Indonesia After Independence: A Landscape More Broken Than What the Colonizers Left Behind

The miniature Batavia ship displayed inside the Gouverneurs Kantoor in Jakarta’s Old Town. Doc. the author.

By Apai Deraman

Indonesia’s modern ecological devastation stands in stark contrast to three and a half centuries of Dutch rule that, despite its own brutality, left much of the archipelago’s forests intact and its cities orderly. The miniature model of the Batavia and the old civic symbols preserved in Jakarta’s Old Town now serve as reminders of a past marked by structure, set against a present defined by man-made ruin.

The man-made catastrophe ravaging the forests of Sumatra, marked by felled timber and machine-cut logs still bearing factory stamps, has prompted many to draw an uncomfortable comparison. 

During 350 years of Dutch East India Company and colonial rule, the archipelago’s forests largely survived. There were no chronic floods, except in Jakarta where the Dutch engineered canals; the colonial period left plantations, public buildings, and railway lines across Java. Yet in the 80 years since Indonesia’s independence, what remains is a litany of disasters: landslides, devastated watersheds, and stripped-bare hillsides. 

The contrast is jarring, even ironic, forcing Indonesians to compare foreign colonizers with the nation’s own modern stewards. A political cartoon circulating today captures this bitter reversal with startling clarity, depicting how restraint in the past contrasts sharply with present-day ruin.

Three and a Half Centuries of Dutch Rule Left Forests Intact; Eight Decades of Freedom Tell a Different Story
The miniature Batavia displayed inside the old Gouverneurs Kantoor in Jakarta’s Kota Tua stands as a testament to a different era. 

The Batavia was a flagship of the Dutch East India Company (VOC), built in Amsterdam in 1628 as part of the company’s annual fleet. That same year it embarked on its maiden voyage toward Batavia, the capital of the East Indies. 

At a time when the Dutch focused on maritime precision, economic control, and long-term infrastructure, the environmental footprint remained surprisingly contained compared with the destruction now unfolding in independent Indonesia.

The Batavia Legacy: When a Colonial Capital Was Built With Order, Vision, and Meticulous Planning
Governor-General Jan Pieterszoon Coen approached the construction of Batavia with unwavering seriousness. He appointed a full slate of municipal officers so that civic life could run with order and predictability. 

Coen sought to shape Batavia into a city that mirrored Dutch social norms and moral discipline. For him, Batavia was not merely an administrative foothold but a cornerstone for an expanding commercial empire. 

Marking that ambition, Coen introduced the city’s official emblem on August 15, 1620, accompanied by his well-known motto "Dispereert Niet," meaning "Do not despair." His vision aimed to project the authority and permanence of the Company, ensuring that Batavia would serve as both symbol and instrument of Dutch supremacy in the region.

Symbols of a Forgotten Era: How a City Seal and a Ship Model Echo a Past Now Starkly Contrasted by Today’s Ruin
Batavia, like any European colonial city, had its own set of civic tools: governance councils, courts, administrative boards, and an identity encoded in heraldic symbolism. 

The emblem approved in 1620 depicted a sword centered on a shield, surrounded by brown and green floral motifs. Later interpretations added a lion behind the shield, one paw resting upon it, symbolizing sovereign power. 

The city seal used by the Collele van Schepenen (City Council) included this image framed by a Latin inscription that read Sigillum Urbis Bataviae, or "Seal of the City of Batavia," as recorded in Sedjarah Pemerinta Kota Djakarta published in 1958.

Today, these relics evoke a complex and uncomfortable irony. A ship model preserved behind glass and a centuries-old city seal seem to represent an era of coherence and foresight, however colonial in intent. Meanwhile, vast stretches of Indonesia’s forests lie ruined by exploitation carried out in the modern era. History’s contrasts have rarely felt so sharp, or so instructive.