My Life Tutors (Part 2): Mbak Erry and the Beginning of My Career
There is one person in my academic and professional journey to whom I owe much more than a simple thank you. I have decided to narrate the beginning of my career trajectory with a story about Prof. Peter Carey. Professionally, that was indeed its inception. However, just like historiography, there must be a story that marks the beginning of an historical event. I have chosen to place that starting story in the second part of this series of writings. Upon deeper reflection, my career did not commence with a contract signing at Café Monolog at the beginning of 2020. Its starting point must be traced back to at least 2017.
As I reflect on that particular year, I realise it was the turning point in my academic journey. It was during this time that I discovered the topic for my undergraduate thesis — the governance of Governor-General Alidius Tjarda van Starkenborgh (in office 1936–42). This discovery, which shaped the trajectory of my research and passions, can be traced back to a pivotal moment in a classroom led by Mbak Dwi “Erry” Mulyatari. The class delved into the historical trajectory from Indonesia’s nationalist movement (around the 1900s) to the proclamation of independence on 17 August 1945. It was my third semester at the University of Indonesia. Young and unfamiliar with the intricacies of in-depth historical research, Mbak Erry encouraged me to conduct archival research at the National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia (ANRI) on Jalan Ampera, South Jakarta. She suggested that this experience would familiarise me with primary historical sources. Indeed, during my first and second semesters, the topics covered in our classes rarely touched on the colonial period. Though present, it was woven into the broader tapestry of Indonesian national history, and the need for archival research had not yet become evident.
My “encounter” with Tjarda was far from pleasant. Stepping into ANRI for the first time, I felt like a complete stranger and novice in the world of archives. Armed with a letter from my faculty, I approached the archive service desk, where I was greeted by the helpful Bu Kris Hapsari, who would guide me through this uncharted territory. I was utterly clueless about where to begin. All I remembered was that Onghokham, in his book Runtuhnya Hindia Belanda [The Collapse of the Dutch East Indies] (1987), referred to the Binnenlandsch Bestuur (Department of the Interior) archives, and so that was what I sought. Bu Hapsari kindly pointed me towards the catalogue of these archives and suggested other collections that might hold valuable information about Tjarda.
It took me quite a while to comb through the catalogue, finally jotting down a few archive numbers on a form for requesting the documents. When the archives arrived, I was taken aback. Each archive number contained dozens of document pages! Reading through these records was a weighty task in itself. I found myself sitting there, flipping through yellowing pages of documents. While fascinating information could be extracted, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Engrossed in the newfound information, I had no idea that wearing a mask would have been a wise choice to protect myself (and the archives) from the unwanted. My carelessness on that first day at ANRI would lead to a dire consequence. Little did I know that the innocent pursuit of historical knowledge would have such severe repercussions.
It was around four in the afternoon when I made my way back to the faculty via the commuter train. As I stepped into familiar surroundings, I suddenly felt an unsettling wave of nausea wash over me. Trying to brush it off as mere fatigue, I continued my walk, hoping it would pass. Thankfully, my girlfriend, Gracia, and my close friend, Shinta Farida, were there to greet me. Concerned by my pale face, they insisted I take a seat and rest for a while. However, instead of finding relief in resting, my condition worsened. My legs stiffened, and a sudden chill ran through my body, causing me to tremble uncontrollably. Worried, Gracia and Shinta quickly called the campus ambulance, and before I knew it, I was being rushed to the campus clinic amidst all the commotion. Perhaps due to limited medical equipment, the doctor at the clinic could not provide a clear diagnosis. She suspected that I might be exhausted from the day’s activities. In the end, I was sent home with a few medications, but the underlying cause of my distress remained a mystery.
It turned out to be a grave mistake. Once I arrived back at my boarding house, my condition deteriorated rapidly. Thankfully, there was a sizable hospital not far from where I lived. Without wasting any time, I was referred there for further examination. In the hospital, they conducted various tests, most of which I could not comprehend. It was later revealed that a rare virus had taken residence in my body. The doctors explained the discovery of this unusual virus, and my condition was stabilising, thanks to the injections they administered. It was well past midnight when I was finally given the green light to go home. Considering my financial constraints, I opted not to be admitted to the hospital and chose to return to my flat. The cost of the hospital was already beyond what I could afford, and I was grateful for the care I had received and the medications that were given to me.
As I recovered from the illness, Gracia playfully nicknamed the rare virus that had attacked me as the “Tjarda virus”. Despite the challenging ordeal I faced, my academic passion for Tjarda remained unwavering, and it eventually became the focus of my undergraduate thesis. In retrospect, the encounter with the Tjarda virus felt almost like a poetic twist of fate. After all that, my presentation in Mbak Erry’s class went well, and my paper on Tjarda’s leadership style, crafted from the archives of Algemene Secretarie (General Secretariat of the Dutch East Indies), received a satisfactory grade.
