The Sun
Sunnyvale's Newspaper

Tornadoes and riots, near and far

By Ingrid McCleary

A few weeks ago, we were thunderstruck by a tornado in Sunnyvale. Family and friends called us. Yes, we were fine. Yes, hail bombarded us, but the tornado missed us. When I took my family to Plymouth Drive, it wasn't to gawk but to bring the devastation home.

The closer to home, the more it affects us. We hear of flooding in Napa Valley, but it isn't until the muck runs down our streets that we take action. That's human nature.

And yet, something happening halfway around the world is directly affecting me now, and it's awakened heretofore half-formed realizations.

I am an American citizen, but my heritage is Dutch/ Indonesian. I've often wondered about the effect of a culture: How different would I be if I'd remained in Indonesia or Holland? Would I still be a writer? Would I still have met my husband? How would living in one country affect my sense of tolerance, my religious beliefs, my morals?

These thoughts normally rest in the archives of your mind. But sometimes, events cause you to retrieve that half-finished volume, make revisions and return the tome to your store of knowledge.

Growing up, I learned America was a melting pot. I marvel at the diversity here--diversity not only within the country but also within each state, county and city. Sunnyvale has its own voice. It's a voice I've grown accustomed to hearing.

I also respond to another voice, one of my heritage--and what a peculiar voice it is. I was born on the island of Sumatra, Indonesia. I was a Dutch citizen, was raised Catholic and belonged to the ruling class. I look more Indonesian than Dutch, even though I am a mixture of both.

During World War II, my father served in the Dutch Army and was captured by the Japanese and held as a P.O.W. till the war ended. When the Japanese departed, Indonesians grabbed the opportunity to gain independence from the Dutch as well. Sukarno, Indonesian's first president, declared that we had to become Indonesian citizens or leave.

So we left all our possessions behind and traveled to Holland. Five years later, we immigrated to America.

I grew up learning about the American government. Indonesia's government was a mystery to me, so when the rioting in Jakarta hit the news, I was drawn to the unfolding drama. Strange to know that my father, mother and sister lived in the city where 500 died. Strange to think that I once represented both the oppressor and the oppressed. I see their faces on the television and see a matching reflection in my American mirror but know we are worlds apart.

Strange to hear of a democratic government having only two presidents in the last 53 years (now three, however temporary). When I heard Sukarno was stepping down after 32 years, I tried to remember how many American presidents we'd had during that same time.

It took a while.

Strange to think that because of my heritage I knew more about Indonesia than my neighbor, but not enough to know that Indonesia has the fourth largest population in the world. Yes, I'd seen increasingly more "Made in Indonesia" tags on my purchased goods. And yes, I'd heard "Indonesia" pop up in the news, but I never attached much significance to it.

Now, I find I'm reacting to this latest information much the same way I reacted to Sunnyvale's tornado: Both hit too close to home, and it's unsettling.

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The Sun Sunnyvale's Newspaper

Tornadoes and riots, near and far

The Sun
Sunnyvale's Newspaper