaison officer of the land forces at Sumatra, commented:


Dr [A.K.] Gani [physician, sub-governor of South-Sumatra, minister of Welfare in the third cabinet of Soetan Sjahrir. LvB] as well as the local authorities said [to me] that even on this neutral ground, trying to save 180 human beings destined to die, they did not dare to cooperate with the Dutch, because ‘the people’ would not understand. (Van der Wal 1946)

This version would undoubtedly have been contradicted by Gani, but the fact remains that friction between two aid organizations had obstructed the provision of aid to starving lepers. PMI, DEIRC and the DRC Mission This incident, and the words of Hatta and Wertheim, highlight the precarious nature of cooperation between Dutch and Indonesian health workers (or, to be more precise, between DRC/DEIRC and the PMI). To make medical and humanitarian aid successful, cooperation was indispensable. Given Red Cross neutrality it should not have been a problem. However, practice is always harder than theory. For instance, in 1946 Soesman published a declaration on the first year of Red Cross work since war’s end. Amongst other things, he mentioned an inquiry by the Indonesian authorities, more specifically by PMI doctor Soekanton. Soekanton accused the DEIRC of arms smuggling and cooperation with the military organization RAPWI. Soesman himself was accused of being a NICA agent. Soesman denied this, but the incident shows the tense relationship between the two Dutch organizations recognized by the ICRC and the non-recognized Indonesian one (Archive Collectie de Weerd 7–7 1946). These kinds of accusations went to and fro. The Dutch government mistrusted the PMI because, in their eyes, it was unable to separate humanitarian work from politics. This was the reason why in 1948 five PMI employees were arrested, leading to a PMI protest at the ICRC (Archive Procureur Generaal Nederlands-Indië nr 108–2, 861-j). So, despite the fact that Wicherts said he had always had a good working relationship with the PMI (Wicherts 1974, 26), and despite the offer of cooperation from the PMI side (Rode Kruis 28– 12 1948), the judgement made in the Dutch medical paper Medisch Contact (Medical Contact) at the end of 1947 was accurate: The experience of cooperation between the Dutch and Indonesian Red Cross had been quite unfavourable (Edens 31–12 1947). At the beginning of 1949, physician B. van Tricht characterized cooperation as a political problem. Indeed, the PMI had shortly before been reorganized and its goals had been brought more into line with Red Cross principles. Nevertheless, a reliable basis for cooperation had still not been found (Archive


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Directoraat Generaal Volksgezondheid nr. 1221). Up to that point the cooperation strived for by all had only really been practiced on a local level (Archive Algemene Secretarie 15–2 1949). Not until April 1949 – three months after a similar attempt had failed – did the main boards of both DRC-DI and PMI agree that, wherever possible, they should cooperate (Archive Procureur Generaal 2–4 1949). The relationship with the PMI was characterized pretty well (and at the same time not made easier) by the 1946 trial of the physician Diapari, who would later become the secretary-general of the PMI. He was accused of insulting the Queen and raping a juvenile patient. He was found guilty of the latter accusation, but the trial was clearly tainted by the political situation. Diapari was suspected of holding extreme left-wing views, although others considered him to be a follower of the moderate politician Sjahrir. Be this as it may, the claim that Diapari was sentenced because of a criminal offence and not because of his political beliefs was not widely believed in Indonesian circles (Stem uit Borneo, 3–1 1947). A March 1949 report by lieutenant colonel Van Lier again showed that distrust characterized the relationship between the PMI and the DRC(-DI). Again pointing at Diapari, the PMI was accused of espionage, sending illegal packages to the Republic, abuse of the Red Cross sign for resistance activities, smuggling, and anti-Dutch propaganda. Not surprisingly Van Lier advised against every form of independence or recognition of the PMI. It was allowed to do some work, but only under the supervision of DRC-DI, with which in the long run it had to form a Federal Red Cross. This negative attitude was completely supported by Spoor, who not only ordered the renewed arrest of Diapari but also advised the arrest of another PMI board member, physician Soetardjo, because of his part in writing the January 1949 PMI report The Economic and Social Effect of the Second Dutch Military Action against the Republic. This report, signed by Diapari, stated on Red Cross work in the archipelago: Health work... has become very difficult to continue, because the health organizations... have been totally disorganised. In spite of this the P.M.I. still continues its work, and has even intensified it. Neither the Dutch health authorities, nor their Red Cross, are able to help the people sufficiently. (Archive Procureur Generaal, nr 851-a)

