BY ALEXANDER MERING<\/p>\n

\u201cIn Dayak tradition, it is the young people who must learn from the elders. This is the first time that the elders willingly want to learn from their children in an organized manner.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Riko stood under a jackfruit tree, gazing vacantly into the sky. Turns out the \u201cship\u201d did not drop anything today, not even a piece of plain cookie. is despite him and six other boys shouting their hearts out until the shadow of the airplane completely disappeared beneath the clouds. ey call the plane kapal terbang (ying ship).<\/p>\n

\u201cKapal minta\u2019 koeh, kapal minta\u2019 koeh, kapal minta\u2019 koeh!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

(\u201cShip give us cookie! Ship give us cookie! Ship give us cookie!\u201d)<\/p>\n

Some of the boys were still shouting in a cacophony of highs and lows. A moment later, the cacophony stopped and there was but the sound of marble balls rolling in the dusty yellow dirt road of Kampung Loncek.<\/p>\n

No one cared what date it was. None of the village elders knew that the 28th of October is a sacred date for the Indonesian nation. Besides, what importance does an uncharted village have for a nation as big as Indonesia?<\/p>\n

Before 2010, Dayak Salako community in Loncek was still isolated. The children from that village would only attend school until junior high at most, and even then only if their parents had relatives in the city. Back then, the only way to reach the city was through the river, a-day-and-a-night\u2019s trip from Pontianak, the provincial capital, using a motorized canoe called kelotok<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it\u2019s during low tide, the trip could take three days and three nights,\u201d said Yohanes Aboy, a Catholic leader in Loncek.<\/p>\n

Administratively, Kampung Loncek is part of Teluk Bakung Village, West Kalimantan. They say this village was founded by Nek Motek<\/em> and Timanggong <\/em>around 1910. The two of them built a Dayak long house and cleared a field for their families around the foot of the Loncek hill. An elder of Kampung Loncek, Ga\u2019eb, is sure that their ancestors came from the Ambawang 40 community, around Desa Lingga, Kubu Raya Subdistrict. Others came from Banyuke, Landak Subdistrict.<\/p>\n

Riko was disappointed. With a dispirited gait, he headed home with a little question on his mind. Why didn\u2019t the airplanes drop cookies from the sky? His father had told him, there used to be a \u201cship\u201d that would come to their village to drop cookies for children.<\/p>\n

Rico could only dream that someday he would be aboard a flying ship and would fly home with a lot of cookies.<\/p>\n

Fifteen years later \u2014 thanks to his involvement in Orang Muda Putus Sekolah<\/em> (OMPS – School Drop Out Youth) movement \u2014 that young man with curly hair was chosen to attended a local facilitator training organized by Kemitraan in Yogyakarta. This was the first time Riko actually flew on an airplane. Even though he was already 23, he had never been anywhere other than Pontianak. He was very nervous when he rst set his foot in an airplane cabin.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm, so this is how it feels to be Indonesian?\u201d he mumbled.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Riko was just one of more than 200 OMPS in Teluk Bakung Village whose livelihood depended on the forest. The head of Loncek Hamlet, Donatus Dino, told me that from 197 households there, 90 percent depend on the forest.<\/p>\n

The women tap rubber trees or work as coolies in oil palm plantations. ose who have the capital and connections usually employ people from Sambas to fell the trees in their forests.<\/p>\n

\u201c That is why, there could be thousands of Sambas people working in forestry in Loncek,\u201d said Dino, more than the population of Loncek itself.<\/p>\n

Today, there is less than 7,000 hectares of the forest remaining. Since the 1980s, Teluk Bakung Village and the surrounding areas have been parcelled into plots by a number of companies for their concession areas. Villagers are just coolies on their own land.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur people only fell the remaining timber,\u201d said Valentinus Agip, one of a few lucky young men of Teluk Bakung who had the opportunity to go to college earning his bachelor\u2019s degree in social sciences. Because of that, he was elected as the Head of Teluk Bakung Village.<\/p>\n

We spoke for almost two hours about the fate of the kampungs in the village he leads, including Kampung Loncek, where the PNPM Peduli program is implemented. Since Teluk Bakung was designated as a Industrial Forest concession area, followed by large scale mining and oil palm concessions, the Dayak Salako indigenous communities living in the area have been increasingly wedged between these interests.<\/p>\n

