A wasted opportunity? Pulang Kampung is about access...

The Delft municipal government finds the Indonesian ethnographic collections in Museum Nusantara too expensive to keep and the central government of The Netherlands is unwilling to fork out what it takes to keep the collections in other Dutch museums. According to an article in a Dutch newspaper, the Indonesian government will receive the cast-off collections with enthusiasm and is even willing to lavish a new building on them. On the face of things, the discarded ethnographic collection from Museum Nusantara in Delft will go back to its rightful home, whence it came, Pulang Kampung in irreproachable style and glory.

Volkskrant 27 November 2015

The decision to de-accession the collections is financially rational. The Delft municipality made hefty real estate investments when the economy was flourishing. The financial crisis was especially hard on Dutch real estate and the return on those Delft investments was negative. Assets had to be discarded and Museum Nusantara was one of the victims, despite a huge public outcry especially from the academic community that was aware that the museum housed some of the oldest and best Indonesian collections in The Netherlands -- and the world.

The decision to allow a segment of the collections (we don't yet know how big that segment will be) to be repatriated appears modern, gallant, appropriately un-colonial, good for public relations, good for all parties concerned.

In museum and historical terms, however, the timing is bad. The newspaper article cites 'lack of visitors' as the reason for disbanding the collections, all the while museum specialists are writing about a new golden age for these apparently dusty institutions. An important new role is being nipped in the bud.

What is the new role for ethnographic museums? It has to do with reaping the cultural benefits of having stored ethnographic objects so long and so well. While they have lain safely and inert in their depots, indigenous cultures whence the objects originated, have gone into overdrive in the race to become 'modern'. But the value of things increases when they are lost. Now indigenous researchers, artists, and cultural leaders everywhere are trying to get back in touch with what once was. Their quest is about identity, self-respect and pride, about having a historical foundation on which to build a future -- an antidote to the seduction of terrorist ideologies and anomy.

It is not just that the objects in Dutch museums are stored well, but that they are increasingly accessible. Accessibility increased hugely in the digital age. Currently, anyone anywhere in the world can look at the Dutch ethnographic collections on-line and read about the circumstances of their collection and the data that were acquired with them. Pedestals, spotlights, sumptuous displays and restricted access present the objects of daily life as exotic treasures. The digital revolution reverses that and places the objects in the minds of anyone who has a computer or a smart phone. Collections accessibility hasn't yet been fully achieved, but museums are moving in the direction of making them truly 'public' holdings. Objects that were once collected for Western ends can now benefit the people who originally made them, precisely because the West stored them so long and so well, an ironic but very nice twist of fate.  It is not just about "us", the custodians in the West, for a change. In its noble new role, ethnographic museums can interact in mutually beneficial ways with indigenous cultures.

The newspaper article quotes the museum director as saying that the collection will remain accessible to the public. Was the director referring to the fact that the objects are going to a public institution instead of being sold off to private collectors? My concern is that, public institution or not, the collections will lose their accessibility. I know from vast, frustrating personal experience the amount of red tape that one has to wade through to gain access to Indonesian archives -- even the ones that were sent back from The Netherlands to Indonesia. Sometimes after spending time and money one ends up empty-handed. Even when the archives being sought have no political import and represent no threat. I know many first-hand stories about how Indonesian collections have been lost, stolen and even sold from public libraries, museums and archives, how important documentation has been thrown out because nobody could read the Dutch or recognize the name of the maker.

Furthermore, granting access to public collections means granting lots of money to the techniques of making them available. Does Indonesia have this intention? What will the follow-up funding be, after that expensive new building is constructed?

I am a champion of repatriation hence my focus on Pulang Kampung projects during the past five years. Precisely because I recognize the crucial importance of granting indigenous access to cultural objects of the past, I view this return of Dutch collections with a measure of skepticism. They are going back to the capital city, not to the villages. That makes sense; they can be well stored and maintained in a building suited

to that purpose. But they won't have come closer to their indigenous homes and, in terms of accessibility they may end up farther removed than ever. What a shame when these objects have been stored for so long and so well and have such great importance.

