Museum Taman Prasasti. All photos by author.

I was standing outside Kimia Farma’s headquarters in Central Jakarta when my quest to uncover the city’s hidden freemason history took a strange turn. I had heard that this building was the birthplace of Indonesia’s freemason society.

I was snapping photos of the building’s exterior when a security guard approached and asked what I was doing. I explained that this was the first home of the freemasons back when Indonesia was a Dutch colony. Oh no, he remarked, “you’re probably wrong. Rumah Setan [the Satan House] is on Jalan Budi Utomo.” Rumah Setan? What did I get myself into?

In the West, freemasonry is a fraternal order shrouded in mystery, symbolism, and downright creepy rituals. There are countless conspiracy theories around masonic images—which, oddly enough, keep popping up in U.S. pop culture—including claims that the secretive fraternal order is linked to some kind of shadowy global government that pulls the strings behind the scenes. It’s part of this whole Illuminati “New World Order” thing, that finds an audience on certain corners of the internet. The reality, while still a secret, is probably far less interesting.

Here in Indonesia, freemasonry first arrived when the son of the Netherland’s first Masonic Grand Master, J.C.M. Radermacher, built the country’s first Masonic Lodge in what was then called Batavia. As Europeans arrived during the Dutch colonial years, the influence spread to some of the Indonesian elite. But today, freemasonry is seen as a dark, and mysterious, order that opposes the religious norms of this country.

“I think what makes people think freemasonry is so antagonistic is because of the secular values they bring,” said Rahadian Rundjan, history researcher and writer. “They’re seeking enlightenment, which comes as a contradiction for some believers and religious groups because they are often seen as a group that is willing to resist religious values.”

To understand how freemasonry first took hold in Indonesia, you need to rewind all the way back to the early 1900s, the time of Budi Utomo—the country’s first nationalist organization. I had no idea that freemasonry’s roots were so deeply entwined with Indonesia’s independence movement. So set out to discover the city’s forgotten freemason history.

Kimia Farma Building / De Ster in het Oosten

So the Kimia Farma headquarters was a wash. It turned out that the original Kimia Farma headquarters was actually around the corner on Jalan Budi Utomo. That building, slightly less grand, but still pretty historical looking is what the security guard referred to as “rumah setan.”

Rumah Setan

The white building was constructed in typical neoclassical style—an architectural school that, in my opinion, represents a certain kind of arrogance that was common in 18th century builders in Indonesia. It has a high pillared portico front and an open rear verandah. Way back in 1848, the building was erected on what was then called Vrijmetselaars Weg, or Freemasons Street. It was christened “Bintang Timur” or “Eastern Star”—likely a reference to the Order of the Eastern Star, a large sister organization to the masons.

Rumah setan’s janitor.

“In this building they [Freemasons] held periodic meetings,” Historian Alwi Shahab told me. “These groups predominantly consisted of elites and aristocrats, including those who participated in the independence movement.”

Freemasons and members of Budi Utomo began to mix when Dirk Labberton delivered a speech in front of the building in 1909, explained Rahadian.

“That was the sign that Budi Utomo and Freemasonry was pretty close back then,” Rahadian said. “In his speech, Labberton encouraged Budi Utomo members to mold the principle of universal humanity. The universal humanity they held was infused in their movements as a nationalist idea, eradicating their inferiority as Javanese, until they could see themselves equally taking part of global affairs as the big-league nation.”

The security guards wouldn’t let me in the building. But they spoke of the weird rumors that surrounded the building.

“I heard that this building was used by Jewish sect for doing satanic ritual, but I don’t know what’s true,” said Susanto, a security guard who has worked there for 11 years. “I was told by the air conditioner technician that, on the second floor, there’s an altar, but people don’t know what it’s for. No one ever wanna bother with that.”

The Bappenas Building / Adhuc Stat

Opposite Taman Suropati, in Menteng, is the Bappenas building. Here, security was more than welcoming. I was allowed to enter the building and a staff member leaned close, whispering “you want to see the freemason influence? You’ve come to the right place.”

Soon Irawan and I were on a magical tour of what was once called adhuc stat—a place that was built with a vrijmetselarij, or masonic square and compass, out front. The downstairs of the building was modern and new, but as we climbed the steps, Irawan, the staff member, explained that “this is the gap that separates the old and the new.”

Soon I was in a neogothic hall, with masonic black-and-white checkerboard tiles on the floor. The tiles are a common freemason icon that allegedly symbolize the duality of consciousness. But the best room, where the secret meetings actually took place, was in the back, off the main hallway.

Check the tiles

“That’s not the place, it’s here,” Irawan said as he opened the door to the room. Today, it’s a small meeting room with a projection screen on one wall. But back in the day, this was the spot for freemason’s secret rituals.

Sometimes “secret history” is pretty boring in person.

We stepped out onto a balcony. The silence of the place seemed eerie.

“Seen enough,” Irawan asked. “I’m going to show you the basement.”

The balcony

Down in the basement, the staff had stored what Irawan called evidence of the building’s masonic rituals. He explained the evidence in detail, but only if i promised not to put it in this article.

“Can you imagine?” he said at the end of his explanation. “Now it’s just a pantry. But back in those days, the evidence of the secrets was kept in here.”

This closest was allegedly full of secret evidence.

Museum Taman Prasasti

The last part of my journey took me to a colonial-era Dutch cemetery. The cemetery, now called Museum Taman Prasasti, was built in the late 1700s as disease tore through the colonial city of Batavia. It’s where a lot of Dutch noblemen were buried, and, of course, it’s full of freemason symbols.

At the entrance, I found a relief carving of an arm holding a gavel—a symbol that means the the authority of the freemason grand masters have control of the lodge.

On a nearby wall, I saw a masonic square and compass with the “all-seeing eye” carved above it. It’s perhaps the most well-known masonic image—one that allegedly represents the Supreme Being’s divine watchfulness.

I wandered the cemetery alone, scrutinizing every symbol I could see in the gravestones. I probably looked like a madwoman, or maybe some kind of historian, but it worked. I found a hexagram symbol on one of the graves, and also an ouroboros—one of the oldest symbols in the world of a snake eating its own tail.

Eventually, the twisting pathways led me to some gravestones marked with the skull and crossbones icon that, according to freemasonry’s teachings, symbolizes the concept of “memento mori,” or “remember death.” Others told me it’s the symbol of the masonic grand master. There are allegedly five of these in Museum Taman Prasasti, but it was fast approaching dusk and I had to leave.

Walking through Jakarta at night, I began to wonder how this fraternity could, at the time of Dutch colonial rule, be so modern and enlightened in their thinking, but so esoteric and necromantic in their imagery.

Maybe it’s not a secret organization at all. Freemason symbols can be found all over the globe, but we still know so little about the actual organization. Maybe, as a friend of mine said when I explained the story, the freemasons aren’t a secret society at all. Maybe they are just a society with a lot of secrets.