Although their ancestors have lived in the area long before the Indonesia state was conceived, the people are being deprived not only of their right to the land that they inherited through generations, but they are also losing the values of their own indigenous culture along with its local wisdoms.<\/p>\n

\u201cSome of my people tried to get their lands certified, but they were denied by the land administration o ce, because the lands turned out to be within the concession area,\u201d lamented Agip.<\/p>\n

Around October 2011, Riko along with 15 other OMPS \u201cproclaimed\u201d the establishment of a farmer\u2019s organization in Loncek. I attended the occasion as a facilitator to support them with organizing their ideas and vision. Members of this organization were youth who were also forest foragers. In total there were 15 people \u2014 10 men and 5 women. People and elders who were present that night had doubts about Riko\u2019s and his friends\u2019 movement.<\/p>\n

\u201cPaling-paling ga\u2019 angat-angat tahi manok<\/em>” blurted someone.\u00a0(Literally \u201cas hot as chicken shit, at best\u201d, an excitement that does not last long),<\/p>\n

I turned my head, trying to locate the faint voice amidst the noisy generator that lit up our lights that night. Despite 68 years of Indonesian independence, Loncek was still not important, enough as a market for PLN, the State Electricity Company.<\/p>\n

I only recognized one or two people among them from my rst visit three weeks earlier to this village. So we started with introductions, as agreed, stating ours names rst, then education and our jobs. I was rst, followed by other meeting participants. \u201cI am Herpina, finished primary school only. I tap rubber\u00a0during the day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am Emerensiana. I did not nish junior high. I also tap\u00a0rubber trees.\u201d<\/p>\n

I squirmed. Those two participants lowered their voices when mentioning that they work as rubber tappers. So did the others who earned a living foraging the forest. On the other hand, Petronela Lia and another participants who worked at oil palm plantations seemed to be more con dent. I found out later that they were indeed proud to be called employees rather than mere farmers.<\/p>\n

\u201cKade\u2019 pegawai kan bagaji<\/em> (employees have salaries),\u201d said Lia. Like her colleagues, Lia quit school in senior high.<\/p>\n

I squirmed once more. Wow, if they can no longer be proud to be farmers, only for those two words, this could spell a disaster. Right that week I immediately invited them to discuss the two terms: employee and salary.<\/p>\n

We started dissecting it using the SWOT analysis. After all input was noted on a flipchart, I finally understood that the word employee to them was almost illusory. To be an employee is to be considered successful. is, despite the fact that many are only plantation laborers working 7 hours a day from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., including a 1-hour break, with an average pay of IDR 35,000 a day.<\/p>\n

Of course, that does not include the time spent travelling to and fro the kampung and the oil palm plantations, with quite significant distances, departing at 6 a.m. and only arriving home at around 4 p.m. When they work overtime, they can take home a bit more. Apparently, this is their idea of what an employee and a salary means. So then I asked them again to rethink the terms employee<\/em> and salary.<\/em><\/p>\n

Those who tap rubber work no more than 5 hours a day, without overtime and pressure from employers. On average, a tapper can pocket Rp 70,000 each morning. ey are their own masters and bosses.<\/p>\n

A hectare of local rubber plantation produces no less than 5-7 kilograms each morning. e price of rubber at the collector level then was around Rp 10,000\/kilogram.<\/p>\n

If sold directly to factories, it could be even higher. I told them, imagine if one owned just two hectares of superior rubber gardens tapped each day. Such a garden can produce on average 25 kilogram per hectare every morning.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo which would you choose, dear friends, to be a boss or a coolie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBosssss!\u201d they shouted in unison.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

There are two main camps in Loncek: those who are for and against oil palm plantations. Among those who are against oil palm is Leonardus, the leader of Orang Muda Katolik<\/em> (Catholic Youth) in Loncek. He also heads Kelompok Tani Muda Palambon Pucuk Baguas (KTM PPB – Young Farmers Group of Palambon Pucuk Baguas).<\/p>\n

Leo, how he is called, once told me that he and several other young people rallied against an oil palm company and were nearly punished by the local tribal chief.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have very little land and forest le , all have been turned over to companies,\u201d said an anguished Leo. He thinks that oil palm plantations have polluted the water in their kampung. Fish are harder to come by. Birds and other game are also nearly extinct \u2014 ever harder to catch. is is why he and his cohorts are furious.<\/p>\n

