After a 40-year struggle, indigenous guardians of Indonesian forest gain rights over their land

In 1983, the river running past the Dayak Iban tribe’s longhouse on which the community depends for washing, bathing and drinking water suddenly turned grey.

To investigate the source of pollution, the tribe, armed with spears, machetes and blowpipes with poisonous tips, travelled upstream to find a local construction company laying waste to its ancestral forest, using heavy machinery that had rendered their precious water undrinkable.

A government concession had permitted the firm to seize the area and fell the community’s trees, but the tribe resisted. After negotiations failed, they threatened the company with war, and eventually managed to drive the perpetrators out.

That was the first time the tribe found its forest, livelihoods and traditions at risk of being eroded by powerful corporate interests. It would spend the next 40 years fighting against companies looking to encroach onto its lands.

For many indigenous groups scattered across the Indonesian archipelago, history has been riddled with environmental and social abuse.

When the Republic of Indonesia emerged from the tumultuous struggle for independence in 1945, customary communities living in the country’s most remote corners, many previously unperturbed by outsiders, found themselves faced with new realities as the nation’s economy rose, changing the world around them.

In 1967, Suharto, Indonesia’s authoritarian president at the time, set out to transform the country’s forestry law, empowering the government to claim control over all forest land that was not privately owned. Customary forests that indigenous groups had long called their home officially became state property.

In violation of indigenous communities’ constitutional right to their territories, this enabled the government to hand over vast land areas to private companies as concessions for mining, logging and oil palm and paper plantations.

A new forestry law passed in 1999 did nothing to improve the plight of indigenous peoples as it granted the government ownership of 70 per cent of Indonesian soil, allowing the state to continue giving licenses to companies on land occupied by customary communities, often without their free and informed consent or compensation.

Indonesia’s highly centralised democracy has spurred such large-scale land transfers, with district chiefs—bupatis—holding considerable control over licensing for plantations. This has often been exploited to accumulate revenue and political power by selling permits to companies.

The tables only began to turn after Suharto’s resignation in 1998, ushering in an era of democratisation that saw the emergence of civil society groups, and the possibility for indigenous peoples to voice their concerns.

More than a decade of advocating for indigenous rights later, a landmark constitutional court ruling in 2013 forced the government to relinquish control over state forests that fall within indigenous territory.

In Indonesia, corporate land-grabs and the state’s relentless push for economic development have transformed many ancestral forests into battlegrounds as local villagers rising in opposition against those wreaking havoc on their land and livelihoods were met with military force, and often driven from their territory at the point of a gun.

Over the years, the number of land dispute cases reported only kept growing, and many of these conflicts between customary communities and firms clearing forests for pulp and paper or palm oil remain unresolved even today.

Patrick Anderson, policy advisor at Forest Peoples Programme, said: “In the Suharto era, a company would get a license from the government enabling them to seize indigenous land. If the community complained, the firm would call in the military or the police. A few people would be chucked in jail, some others might get killed, and the community would shut up.”

“There are still conflicts everywhere, many of them latent, but communities occasionally protest about the loss of land. And people still get killed even today, typically by security hired by the companies, but sometimes with the police involved,” he continued.

The violation of personal rights is a fate faced by indigenous groups around the world, shared Anderson. “Their history and use of land and resources pre-dates the nations they now find themselves in. And those traditions, while understood and practiced, are oral traditions. They are not recorded, and so they are not recognised by governments because no bits of paper have been issued yet to map out those areas.”

In the run-up to the 2014 elections, Joko Widodo, Indonesia’s current president, pledged to enshrine indigenous rights in law and to establish an independent task force that would help resolve long-standing land disputes on indigenous territory and protect indigenous rights activists.

But with the administration deeply divided and the environment and forestry ministry loathed to see its power compromised by customary land claims, progress on the taskforce and the passage of the highly anticipated law—a follow-up on the 2013 constitutional court verdict—has stalled.

Lobbying pressure from palm oil and pulp and paper firms in particular, for whom the status quo of dealing with local authorities over land claims is preferable to having to negotiate with indigenous communities, has slowed progress, according to Anderson.

“These are extremely strong and powerful forces that have dozens of ways to influence government decision making. The commitments Widodo made were ambitious, but the forces that don’t want this reform are much stronger,” he said.

Without the bill, which would help create verification systems for defining customary groups, map out indigenous territory and establish a procedure for settling land disputes, local governments willing to recognise indigenous lands continue to face bureaucratic hurdles, and indigenous groups remain at a disadvantage when speaking up against powerful companies.

