We nibbled happily on the handmade traditional snacks Noerhadi's wife had prepared. My favorite was salada jawau, a dessert made from grated cassava and coconut that went perfectly with the sweet coffee. During our stay, we were lavished with delicious dishes of fish, vegetables, lemongrass, chili sauce, and rice from their farm, and we were shown peat ecosystem fishing ponds. Peat is the source of life for the people of Mantangai Hulu village.
The village has witnessed an ongoing environmental crisis since 1997, when a 1-million-hectare Peatland Development Program (PLG) was launched, and the government penetrated primary forests to create new agricultural land. Large canals were designed to drain peat forests for easy burning.
"I can still remember the noise of animals facing their death as the forest burned," Noerhadi said. "Until now, the great excavations are always on fire. We call them ‘the path to hell’.'" His story gave me goosebumps. "If there is a fire, they plant the land with oil palms. But this is ancestral land; it is the native people's right to manage it," he explained.
When the big fires occurred in 2015, the smoke was so thick that villagers couldn’t see the road in front of their houses. There were allegations that the small farmers caused the fire, but the farmers of Manggantang Tarung took up experimental farming without burning the land. In kelotok (small, wooden boats), we were brought along the curvy banks of the Kapuas Hulu river to the community’s peatland. The mothers joined the entourage of kelotok boats to pick up ingredients for the night’s dinner. They were part of the Women’s Solidarity group that participated in the struggle for land rights. The fields showed canes, cassavas, pineapples, bananas, rice, and peat-friendly trees like galam.
Basri, the head of Manggantang Tarung, admitted that this farming experiment is still in the trial stages. Peatland is highly acidic, so if the land is not burned, the harvest will be less fruitful. If the land must be burned, they build fire insulations to stop the fire from spreading. “Unfortunately, not everyone tries this system. One impact is that there are more pests in the field,” he said. “Nevertheless, we are successful on a small scale; at least we fulfill our daily needs. We will keep trying, to serve as an example for other villages,” continued the man, who has received 10 hand tractors from the government to aid land preparation.
At this time, the main source of income in Mangatai Hulu is the rubber tree, but the price of rubber is decreasing on the market. The community is now trying to plant sengon trees. “We know the best type to plant; it definitely needs to be a local plant that can survive in peatland conditions. We will not readily believe it if some [external agricultural aid] program comes,” said Noerhadi.
Traveling in the kelotok down the canals to the farmland, I thought about the infrastructure the community would need to develop in order to derive economic benefits from this experimental peatland farm. After meeting this group of farmers, I believe that community involvement in peatland management and utilization is crucial to successful peat restoration.
Sitting and talking with them reminded me of the communal bond so characteristic of Indonesian people. It felt very strong here. It was not just a bond to their families, but also a bond to their ancestral land.
In this village there are sites sacred to the Dayak Kaharingan tribe, where they pay their respects to their ancestors’ spirits. In these places, people are forbidden to engage in activities like cutting down trees and hunting. Apparently, the word Kaharingan itself means “life”. As we walked through the village, we passed a Kaharingan centre, a mosque, and church halls nearby. These are peaceful people.
