In various parts of the world and across different eras, history has repeatedly shown a similar pattern: whenever a more powerful force oppresses the weak and harms the common people, a figure always emerges who dares to take a stand against it. From the courage of a single individual, resistance grows into a movement; from that movement, hope is born. It is not uncommon for the powers that be to eventually succeed in capturing, defeating, or even eliminating the leader of the movement. Yet, strangely enough, death is not always the end. There are names that live on long after their bodies are gone, because the struggle they ignited continues to be questioned, remembered and passed down. It is this pattern that also takes us to a small island in the Moluccas, more than two centuries ago, when a man named Thomas Matulessy stood amidst the turmoil and came to be known by a name that still resonates to this day: Pattimura.
The Colonial Burden and Social Unrest
To understand why the uprising broke out in the Lease Islands in mid-1817, we must look across the seas to a period of transition of power fraught with unrest. The people of the Moluccas had only just emerged from a period of British occupation which had, relatively speaking, allowed greater freedom of trade and provided better treatment for both officials and the general populace. However, when authority was returned to the Dutch Colonial Government under Governor Van Middelkoop and Resident Johannes Rudolf van den Berg, drastic changes disrupted daily life. The spice monopoly was rigidly re-imposed, free trade was banned, and local merchant ships were treated as smugglers. In the markets, the people were forced to accept paper money, which they deeply detested, whilst when they sought to make purchases at government warehouses, this paper money was refused and payment in silver coins was required.
The burden on the people grew ever heavier when forced labour was once again imposed to clear land for coffee plantations, gather firewood, and hand over supplies of salt and salted fish to the government. Public fear deepened due to orders to conscript hundreds of young men to Java to be made into soldiers, rumours of school closures, the dismissal of Christian religious teachers, and the threat of caning and confinement in dark cells during the population census. The spectreof past suffering caused by the patrol voyages of the hongi and the destruction of clove plantations resurfaced, as if threatening their livelihoods and self-respect. Amidst this mounting suffering, old songs such as Hena Masa Ami seem to whisper once more, binding their community and strengthening their brotherhood.
The Lohasamal House and Matulessy’s Leadership
It was amidst this storm of tension that the figure of Thomas Matulessy came to the fore. He was no stranger who suddenly emerged from the shadows, but rather a man shaped by the history and experiences of his time. As a former sergeant-major in the British military, Thomas possessed a thorough understanding of Western military tactics and organisation. Regarding his background, family traditions and records in Hulaliu state that he was born on 8 June 1783 to Cornelis Matulessy and Petrosina Noya, and that he descended from the Lohasamal, meaning “always at the forefront and the first”. Although later historiography contains debates and differing interpretations regarding his genealogy and biographical origins amongst the islands of the Moluccas, primary sources confirm one thing: Thomas Matulessy was a charismatic leader recognised and respected by the captains of Saparua, Haruku, Nusalaut and as far as South Seram.
From Duurstede to Waisisil Beach
The people’s long-suppressed discontent, smouldering for centuries, finally crystallised into concrete action in mid-May 1817. A remarkable event demonstrated how this resistance was driven by—people who lived by and held strong cultural and spiritual values. The attack on the centre of colonial power in Saparua was actually planned for 15 May, but was postponed by a day because that day was the feast of the Ascension of Jesus Christ. It was not until dawn on 16 May 1817 that Fort Duurstede was besieged.
Following a fierce battle that raged from morning until evening, the fortress fell into the hands of the people’s forces. Resident van den Berg and his family were killed in the chaos of the battle. However, amidst the brutality of the fighting, an act of humanity was recorded: Jean Lubbert van den Berg, the resident’s five-year-old son, was found wounded. Thomas Matulessy intervened, giving a firm order that the boy be protected and that no harm be done to him under any circumstances. The child was well cared for before eventually being handed back to the Dutch—proof that the resistance was led by a knight who upheld ethical principles, not a war criminal without a conscience.
A wave of panic swept through Ambon. The colonial government immediately dispatched a relief force of more than 300 soldiers under the command of Major Beetjes. The Dutch officer underestimated the enemy, who were led by nothing more than a former sergeant. However, on 20 May 1817 at Waisisil Beach, the colonial troops’ landing turned into the Dutch’s most bitter military disaster. Trapped in an area of mangrove swamps and wet coastal terrain, Beetjes’s troops were subjected to a well-coordinated crossfire from behind the. Major Beetjes was killed instantly, and the majority of his troops fell in a battle that crippled the early colonial dominance.
Faced with this humiliating defeat, the government in Batavia did not sit idly by. Rear Admiral A.A. Buyskes and Major General H.M. de Kock were dispatched with a large fleet, hundreds of cannons, and aggressive military tactics. Buyskes devised a strategy that relied not only on military might, but also on the scorched-earth policy applied to villages (gebrandmerkte dorpen), a naval blockade that triggered severe famine, and the mobilisation of forces from local chiefs who remained loyal to him.
The Final Act, Betrayal, and the End of Life
It is here that the course of history reveals its most tragic chapter. The door to the downfall of the resistance leader was not merely opened on the open battlefield, but through unbearable economic pressure, a blockade that isolated the archipelago, and betrayal. Colonial military diaries (Journal 't Hoofd) and official historical analyses confirm that, as a result of the blockade which triggered famine and the protracted operational pressure, information leaks and acts of betrayal emerged amongst the local population. Thomas Matulessy’s room for manoeuvre became increasingly restricted until, eventually, he and his fellow fighters were arrested in mid-November 1817.
There was one final moment when the resistance forces were forced to retreat and abandon Saparua. On the pulpit of the abandoned local church, a Bible was found, deliberately left open. Its pages lay open precisely at Psalm 17: a prayer for vindication and protection in the face of an onslaught by the wicked, which begins with the cry, “Hear, O Lord, my righteous cause; give heed to my cry...”. Through this message, Thomas Matulessy affirmed that his struggle was a calling of faith to defend justice in order to restore the fortunes of his people. This move also served as an ethical rebuke to church members who, at that time, tended to remain passive in the face of colonial injustice.
The propaganda myth that Matulessy adorned himself with a diamond comb obtained as war booty is refuted by eyewitness accounts. He continued to present himself as a resolute and dignified soldier, wearing a red British service uniform and securing his hair with a kromkam—a plain tortoiseshell comb commonly used by Ambonese men.
On 16 December 1817, in front of Fort Niew Victoria in Ambon, a gallows was erected. Thomas Matulessy stepped forward to face his execution. The captain’s body may have hung from the gallows, but his death never succeeded in extinguishing the spirit and hope for freedom that he had ignited.
Examining the Meaning of Freedom Today
More than two centuries after the events at Saparua, we are commemorating 81 years of Indonesian independence in an era that is vastly different. Yet, Thomas Matulessy’s struggle calls our generation to account: if the freedom fighters of the past risked their lives to overthrow oppression and demand justice for the marginalised, what are we doing with the freedom we have been granted today? Just as liberation in the Bible always carries a call to uphold justice and care for the vulnerable, so too does independence demand that we have the courage to stand up for truth and social justice, rather than merely treating it as annual rhetoric. (perlando)