Consequently, despite the constitutional court verdict in 2013 paving the way for indigenous groups to be granted control over their lands, the government has dragged its heels on its implementation. Claims to traditional land rights often have a difficult time being recognised, especially where influential private or public actors are involved.

As Joko Widodo prepared for his second term as president this year, indigenous groups found themselves perpetrated with new wrongs as the government announced plans for a bill that critics said could have been used to imprison indigenous citizens for defending their lands against intrusion by developers.

The controversial bill, which sparked large mass protests that led the government to postpone deliberations, would have also set a two-year deadline by which communities must register their lands with the government, or else watch them pass into state control. Given the time it takes for customary groups to receive recognition, the bill would have likely caused many tribes to lose their forests.

That Widodo has fallen short on his commitments has left many indigenous groups across Indonesia bitterly disappointed. They view the government’s unfulfilled pledges as a continued denial and violation of indigenous rights.

Marolop Manalu, officer for indigenous education at AMAN said: “In the presidential election in 2014, we supported Widodo when he expressed commitment to the rights of indigenous communities. He promised a special task force but until this time, nothing has happened. We have decided not to endorse him anymore because he does not fulfill his promises.”

In August, president Widodo announced that the capital of Indonesia would be moved to East Kalimantan from Jakarta, which is sinking 20 centimetres every year due to rising sea levels and the excessive extraction of groundwater.

Environmental groups criticised the government’s decision for the lack of consultation with its citizens and the threat it poses to the dense rainforests of Borneo, which is one of the largest tracks of native tropical forests in the world.

Promensius Manao, 33, was worried about what the shift would mean for the community and their newly claimed land.

“If the capital is moved to East Kalimantan, it is much closer to where we are. Problems associated with development will arise and the government might just allow their interests to intrude on our land again,” he said. “We can hold on to our legal certificate now but this does not guarantee our survival in the future.”

Which is why the community’s efforts do not end with the achievement of their land title. Apai, Remang and others in charge of managing the affairs of the long house were seen working into the night days after the government official visited the tribe to give them legal recognition.

Yani believes Sungai Utik's Dayak Iban community has managed to resist foreign encroachment for so long because of their institutional strength and united leadership.

“What’s made them strong all this while is they are not money-minded at all. They are more focused on keeping their dignity and identity,” she said.

"Indigenous or customary communities who protect their forest usually have good customary leaders who have long-term vision and do not only think about themselves. The communities with leaders who have limited knowledge about the consequences of giving up their land for large-scale development projects end up giving those lands up," echoed Yuliani.

However, Saloh added that the community in Sungai Utik will have to enhance their own capacity and effectively manage their collective funds if the community moves forward with plans to open the long house up to ecotourism or register for carbon trading schemes.

“This community has a small carbon footprint, and should be compensated for protecting the rainforest," she said. "It won't be easy. If they go ahead with enrolling in carbon trading, they will have to further manage the forest, calculate the value of the trees and decide where the money goes."

According to the International Ecotourism Society, ecotourism can help local communities prosper financially while fostering intercultural exchange, without relying on natural resource extraction and exploitation of the environment.

For indigenous communities who live in remote areas or have long been marginalised by the government, supporting themselves financially allows them to also sustainably manage the forest.

“We need development to benefit people economically but that development has to be based on our culture and customs. We reject development that destroys the forest,” said Remang.

“When others arrived offering us money for our land, we rejected it. It’s not that we do not need money. We do. But money runs out eventually. Who will support our children and future generations then? If we protect it, the forest will be there for us forever,” said Kristiana Banang, 43.  

Studies show that ecotourism can benefit indigenous communities when they have control over their land and the developments that come from opening their home up to tourism. The peoples’ autonomy and decision-making over their own affairs is key to ensuring the survival of a tribe or local community.

A few metres away from the long house, the foundations of a cultural house were already in place. Initiated and built by the community from scratch, the wooden house will be divided into several rooms that feature each aspect of Iban culture, such as crafts, customary dress and traditional tools.

The community hopes that the culture house will serve to engage tourists while helping to preserve the tribe's culture and traditions.

In Apai's view, what matters most is that the local wisdom that has sustained the tribe for over a century will be inherited by the children in the community, who will pass down the knowledge just like his ancestors did.

“My hope is that we continue to teach our kids about nature, bring them into the jungle after school and share knowledge of our traditions. Those who destroy nature did not have such an education. What’s the point of money if you lose your identity?”

Eco-Business has released a video on the Dayak Iban tribe and its 40-year fight. Watch it here.

How can Indonesia strike a balance between development and forest conservation? Write to us at news@eco-business.com