Puppet master waits for new generation

Tantri Yuliandini, The Jakarta Post, Jakarta

With an occasional puff on his cigarette, 69-year-old Thio Tiong Gie maneuvers a glove puppet off the rack behind him and onto the stage to the accompanying din of cymbals and drums.

He narrates ancient Chinese stories of heroism and morality into the microphone in front of him, while his hands and fingers with their puppets busily assume various characters.

Thio is one of the last surviving masters in Indonesia of the ancient art form of po-te-hie puppetry. Indeed, he claims to be the only one left from the association of po-te-hie puppeteers that he chaired in the 1960s.

"After the government banned all forms of Chinese art in 1967, all po-te-hie activities ceased altogether. We did not dare go against the law," Thio, whose Indonesian name is Teguh Chandra Irawan, said.

"Po-te-hie" means puppets made from cloth in the Hokkian dialect. The art form originated in the areas of Zhangzhou and Quanzhou areas in Fujian province in southern China. It eventually spread to Taiwan and Southeast Asia, including Indonesia, with the migration of the Hokkian tribe to these regions somewhere in the middle of the Ching dynasty (1644-1911).

Though he was always fascinated with traditional puppetry -- both wayang purwa, the Central Javanese shadow puppets (he will rattle on in Javanese, dalang style, if you show the least hint of incredulity), and po-te-hie -- Thio nevertheless only began puppeteering when he was 25 years old.

"The bad economy during the Japanese occupation forced me to find ways to complement my parent's earnings," he said, explaining that his father's cloth shop in Demak, Central Java, was looted during the riots of 1942 and the family was forced to flee to Semarang, where his father set up a bakpao (dumplings with savory or sweet filling) stall. He was nine years old at the time.

Having no means to continue his education beyond elementary school, Thio taught himself Chinese with the help of a Chinese dictionary, Han Yu Yini Zidian, which his former headmaster advised him to buy.

"My headmaster, Thio Poen Liep, told me to save up all my money to buy the dictionary and teach myself Chinese. 'Never give up hope', he said to me," Thio recalled.

This advice gave him the key to turn his life around. Sometime in 1958, Thio spotted the Chinese novel Cu Hun Thay Cu Cauw (Crown Prince Cu Hun Runs Away) printed on some used newspaper his father brought home.

While engrossed in the novel, a customer, Oei Seng Tui, asked Thio to tell him the story. Impressed with Thio's story-telling ability, Oei -- who was a master po-te-hi puppeteer -- suggested Thio apprentice himself to learn the trade.

"A year later I formed my own po-te-hi group, Tek Gie Hien, meaning 'wise men will thrive for all time,'" Thio said. His first performance as a puppeteer was in Cianjur, West Java, using puppets borrowed from Oei.

Fame soon followed, and Thio was recognized as chairman of the country's po-te-hi association. "Any new po-te-hi groups had to report to me first before I registered them with the authorities," he recalls.

In its heyday, Thio's po-te-hie group could be called on to perform for nine months straight, in places as far away as Palembang in South Sumatra and Lampung.

The stories that the po-te-hie group acted out came from classic Chinese stories and novels such as Luo Guanzhong's Romance of Three Kingdoms, and historical judicial stories of fair and incorruptible officials like Shih Kung and Peng Kung.

Mainly performing at religious ceremonies and festivals, one of Thio's most memorable performances was when the group was asked to perform at a circumcision in 1960.

"The little boy wouldn't have the circumcision unless a po-te- hi performed. That was the only time we played for a circumcision," he said.

When the group was performing in Muntilan, East Java, a spectator, a woman, threw him some cigarettes with an attached note, requesting an introduction. Thio married the woman in 1962 and they had four boys and three girls, none of whom followed him into puppetry.

When the government banned all expressions of Chinese art and culture in 1967, Thio switched professions.

"I was performing in Tegal, East Java, when the regulation was passed. I had to learn another trade so I learned how to weld," he said.

Thio set up a welding shop in Semarang and made a living making trellises and metal fences. For the next 31 years, his po- te-hi stage was empty.

"I couldn't perform anymore and I saw no reason to perform in the private of my own home. What for? Puppeteering is for the enjoyment of the masses," he said.

The fall of Soeharto in 1998 signaled the reopening of Chinese identity in Indonesia. And during that year, for the first time in more than three decades, Thio once again took up his po-te-hie puppets in a performance at the Taman Ismail Marzuki arts center in Cikini, Central Jakarta.

Since then orders for po-te-hie performances have been coming in, but the art is no longer as popular as it once was.

"There weren't many forms of entertainment in the old days, now there is television and movies. We don't get as many orders for po-te-hi performances anymore," Thio said.

The stories, too, have become much more condensed. Tales of chivalry that once could continue for weeks on end, now have to be shortened to satisfy modern audiences, "with lots of battle scenes and not too much talk".

A lack of interest in his art does not stop Thio from performing, however, and he vows to continue puppeteering until a new generation of po-te-hi masters is created.

"If I have to, I will puppeteer for another 1,000 years," he said.