My Father's Story
My father, Brugt J. G. Douwes was born on the island of Madura, east of Java, where the Dutch government had the monopoly of saltmining from the sea. His father was the overseer of this Dutch company and my father was destined to take his place. War broke out and fate had it otherwise.
On December 7, 1941 the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The next day the two airfields in the Philippines, Clark and Iba were destroyed. Landings were made and heavy fighting followed. Malaya and the oil regions of the British and Dutch Balikpapan and Tarakan were the next target. Singapore was bombed and thousands were killed. One by one the Islands fell to the Japanese, Sumatra, Borneo, the Lesser Sunda Islands, Bali, Lombok, Sumbawa, Butan, and Muna.
In March of 1942 my father was taken prisoner by the Japanese Imperial Army. He was on active compulsory military duty for the KNIL (Koninklijke der Nederlands Indische Leger - Netherlands Indies Army). After his capture in Batavia (now called Jakarta) he was taken to a camp in Sukabumi, Java (March 1942 to June 1942). He and others were then transfered to Pe Thek Wan in Batavia (June 1942 to December 1942). Changi kamp in Singapore was his next stop (December 1942 to March 1943). A short time thereafter he was put to work in in a steel factory in Niihama, Japan (March 1943 to August 1945). His reward for a long hard day of labor was a starvation diet of watery rice and maybe a small piece of vegetable root and every few days a piece of fish. He had chronic lung infections, dysentery and endured starvation, torture and beatings. He did manage to steal a red cross medical package once which he shared with other prisoners. For that he payed a price that almost killed him. For one week he was confined to a pit in the ground and beaten till near death. It was this punishment that caused him life long problems with his legs and back and an eventual mental breakdown after the war.
When weak with hunger my father and other prisoners stole food from the guards. Many times they got away without being caught but when they were found out severe treatment followed. The usual punishment was a beating and stomping, then a few hours in a small bamboo cage in the hot sun. After the sun went down they were allowed to go back to work. Only his faith in God helped him through these horrid and desperate times. My father never gave up hope that he would live to see the end of the war.
The American liberated the camps in August of 1945. They were stunned when they came face to face with the P.O.W's and their living conditions in Niihama, Japan. It was an undeniable fact that the prisoners were infected with diseases, malinutrition, dysentery and lice. Many were near death. Boxes containing food rations, cigarettes, soap, toothbrush, toilet paper and other small luxuries were dropped from planes. My father was grateful for the kindness and generousity of the Americans. It was one of the reason we immigrated to the United States. The freed prisoners were transferred to Manilla in the Philippines. In December, 1945 my father was sent to Balikpapan, Borneo. In April of 1946 he went back to Java to search for his family. His parents & sisters had survived the war.
After the liberation my father stayed in the Dutch army to fight Indonesian rebels. In the interior of Java, the Indonesians started rounding up all Dutch citizens and putting them in internment camps where men, women and children were locked up again. People were beaten and many were literally hacked to pieces. The Indonesian freedom fighters were out of control. In 1955, our family was forced to leave the country. Discrimination against the Dutch and especially those who had served in the Dutch army, made life impossible. After numerous attempts on my father's life our family left Indonesia with the support of the Dutch government.
We came to Holland with only the clothes on our backs and were placed in a refugee home in East Holland. Our family lived in one room until a house became available. There were little job opportunities in the Netherlands and my father was glad to find clerical work for the Department of War. In 1962 we imigrated to the United States.
Very little is known or publicized of the the events that took place in the Dutch East Indies during World War II and of the Japanese occupation after the war. My father suffered untold hardship, bravely and with amazing fortitude. I have often wondered how he and others like him survived three and a half years of this living hell. I understand now, more than ever how important it is for the children of those survivors to keep these memories alive. Not in vengence, but as a reminder of the consequences of hatred and indifference towards mankind.
More on prison camps: The personal accounts of Alexander Hermanus Douwes will leave an indelible impression of the despairs and horrors of war, written in the Dutch language. "Pappie's Laatste Jaar"
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