After the fateful encounter with Tjarda, it was the start of the new academic year in 2017, and our department organised a special seminar on the historical role of Chinese entrepreneurs in Indonesia. The speaker was a prominent economic historian from the Australian National University, Prof. Pierre van der Eng. The seminar was scheduled to begin at eight in the morning, just before our regular class hours. Being close to the campus, I arrived at the seminar room a good fifteen minutes early. To my surprise, there was no one else in sight except for a lone figure sitting at the front. I hesitated for a moment, then checked the poster once more. Yes, it was indeed Prof. Pierre. I was quite taken aback by the absence of other attendees. Feeling a bit awkward, I decided to greet Prof. Pierre and make small talk while waiting for the other attendees. But fifteen minutes passed, and not a single person showed up. My anxiety grew, wondering if the seminar was cancelled or if there was some misunderstanding. Finally, I reached out to my mentor, Mbak Erry, through WhatsApp. I informed her that Prof. Pierre was already present, but it seemed no one else was coming. Mbak Erry, always resourceful, promptly advised me to take Prof. Pierre to the department office while suggesting that we reschedule the start time by half an hour to give others more time to arrive.
As we made our way to the office, Prof. Pierre remained calm and amiable. He even shared some humorous anecdotes about past experiences with event attendance. I felt relieved by his positive attitude and admired his genuine warmth. Eventually, the seminar proceeded smoothly, and the three of us — Mbak Erry, Prof. Pierre, and I — enjoyed refreshments and coffee after the event. During this occasion, I learned that Prof. Pierre was conducting historical research on Indonesia’s living standards and needed assistance in accessing historical sources in Indonesia. Mbak Erry looked at me and suggested that I help Prof. Pierre.
In all honesty, I was filled with uncertainty when I was asked to assist Prof. Pierre in his research. The world of serious research was entirely foreign to me, especially in the quantitative realm. However, thanks to Mbak Erry’s encouragement, I eventually agreed to assist. I gathered data on the age of menarche in Indonesian society from various writings available at the University of Indonesia Library and the National Archives of Indonesia (ANRI). These data were then processed by Prof. Pierre and his colleague. As a research assistant, I dedicated myself to this work for about a month, from August to September 2017. At this point, I was not involved in the analysis process. When the journal article was published in 2018, I could not believe my eyes when I saw my name in the acknowledgements section. Prof. Pierre’s generosity in recognising my contribution warmed my heart. It was my research debut — a momentous milestone in my journey. I owe immense gratitude to two individuals — Mbak Erry and Prof. Pierre.
Mbak Erry’s magical touch in shaping my academic career did not stop there. In 2019, a dear friend of hers from the University of New South Wales (UNSW), Prof. David Reeve, paid a visit to our faculty. Prof. David was no stranger to the university; he had taught at the University of Indonesia before the 2000s and had many close friends there. Undoubtedly, Mbak Erry was one of the most significant ones. I had briefly met Prof. David before when I was introduced to him by two young lecturers from our department, Mas Ghamal Satya Mohammad and Mas Teuku Reza Fadeli. But it was a WhatsApp message from Mbak Erry that sparked a deeper connection.
Around March 2019, an exciting opportunity came my way through Mbak Erry to assist in the long-running research of Prof. David on his dear friend, Onghokham. I leapt for joy at the prospect. As I mentioned in the previous part, Ong had been a constant inspiration in my academic journey, and being involved in the biographical research about him was an incredible honour. I eagerly accepted the offer. In April 2019, I met with Prof. David to learn more about the research assistance he required. He was nearing the completion of his narrative about Ong, and the last two things he needed were a comprehensive and detailed list of Ong’s works in various media, published both in Indonesia and abroad, with a primary focus on Indonesia. The second task was obtaining official permission for using Ong’s photos sourced from various media outlets in Indonesia.
Initially, I thought it would not be too challenging, but little did I know it would take almost six months to complete both tasks. The main hurdle was my realisation that Ong’s writings were scattered across multiple sources, ranging from newspapers, magazines, book chapters, academic journals, and more. My role was simply to supplement the existing list prepared by Prof. David, but it turned out to be a time-consuming endeavour. Despite the difficulties, this experience remains the most enjoyable memory I have from the year 2019. It was like piecing together a beautiful puzzle of Ong’s literary contributions, uncovering hidden gems and forgotten works that showcased his brilliance as a writer and thinker. Every discovery was a moment of delight, a glimpse into the profound mind of my inspirational figure.
Together with my beloved Gracia, we embarked on a journey to explore various historical resource institutions, including the office of Prisma magazine, the Kompas-Gramedia building, and many other storage repositories. This research project proved to be an eye-opening experience as it introduced me to a broader world of historical source repositories beyond just libraries and archives. Besides the invaluable knowledge gained, the financial compensation provided much-needed support for a student like me, given the typical financial constraints faced by Indonesian students.
Prof. David, my mentor and boss, was an absolute pleasure to work with. His emails never failed to lift my spirits, and my replies were always filled with cheer and enthusiasm. Through Prof. David, I also had the opportunity to meet another Indonesian historian, Iskandar Nugraha, which further opened doors for my academic career. However, the full story of these opportunities is best reserved for another article. Reflecting on the early episodes of my career, it is evident that the central thread weaving through my early academic journey is none other than the guidance and support of my kind-hearted teacher, Mbak Erry. I must reiterate that no amount of gratitude can ever truly convey the magnitude of her influence on my life.
Notes
Unfortunately, my personal photo collection of Mbak Erry and myself was lost when my phone was stolen in early 2020.
