August 26, 2014 edition
There in that former internment camp, I stepped into the yard of the old prison that the colonial government built for political prisoners in the 1920s: it was narrow, barbed wire on the walls, and with underground cells where the most difficult prisoners used to be locked up. Under the hot sun and in the stifling heat of Boven Digul, which in no way resembled a 'pretty village', how did those prisoners manage to survive?
I trembled, for a moment. Was my father once locked in this very prison? I could not imagine it. I never heard his story. He was exiled to this godforsaken place along with my mother having been imprisoned and held under house arrest after the 1927 rebellion. I was born nine years after they were sent back to Java. Father never got a chance to talk much to me about his past: he was executed by Dutch soldiers when I was only five. Mother was too busy bringing us up. What stuck from Digul in our family was something wordless: one of my older brothers was born in that place of exile.
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More Sidelines articles in other editions
August 19, 2014 edition
The sun can be bright, but distant and indifferent to human suffering. Les Misrables, which was first published on April 1, 1862, wanted to be closer to the earth, and sensitive to French weeping. As its famous phrase says: "Those who do not weep, do not see."
Victor Hugo wanted our eyes to be moist and for them to see, sensitively, around them. In general he succeeded in this, at least for his readers of two hundred years ago. There is a story that the publishing in Brussels of the first edition of his novel was delayed because the printers sobbed so much when reading the manuscript.
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August 12, 2014 edition
That brutal, hopeless and never-ending history probably started in a small Palestinian town 15 kilometers southeast of Tel Aviv. Arabs call it al-Ludd (). The Jews now call it by its Biblical name Lod. It used to be known as Lydda.
Before the turmoil of World War II, Arabs lived side by side there with the Jews who had started arriving in 1913. On the slopes, a Jewish immigrant established an olive-oil soap factory; another founded an orphanage for forced exiles from Eastern Europe.
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August 5, 2014 edition
Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself.I am large. I contain multitudes.
Walt Whitman
Tens of thousands of people gathered one unexpected afternoon: layer upon layer of enthusiasm, pile upon pile of hope, and anxiety, line upon line of faces that were not just watching with fixed and passive gaze.
Walt Whitman