I would have preferred it if an innovative 'accessibility program' had been developed collaboratively between the Indonesian and Dutch museums and departments, in the spirit of shared cultural heritage. After all, the objects do also represent Dutch cultural heritage to an extent too often forgotten (embedded in the who, the rationale and the circumstances of collection and donation). I would have preferred it if the Indonesian money had been earmarked, not for a piece of architecture on one of the most expensive plots of land in the world, but for inventing a path breaking program for expanding access to the objects for the people outside the capital city. A program to translate the Dutch documentation into Indonesian would have been a really good start. Focus on accessibility would have allowed Indonesian researchers and collections managers to develop an expertise that is unique in the world and Indonesian society would have been able to reap the rewards in terms of cultural regeneration and health.

I fear that the objects are being brought back as treasures. The status of 'treasure' stands in the way of cultural regeneration. The Indonesians could have left the punctilious task of maintenance and storage to the Dutch who have established their credentials in that field, and just reaped the benefits. I fear that they are saddling themselves with the burden of ownership for the sake of a museum-going elite and for the face of things. This is a step backward if one considers what these collections could have meant for Indonesian society if they had remained, for the time being (not forever), in The Netherlands and strategies had been developed to expand indigenous access to them. Indonesia could have chosen to assume a leadership position rather than a follower position.

Recommended additional reading:
https://www.grasac.org/about-grasac-and-gks
http://research.carleton.ca/wp-content/uploads/CRC_Ruth_Phillips_2015.pdf
http://www.attheedgeofcanada.com/2012/11/the-controversies-of-ruth-phillips.html

"Why do you love Batak Textiles?"

I was interviewed many times during the Pulang Kampung III journey in which my team brought our film, Rangsa ni Tonun to the Batak area. The first question when I was interviewed was always, “Why do you love Batak textiles?”  I found this question difficult to respond to in a sound bite while standing on a windy field, hence this note.

I once impatiently answered in return, “What does it matter? The Pulang Kampung expeditions are not about me and my likes and dislikes, they are about the repatriation of material and intellectual culture. What I love is not the point.”

Was I wrong?

Many interviewers seemed poised to have a truth unveiled, the microphone pointed expectantly at my mouth. In the not too distant past, white-skinned newcomers entered the region and said that the textiles and most of the rest of Batak culture were of the devil. The White Man’s views achieved dominance through the hegemony of the new church and state. Sometimes I sense that only a white-skinned newcomer can release the culture-bearer from the burdensome yoke that my ancestors placed on them and, like a kiss from the prince, awaken them to the beauty of their own culture. These textiles have value, I say; do not underestimate them! What makes you love them? they press in return. Tell us what it is! They have been taught that modernity has value, not indigenous culture. Why does this white woman spend so much time, money, energy, so much of her life, on this textile tradition? What on earth does she see in these cloths?

Beautiful supplementary warp. Are there any weavers left
who know how to do this?

I could have waxed lyrical about the complex, beautifully executed, supplementary warp patterning (jugia) that is sometimes found in old textiles. I love the innovative combinations of supplementary weft (jukkit) and ikat. I love the way the same patterns are sometimes executed in all of the textile techniques in a single cloth: ikat, supplementary weft and warp and twining. I love the clever ways that weavers have adapted external influences and ‘Batakized’ them on their backstrap looms. I love the micro-regional traditions that used to be so vibrant, yielding ever so slight differences in weaving equipment and the resultant textiles. I love the deep, ancient colours that were obtained by methodical hard work, knowledge of nature and infinite patience. I love the way weavers once had the latitude and the opportunity to express their creativity at their looms. I love that I had the opportunity to work with Ompu ni Sihol and to catch a glimpse of how a textile was made in pre-colonial culture. But how could I share all of that when the people who were interviewing me probably didn't know the fine details of the old textiles and the names for the techniques that constructed them? The tradition is dying.

Beautiful ikat. Nobody makes this anymore.

How quickly and radically things have changed! I confess that I don’t like the brightly coloured, modern Batak textiles with gold yarn that are made on ATBM looms. I find them gaudy. They make me sad. I see in them the careless, simplified, purely market-driven dead end of a rich and dignified heritage. This is not the part of the tradition that I love. But it may be all that the reporters are familiar with. Hence their question, perhaps? Hence my difficulty in responding.