Shortly before, in cooperation with DRC-DI, an inquiry into the backgrounds of Diapari and Soetardjo had started. The outcome was that ‘from a political point of view there are objections against them coming to Dutch occupied territory’ (Archive Procureur Generaal Nov. 1948). Not long before, there had been political objections to Diapari’s early release from prison (Archive Procureur Generaal 7–2 1947). All in all, it is clear that the evaluation made by G.M. Verspijck in his book on 100 years of DRC, 1867–1967, is somewhat on


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the rosy side. According to him, the ‘good relationship’ with the PMI ‘was sustained and both sides constantly tried to clear the road from as many hindrances as possible in spite of the growing political controversies’ (Verspijck 1967, 207). Medical aid as a means of pacification Everything mentioned up to now makes abundantly clear that aid does not, indeed cannot, escape political influence and determination. However, is this merely an inevitable, unavoidable consequence of aid in wartime, even if intended to be strictly humanitarian, neutral and non-political? Or was aid always intended to be part of political–military policy? Aside from the utterances of Wertheim, an incident at the end of 1945 and the beginning of 1946 gives us a clue as to the answer. Australian unions boycotted shipping aid supplies to Indonesia because they were not confident these goods would be used for the benefit of all. Their suspicion was that the supplies would be marked ‘Dutch only’. Thereupon Logemann asked the ICRC to keep an eye on shipment and distribution, making it harder for the unions to refuse to cooperate without risking losing sympathy. The compromise reached was that the Australian Red Cross would ship the goods and the destination would be ICRC-Batavia. This organization would take care of distribution in cooperation with the DEIRC. The extent to which this was against Van Mook’s wishes is shown in a letter he wrote to Logemann. Van Mook had insurmountable objections to ICRC distribution, for this would deprive the Netherlands of an ‘important means of pacification’ (Drooglever 8–12 1945; 30–3 1946; 23–4 1946; 9–7 1946). This, by the way, again points at the fact that the much-hailed Indonesian– Dutch friendship was a myth. For where friendship exists, pacification is not needed. The report of an inspection journey through Indonesia in 1947, written by MCC chairman E. Kits van Waveren, also speaks volumes. Besides improving health and hygiene, aid in the archipelago was also targeted at raising trust in and willingness to cooperate with the Dutch. To achieve this, ‘delivering western medical care, together with the distribution of food’ was an ‘of time immemorial-tested means’. Although naturally assisting the military remained the foremost goal, giving aid to the population through the Red Cross, MHS and PHS was supported by army authorities, especially by Spoor and Simons. They expected that this would lead to ‘larger cooperation of the population (pointing out terrorists, handing in arms, reporting enemy activities etc)’ (Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3451) Kits van Waveren pointed out that ‘the arrival of Dutch doctors... here mainly has significance for heightening Dutch prestige with the new East Indian government’ (Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3451). The report of Kits van Waveren was so entirely drenched in racist prejudice (Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3437–3439) that he had to resign as chair of


