What lies behind the inaction on Kalimantan wildfires and land disputes?
JAKARTA, Indonesia — Let us distill the crisis to its rawest essence. The wildfires tearing through our landscapes are not merely ecological disasters; they are mirrors reflecting how this nation navigates power, conflict, land, law, and culture.
At its core, this is a power struggle in its most primitive form, encapsulated by the Javanese maxim tiji tibeh: mati siji, mati kabeh. Die one, die all.
This logic is as simple as it is perilous: If I cannot win, I will ensure no one else does. It is a scorched-earth philosophy born when power abandons reason and succumbs to the base instinct of mutual annihilation.
The Anatomy of Fire and Friction
In any conflict, the disenfranchised often seek the fastest route, not the right one. When dialogue stalls, when the law offers no remedy, and when justice is choked out by vested interests, fire becomes an alluringly simple option. Arsonists burn the source of their grievance, operating under the illusion that reducing an object to ash simultaneously incinerates the underlying dispute.
Yet, fire never resolves a conflict; it merely transforms it into catastrophe. What begins as a dispute over interests hardens into a criminal offense. What could have been negotiated dissolves into a deep-seated vendetta. A clash between two parties rapidly spreads, becoming a societal scar that sweeps up innocent bystanders.
The stakes escalate dramatically when the battleground is land. Javanese culture holds another profound truth: Sedumuk bathuk, senyari bumi. A forehead's touch, a finger’s width of land, both are worth defending with one’s entire dignity.
This sentiment exposes the blind spot of bureaucratic thinking. Land is never just an economic commodity or lines on a map. Land is identity. It is history. It is the soil where a human being drops anchors. Therefore, land disputes cannot be solved by merely auditing land titles, reviewing corporate deeds, or measuring hectares. Behind every plot of land stands a human being. There are families, memories, economic lifelines, historical claims, social networks, and deeply held pride. These human elements make land conflicts infinitely more volatile than they appear on paper.
The Failure of Ambition and the Myth of the Iron Fist
Indonesia possesses the cultural blueprint to navigate these crises. Born in the shadow of Ken Arok’s bloody, power-hungry history, this nation explicitly chose a different path. Our founding fathers did not build this republic on the law of the jungle or the doctrine of might makes right. Instead, they anchored it to deliberation (musyawarah), unity, mutual cooperation (gotong royong), and social justice.
The foundational concept of Indonesian cooperatives (koperasi) stems from this very ethos. It was never just about microfinance or capital; it was the radical idea that humans can manage their interests collectively. The strong do not prey on the weak, and the weak are not relegated to mere objects of charity. Everyone is a stakeholder. Everyone has a voice. Everyone carries responsibility.
This cooperative spirit stands in stark contrast to the modern obsession with top-down development, what we might call the Bandung Bondowoso approach, named after the mythical prince who built a thousand temples overnight through sheer force. This is the drive to build fueled by raw ambition, deploying massive power to achieve a desired outcome while utterly ignoring the human cost surrounding it. The myth serves as a modern metaphor: immense power can erect towering structures, but power devoid of wisdom cannot cultivate a good society.
The Cost of Cultural Amnesia
A nation that forgets its history is condemned to repeat its worst chapters. A society uprooted from its culture will inevitably attempt to solve its problems using methods alien to its true identity. Culture is not an ornament; it is the operating system through which a society interprets existence, navigates differences, and resolves grievances.
Therefore, every time a conflict culminates in a wildfire, we cannot stop at asking who lit the match. Naturally, perpetrators must be hunted down and prosecuted under the full weight of the law. But a maturing nation must look beyond the "who" and interrogate the "why." Why did the friction reach a flashpoint where fire was viewed as the only way out?
This is where the state must manifest fully. The government cannot merely show up via security forces after the canopy is already ablaze. The state must be present long before the first spark, when grievances simmer, when communities feel systematically ignored, and when injustices begin to harden. Preventing conflict is infinitely more civilized than accounting for the damages after the explosion.
Consequently, managing conflict-driven fires requires far more than a securitized approach. We cannot rely on arbitrary arrests, scapegoating, or constructing neat narratives where one side is entirely righteous and the other entirely villainous. Social conflicts are rarely that linear. They are burdened by history, structural imbalances, failed communications, and old wounds left to fester.
The Path Forward: Wisdom Over Force
Collaboration remains our vital social technology. Gotong royong cannot remain a slogan reserved for state ceremonies. True deliberation is not a sign of weakness; it is the ultimate test of national maturity.
Listening to an adversary does not mean forfeiting your rights, and validating their interests does not diminish your own. Rather, it is the only viable path to common ground.
We can disagree. We can harbor opposing interests. We can even lock horns in disputes. But we must never lose sight of one reality: we share the exact same house. When that house is set on fire, there are no winners. The flames do not respect property lines; they incinerate the very possibility of our shared future.
May the rains come swiftly to quench the burning forests. Yet, even the heaviest downpour cannot extinguish the fires of animosity. For that, we require impartial justice, wise leadership, a mature populace, and a deliberate return to the culture of mutual cooperation that laid the bedrock of this republic.
This nation’s greatest vulnerability is not a deficit of power. We have power in spades. We have laws, law enforcement, and vast natural resources. What we chronically lack is the wisdom to wield that power responsibly. Power should be a shield to protect, not a sword for retribution; a tool for resolution, rather than an engine to perpetuate conflict.
Ultimately, resilient nations are not those that completely avoid conflict. Resilient nations are those that know how to manage friction without self-destructing. Such a nation honors its history, guards its identity, and protects its culture. And when the fire begins to catch, it refuses to become the fuel.
*)The author is a dedicated conservationist, environmental analyst, and forester.