Such a stance has strained the relationship between them and several local community leaders and village officials whom they considered to be on the side of the oil palm companies. I contemplated for a week about how to reconcile these two camps. Because otherwise, not only would it hamper the PNPM Peduli program I was running there, it could also be a ticking time bomb like the Mesuji case (The Mesuji incident took place in 2013 where about 30 farmers were killed protesting what they saw as a landgrab of their traditional lands by oil palm companies) in South Sumatra.<\/p>\n

I told them, going against oil palm companies and quarrelling with village officials was not the solution. It will only consume their energy as they would keep themselves busy fighting.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to remember, companies have money. What do you have? Companies can bring the security forces. Will you be able to pay for lawyers if you were caught?\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence. The air suddenly got tense. Perhaps they did not agree with what I had to say, but the words have been uttered anyways. The fluorescent light could not conceal their anxious faces. I was uneasy myself, because I did not know how to solve the problem myself. Beads of sweat were running down profusely under my shirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cLalu ahe nang diri\u2019 panjawat, Bang<\/em>?\u201d asked Laurensius quietly, breaking the silence.<\/p>\n

Laurensius Edi was a friend of Leonardus\u2019 and also the host of where we held the meeting that night. Laurensius Edi would later became one of the eld facilitators for PNPM Peduli program organized by Yayasan Pemberdayaan Pefor Nusantara (YPPN) and Kemitraan. He asked in a local dialect, \u201cso what can we do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Fortunately I could speak Dayak Salako, although I come from another Dayak tribe myself. Salako is used as the main language in informal daily conversations in Loncek.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you see oil palm as a threat, you must also dare to see it as an opportunity.\u201d I was not against, but even more so, I was not defending the oil palm companies. I was actually at a loss for words facing these young, spirited men.<\/p>\n

Beyond my expectations, that same night they managed to draw up an organizational work plan. The main objective was to strengthen the basis of the remaining kampungs,<\/em> among others, by creatively cultivating superior rubber trees and mapping sacred places, documenting the culture and history of Kampung Loncek.<\/p>\n

From that moment on, I secured my place among them. I would always be invited whenever they held a meeting or a ceremony of forest foragers. At least, now they are thinking about the future. So now, I don’t care what people out there say about Loncek.<\/p>\n

A pastor who served there once even told me that Kampung Loncek was a cradle of gambling, its people are mad about karaoke and other vice. e pastor later changed his mind and was proud and sympathetic, now even promoting the Loncek youth movement in his sermons.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least, bah, we could only cut trees for two or three more years, and then what?\u201d said Sarjono, who would later succeed Leonardus to become the head of KTM PPB in the second period with the title Pucuk.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cPucuk! Pucuk! Pucuk!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

They shouted together, thumping the floor to exclaim the appointment of Sarjono as the head of the group<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Around May 2012, I was startled by a phone ringing as I was deep in my sleep. Half conscious, perhaps still dreaming, I grabbed the phone from the table in the corner. is was 4 a.m. Washington, D.C., time.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood afternoon, Bang, nian<\/em> Leo. Ahe kabar kitak<\/em> (How are you doing)?\u201d I heard a voice from the other end. I rubbed my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood afternoon, uh, good morning. It’s not even dawn yet here, hehe..\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGajah, maaf, maaf boh Bang. Kukira waktunya sama man ka\u2019 diri. <\/em>(Gosh, I apologize, Bang, I thought the time is the same as here.)\u201d In Salako language, gajah, elephant in Indonesian, is an exclamation word.<\/p>\n

Leonardus called from Bogor. He and ve other members of KTM PPB were sent to YPPN office for a week to attend organic farming training at Bina Sarana Bakti, Cisarua.<\/p>\n

I smiled hearing the voices at the other end trying to take turns to speak. I felt slightly homesick a er a week being stranded in Obama\u2019s town because of this fellowship from the US government, the International Visitor Leadership Program (IVLP).<\/p>\n