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the MCC. This happened against his will because, so he said, it was not he who had been racist but the people, mainly doctors, he had interviewed. The only thing he had done was write down their opinions (Ingezonden 27–12 1947; Kits van Waveren 6–12 1947). Nevertheless, J.Th. Wilkens, Simons’ predecessor as head of the Dutch MHS, thought that on political grounds Kits van Waveren’s report was unacceptable (Archive Hoofdkwartier Generale Staf 13–12 1947, 1). A remarkable detail is that Van Wulfften Palthe joined the band of critics (Van Wulfften Palthe 1948) although, in a report on the psychological situation of Java published two years earlier, he had proven just as guilty in this respect (Van Wulfften Palthe 1946). However, it is striking that few criticized the message given by Kits van Waveren that medical aid was not just of humanitarian, but also (and probably foremost) of national, importance (Edens 31–12 1947; Meursing 28–1 1948). An unofficial part of the mobile teams’ task was ‘persuading the population of the fact that the Allied troops also troubled themselves about the people’s prosperity’ (Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ 1946, 2). The report in which this was written also states that, besides medical success, the goodwill that sooner or later would surely be created had to be mentioned as well: The result of the Teams as a pacifying element, therefore, has not remained unnoticed by military and civil authorities... From lots of men proof of acquiescence was received. (Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ 1946, 4)

Aside from Spoor (Archive Kabinet van de Legercommandant Indonesië 8–10 1946) approval was also given by Major W. Spiering. The importance of the work of the Red Cross mobile teams had become clear to him after he noticed it had gained ‘the trust of the population, which accelerated pacification’: Sending out Red Cross teams with such a view on their task will undoubtedly help to restore the good relationship between the Dutch and the natives. It will even show itself to be an indispensible link. (Archive Ministeries van AOK en AZ 19–71946)

With sincere satisfaction Wilkens noticed that the goodwill created by the Red Cross was great (Archive Hoofdkwartier Generale Staf 6–9 1947). Team leader W.L. Penris was of the opinion that this ‘beautiful work’ could have ‘a large influence on the way the native inhabitants feel about us’ (Penris May 1946). The Director General of the DRC, H.P.J. van Ketwich Verschuur, spoke of a task not only of humanitarian but also of national interest (Van Ketwich Verschuur 1946). Baas Becking thought the work of polyclinics in the outer regions ‘not to be of small political significance’ (De Wit 1994, 11). And physician C.J. Brenkman asked himself, in May 1947, whether a good health service would not ‘by far be the best peace delegate the Dutch can give to the Indies?’ (Brenkman 9–5 1947). This pacifying effect had not gone unnoticed



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in Indonesian nationalist circles either. In 1953, Colonel A.H. Nasution in his Fundamentals of Guerrilla Warfare dedicated 10 pages to the political use (or abuse) of medical care (Nasution 1965). All this does not prove that the pacifying effect of medical aid was a premeditated goal motivating the provision of aid. However, it is clear that once this result was observed it was enthusiastically welcomed, used abundantly, and turned into official policy. At the beginning of 1946 Daubenton made an inspection journey to army camps, civilian hospitals and internees’ camps. He was ordered by Logemann and J. Meynen, Minister of War, to study the organization of the medical service in connection with a reorganization in case of a Dutch military action. During his travels he regularly noticed the pacifying side effect of the mobile teams’ work. He spoke in extremely positive terms of the possibilities these teams provided for ‘peaceful penetration’. Because of the political situation and the scarcity of medicines and medics it was impossible to help all those in need. These scarce means, however, were in Dutch hands – and so the pacifying effect of aid could be used in a politically favourable manner (De Wit 1994, 8–10). As a consequence, in a 1947 account of a journey through Indonesia, H.M. van Randwijk, the anti-colonial chief-editor of the former resistance journal Vrij Nederland (Free Netherlands), could write about large queues of people in front of polyclinics and emergency hospitals: A frightful line of ghosts, as we knew them from the German concentration camps. Not better! As bad! They cannot be helped all. (Vanvugt 1995)