But even my admiration for Batak weaving techniques and patterning could not have sustained me for all of these years were it not that they opened a window onto something much larger that never ceases to fill me with awe: the entire complex and tradition of Indonesian weaving. There are a few places on the world’s surface where weaving has attained a dazzling height of complexity and achievement. The Indonesian archipelago is one of those places.The weaving of the Batak people of Sumatra is a small, though very special, variant in that giant corpus of Indonesian weaving.

A stunning bintang maratur ikat. This textile is no longer made.

This makes Batak weaving all the more precious. Its distinct and special value emerges when it is juxtaposed with all of the other traditions in the archipelago. The value of the Indonesian textile tradition as a single, great complex is greater than the sum of the weaving traditions that comprise it. Each individual tradition is a building block or a link in the mesh. Each gains additional meaning from that larger whole and contributes to the fabric of that larger complex. Only as an assemblage is it complete. When people ask me why I love Batak textiles, one of my stock answers is that my focus on Batak textiles is a fluke of fate. I could have chosen any of the textile traditions in the Indonesian archipelago. All are rich. All are deserving of deep scrutiny within a comparative context.

Frankly, I am dismayed that UNESCO chooses to select bits and pieces (batik, Sumbanese weaving) to promote as intangible world heritage. This well-intentioned attempt to preserve the finest cultural contributions in fact demonstrates how little UNESCO knows about what is special about the weaving culture of Indonesia. Its recognition of pieces of the whole undermines momentum to recognize that larger whole. By focusing on the individual pieces of the puzzle, UNESCO fails to see the larger image. There is a need to recognize and protect the entire complex.

Only a simple twined edge, but so well made and the colours blend beautifully.

Through my own work I do what I can to raise awareness of the value of the Batak tradition. My means are limited. I have no institutional backing and no source of funding. (I am very lucky to have the loyal support of MJA Nashir who understands and shares my vision and goals and hugely augments my ability to pursue them.) The Batak tradition is more than rich enough in all of its facets to fill my anthropological career. Research of the Indonesian textile tradition is a multi-person project.

An ikat pattern that is no longer made. It combines three different ikat patterns.

Combination of supplementary weft and ikat. Soft and beautiful.

Sometimes I want to answer the question of why I love Batak textiles by invoking an even larger context. I want to point out that it is not Batak textiles per se that I love. Rather, I am committed to doing what I can to make room in this world for indigenous culture. The world is in deep crisis. Indigenous cultures are endangered. Languages and cultures are disappearing at an ever-increasing rate. Contrary to what some Batak people think and thank me for, my intent is not to “promote Batak culture outside Indonesia”. Instead, I confront people, and especially Batak people, with the fact that Batak culture is a victim of so-called progress. The spectacular cultural accomplishments of the Batak people are diminishing daily. Do I feel love for this? No, I love the possibility of cultural diversity. I feel horror, sadness, disgust at cultural loss. Will the Batak people choose to nurture, protect and promote their own cultural contributions or will they continue to turn their backs so that they can march to the drum of modern materialism? To my mind, a well-made Batak textile has greater and more lasting value than a Mercedes Benz fresh off the assembly line, but my views are not supported by the global economy. Will the Batak safeguard their cultural identity? How will they do it if they choose to do it? It is a huge challenge and it faces all of the indigenous peoples of the world.

An unusual sibolang ikat. This is the only one I know.
An individual weaver's creative impulse?
Thankfully she had the time to experiment.

During my first ‘Back to the Villages’ project, I gave a copy of my book, Legacy in cloth, Batak textiles of Indonesia (2009) to a weaver and I watched her reaction. She ran an emotional gauntlet. The book confronted her with the fineness of the textile achievement of her culture and simultaneously with its loss. Memories surfaced. The book made her silent. Another weaver said she felt happiness on the one hand and pain on the other when she witnessed the achievements of her culture. My original intent was just to say thank you to the weavers by giving them my book. I am an anthropologist. It is my obligation to give my research results to the people about whom I conduct research. I had not reckoned on the impact that the return of cultural heritage would have. This is not about objects, not just about cloth. This is about identity, hearts, minds, memories, the sense of the past and the future.