Long before there was Indonesia, there was Nusantara. As early as the first century, the archipelago was a haven for traders sailing in from other parts of the world, drawn by the lure of spices and the need for respite. These seafaring travellers populated the coastal towns, bringing with them foreign cultures and languages. Some even chose to stay permanently as time passed, establishing settlements in the archipelago—including those who came from the land that would later be known as China.
Running since 11 February 2025, ‘KONGSI’ at Museum Nasional Indonesia offers a glimpse into the enduring history of Chinese influence in Indonesia, which long preceded our modern conception of either country. Through historical artefacts and artworks to clothing and household items, the pop-up exhibition sheds light on the acculturation that emerged from this interaction and how it came to shape Indonesia’s layered identity.
“I think it’s past time we moved beyond the labels of pribumi (native) and non-pribumi. We’re all part of one nation: Indonesia,” stated curator coordinator Fifia Wardhani. “Chinese Indonesians have long planted their roots here, shaping cultures and even playing a key role in our fight for independence. This exhibition is a tribute to that shared journey.”
Gathering collections from public museums across the city and those of Benteng Heritage Museum—a private institution in Tangerang dedicated to preserving the history and heritage of ethnic Chinese communities in Indonesia—the exhibition follows a mainly chronological order, set inside a colour-coded, curving layout that was designed with input from feng shui expert Sidhi Wiguna Teh.
Right by the entrance, ‘The Early Interaction’ section sets the tone for how far back the story goes. Bathed in red, the room houses archaeological finds and relics marking the presence of ethnic Chinese communities in the archipelago—some nearly 2,000 years old. Among them is the Prasasti Wurudu Kidul, a copper inscription from 922 CE detailing the citizenship trial of Sang Dhanadi, who faced discrimination and was accused of being of Khmer descent due to his facial features (fortunately, the trial proved the accusation wrong, saving him from having to pay a foreigner tax). While simple in presentation, it offers a striking glimpse of the law and social prejudices that existed in that distant past, as if a reminder of how little we’ve changed more than a millennium later.
As the exhibition moves into the colonial period, visitors confront historical truths often absent from mainstream narratives. Chief among them is how much of the tension between Chinese migrants and native populations—then derogatorily labelled inlanders or pribumi—was orchestrated by the Dutch through class segregation and systemic repression, driven by fears of a united front against colonial rule. Many who sought fortune on plantations found themselves trapped in a closed economy: labourers were paid in Plantation Tokens, on display in the exhibition as colourful tickets framed against a turquoise wall, redeemable for food and basic amenities—but only at the same plantations where they toiled. Leaving would have meant losing everything.
Narrated in the adjoining glass display, the formation of Indonesia as a nation was made possible, in part, with the support of the ethnic Chinese communities—just as the Dutch feared. Within this section on Indonesian independence, most eyes would likely be drawn to the open page of the Chinese-owned magazine Sinpo, which famously published the national anthem ‘Indonesia Raya’ for the first time on 10 November 1928.
The collection then gradually becomes more saturated with everyday objects and heritage crafts: items that are not only familiar within ethnic Chinese households but also widely embraced by Indonesians at large, even today. Alongside displays of Batik Peranakan and religious symbols, there’s an array of intricately carved wooden furniture, a rattan mattress beater instantly recognisable by its looping form, and an interactive slideshow exploring local noodle varieties—which wouldn’t have existed without the blending of Chinese and indigenous culinary traditions.
Visitors are likely to linger at the ‘Language and Literature’ section, where a collection of martial arts novels by Kho Ping Hoo—the genre’s pioneering figure in Indonesia—is on display. Originally published in the 1960s and ’70s, these stories can be read in full on a nearby screen. His language is expressive, and his world imaginative, combining elements of Chinese and Javanese culture that reflect his ancestry and birthplace.
There’s plenty to discover from other expressions of art too, both traditional and contemporary. Pola-Pola Bejana: Kisah Peranakan (Vessel Patterns: A Peranakan Story) by multimedia artist Eldwin Pradipta stands out with its reflection on the perceived disconnect between local Peranakan culture and its Chinese roots—a concept illustrated through ceramic patterns. The artist imagines an alternate, more connected present by merging traditional Chinese motifs with Peranakan Nyonya designs on a massive ceramic-shaped balloon.
With so much to take in, it’s easy to lose track of time trying to absorb the information at each display. You’d hardly guess the museum had less than a month to prepare the exhibition; the effort shows, and it arrives at a timely moment as we reflect on what it truly means to be Indonesian. As KONGSI has relayed in its underlying sentiment, who gets to decide who is or isn’t a ‘native’?