The policy not to accept foreign medical aid has to be seen in this light (De Wit 1994, 10). Only if Dutch doctors were responsible for the aid given, and the goodwill generated, would it have a positive effect for the Netherlands. In October 1946, Red Cross team leader C.L. Bense wrote about the ‘moral obligation’ of Dutch doctors to make an effort for this ‘so impoverished and in deep sorrow-immersed part of the United Dutch Kingdom’ (Bense 1946). One month later, Penris gave voice to his hope that the Netherlands would be spared the disgrace of having to ask other countries for help (Penris 19–3 1948). The demilitarization of the Red Cross also played a role in this. Not only was a militarized Red Cross unwanted it was also deemed unnecessary, but only if civil conscription – a mainly female counterpart for military conscription, to be served, for instance, in a Red Cross organization – was introduced. Civil conscription could maintain the necessary discipline amongst Red Cross staff and end personnel shortages. Physician R.K. Rijkels added that civil conscription had the major advantage that foreign doctors no longer had to be found to fill gaps in health personnel (Archive Kabinet legercommandant Indonesië 2–4 1946; Rijkels May 1946, 70; De Wit 1994, 8). The relationship between the refusal of foreign assistance and medical pacification is very clear in Kits van Waveren’s report.

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It is necessary for Dutch doctors to go to the Dutch East Indies, to assist the population and show them our good health. In so doing we hope to receive the population’s goodwill, highly necessary for rebuilding the country. We have already pointed to the fact that as a consequence of medical pacification it is easier for companies to get coolies and military commanders are seeing their areas quieten down... When recruiting physicians for the Indies the accuracy of the slogans has to be acknowledged, speaking of a will to sacrifice, of an awareness of the great, historical, cultural and medical task that the Netherlands and its doctors have to fulfil, and of the colossal Dutch interest, which is served by bringing Dutch medical aid to the Indonesian civilians. (Kits van Waveren 29–11 1947, 3451, 3460)

However, a consequence of this refusal to accept foreign aid was the scarcity which, while in some ways politically useful, was in part self-created (De Wit 1994, 10). The transition Neither military nor medical pacification could prevent the Netherlands being forced to give Indonesia its independence in 1949. With the retreat of the military, the medics started their journey home. Therefore, deliberations had to begin on how to make the transition from Dutch aid to an entirely Indonesian healthcare system as swiftly as possible, with as few problems for the patients as possible. As far as the Red Cross was concerned, unless a federal Red Cross could be set up these discussions would have to result in a change from aid being aid given by numerous organizations to aid being given by only one – the (by then recognized) PMI. The start was promising. ‘Aware of the high human values of the Red Cross and led by a spirit of mutual recognition and understanding’, the DRCDI, represented by Ramaer-Sibinga Mulder and Van Tricht, and the PMI, represented by chairman Soetardjo and daily board member Soenarjo, agreed that ‘in every oncoming case where the possibility of cooperation is present, cooperation in Red Cross work will be increasingly stimulated by both sides’ and ‘close contact will be kept’. In pursuit of that aim, meetings of one organization would be attended by representatives of the other and two PMI-members would be part of a committee investigating the future Red Cross organization. Part of the deliberations should be the independence of this new organization from the ‘subsidising national government’. The conviction was that ‘as soon as political controversies were set aside’ this would lead to a ‘worthy national Indonesian Red Cross’ ready ‘to take its place in the international community of Red Cross societies’ (Archive KITLV 2–4 1949). However, even during the first meeting in August 1949 it became clear that this would be far more complicated than initially thought. According to Dutch sources, the PMI did not really seem interested in pursuing a federal solution. The new Red Cross organization had to be entirely a descendent of the old PMI, and not the product of cooperation with the old Dutch organization. The Netherlands were welcome to lend a hand, but that was all. Van Tricht wrote:


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Perhaps sober reason dictated another road, but psychological factors blocked that road completely. For Red Cross work is not entirely humanitarian, but – as a means of propaganda, as a means to win the hearts and minds of a population – it is a political act as well. (Archive Procureur generaal 22–8 1949)

Unlike Van Tricht who, as had Wertheim four years earlier, understood this all too well (Archive Directoraat Generaal Volksgezondheid nr. 1225), this very much annoyed Simons. If there was one organization in which politics should not have a say, he thought, it was the Red Cross. According to him the attitude of the PMI could have no other consequence than the total liquidation of DRC-DI, ‘or at least of the white element within’, with a completely new organization taking over its material resources. (Archive Hoofdkwartier generale staf 9–8-1949; 27–9-1949). But Simons’ objections no longer had an impact. PMI members were allowed to work their way in at the DRC-DI main building and in several places PMI departments were set up. Indonesian co-workers of DRC-DI were guaranteed complete safety (Wicherts 1994, 64). The PMI changed its name to PMI–Republik Indonesia Sarekat (Free Republic of Indonesia) and indeed took over all the resources of the liquidated DRC-DI (Archive KITLV 16–12 1949). On 10th January 1950, Sukarno recognized the PMI and the transfer took place six days thereafter. The swift dismantling of DRC-DI, and the calm breaking off of the mission, could start. Because the Mission, at least in name, had continued working separately from DEIRC/DRC-DI, its job was not immediately finished. Not until the end of September did Ms A. Fischer-Van Rossem (who had led the DRC Mission after the departure of Doorenbos in May 1949) get on board the boat taking her back to the Netherlands as the last woman standing. The EIC had been ended on 1 August, after which a liquidation bureau took care of its final affairs (Kluit Kelder 1950, 11; OostIndische Kamer 1950; Beleid van de OIK Sept. 1950; Laatste samenkomst Oct. 1950; Verspijck 1967, 212). Conclusion As had been the case during the Aceh wars, neutrality in healthcare was all but absent during the military actions in the four years after the Indonesian declaration of independence. Immediately after the Japanese surrender, Dutch physicians and nurses went to Indonesia (as it was now officially called by the Indonesians) to provide care to the population and the (former) internees. Because of the small number of medics going abroad, and as a consequence of the animosity they encountered from some parts of the vast population, the aid was quickly limited to internees and ‘Dutch-friendly’ Indonesians. After the call for this work had diminished, aid to the population – delivered in various ways and in a somewhat chaotic manner – again became the primary


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goal. In practice this threefold assistance – MHS, Red Cross, PHS – faltered every once in a while because the MHS had left before the Red Cross mobile teams had arrived, or because the PHS was not ready to take over at the moment the Red Cross was ordered to leave to follow the Dutch armed forces. Furthermore, providing aid in territory not under Dutch military control was deemed irresponsible. Cooperation with non-recognized organizations such as the PMI was almost absent. Resources were scarce, which called for cooperation between aid organizations within Dutch territory but at the same time made that cooperation more difficult. If one looks only at what was actually done, considering the practical limitations and difficulties, one could argue that neutrality was adhered to as much as possible. For not only the Dutch, but also the Indonesian people were assisted. This, however, would be a judgement made whilst completely ignoring the theoretical considerations behind (and political–military possibilities of) medical aid; possibilities which were abundantly used. Theoretically and politically, neutrality was absent. In particular the mobile teams and polyclinics were quickly seen as having a pacifying effect on the population. Aid was necessary, medical supplies were rare, and they were in Dutch hands. So naturally, after a while, the population went to visit Dutch medical facilities. This made such activities highly attractive to the Dutch army and government and became a reason for keeping medical aid firmly in Dutch hands, which partly explains why the problem of the scarcity of resources was not solved and outside help was refused. It explains the apparent demilitarization of the Dutch East Indian Red Cross, for such an effect was not expected from a military organization. And it explains the change of name of this organization to Dutch Red Cross Department of Indonesia, because the local population would probably be less inclined to seek help from an organization having a clearly colonial name. This pacifying effect was also seen positively by Red Cross personnel, making their work a means to reach a non-medical goal and an important link in the overall military–political strategy. ‘Neutral’ and ‘apolitical’ are therefore not words to be used lightly when describing Dutch Red Cross work in the Archipelago in the years 1945–1950.

Note on contributor Leo van Bergen is a Dutch medical historian mainly interested in tropical medicine and the relationship between war and medicine. He currently works at the KITLV-Leiden (Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies) doing research into leprosy in the Dutch East-Indies. Amongst his numerous publications are his PhD on the Dutch Red Cross and a medical history of World War I, published as Before my Helpless Sight. Suffering, dying and military medicine on the Western front 1914–1918.


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