Then Laurensius Edi delivered me the news that really made me wide awake.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe WK women in our kampung, about forty of them, formed a farmers\u2019 group. They were inspired by us, Bang.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was flattered. I was breathing so heavily, my nostrils puffed air ridiculously. No one was looking, fortunately. Edi continued to speak, reporting the latest developments taking place in Loncek and West Kalimantan.<\/p>\n

I told Edi and Leo, as soon as they return from Bogor, they should immediately help the women. WK is short for Wanita Katolik (Catholic Women), a term for the women\u2019s organization in the Roman Catholic Church. Lately, those women have been calling themselves Kelompok Tani Burung Arue <\/em>(KTBA – Arue Bird Farmers\u2019 Group). By the end of November 2012, their number had gone up to 60 and continued to increase. They would regularly work together every week and study with KTM PPB.<\/p>\n

Upon returning from America, I met with Solastika, the chairperson of KTBA, a middle-aged woman who is also the mother of Petronela Lia, a KTM PPB member. Solastika told me why the women in the village formed the farmers\u2019 group.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe started by clearing new lands. en we asked our children from KTM to teach us how to cultivate rubber trees well and correctly, \u201c said Solas.<\/p>\n

My chest felt like exploding with pride as I came home from Solastika\u2019s house. Throughout Dayak history, it is the young who must learn from the elders.<\/p>\n

This was the first time that older people were willing to learn from their own children in an organized manner. Later, the elder men too did not want to miss out. They formed a new group named Kelompok Tani Sebaya Mao (KTSM – Sebaya Mao Farmers\u2019 Group).<\/p>\n

Presently, KTM PPB is not only busy running their organizational work, but they are also facilitators and tutors for other farmer groups. Although some members dropped out because they got married or moved to another kampung, the number of participants and volunteers in KTM PPB continued to increase. There are now 25 people who run the organization still keeping with their characteristics as teenagers and OMPS.<\/p>\n

I did not teach them much, instead we would o en learn together at every opportunity. How to do simple things while not forgetting the cultural roots and wisdoms of the land where we stand? For instance, in the superior rubber program, we do not just plant and cultivate rubber.<\/p>\n

Each seedling is labeled based on the tree\u2019s origin, name of the person planting and type of rubber clone. For example, the L-Mering IRR39 seedling, We call this method pantak baru<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Pantak is a kind of epigraph to immortalize the names of the people who are well regarded in the Dayak Salako community. A pantak is usually made of wood or stone that is carved into a totem-like sculpture as in the Papuan Asmat tradition.<\/p>\n

In this way, KTM PPB managed to pantak the names of the people on the rubber seedlings they produce. Besides immortalizing the names of persons who planted the rubber trees, it can also protect the seedlings they created so as not to be falsified.<\/p>\n

At this time, KTM PPB already has 1,000 mata entries<\/em> seedlings and more than 20,000 batang bawah<\/em> rubber seedlings, some of which are ready to be grafted.<\/p>\n

Word about this initiative finally reached the Media Indonesia and Jakarta Post journalists and contributors. One day, along with a photographer and a local journalist from Pontianak Post, they came to Loncek. But what happened? Is group of journalists was instead \u201csentenced\u201d with the indigenous law!\u201d<\/p>\n

But of course it was not because they committed a crime. e indigenous law is the honor for guests to plant rubber trees on KTM PPB\u2019s rubber nursery. e names of the journalist and the photographer were immortalized on the labels of the rubber seedlings.<\/p>\n

I also asked those journalists to provide a quick training to the kampung youth, especially about simple writing techniques and ways to document sacred locations, culture as well as the history of their kampung that has nearly vanished.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe want to create a book about Kampung Loncek,\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

Days after that, Media Indonesia published two full pages in their Fokus Nusantara column, a story of KTM PPB movement under the title Titik Balik Para Perambah<\/em> (A Turning Point for Forest Foragers). Meanwhile, the Jakarta Post published a story with the title Rubber Cultivated to Protect Family Lands. Imagine how happy I was!<\/p>\n

\u201cWoiiii, diri\u2019 ada tama\u2019 koran!\u201d <\/em>(Hey, we\u2019re in the newspaper!)<\/p>\n

Apan\u2019s cry that morning created a commotion in the village. Several foragers who were going to work gathered instead at Leonardus\u2019 house. Apan said, we all are in the newspaper. Of course, we had not seen the newspaper. I, myself, had only received an SMS from a colleague in the o ce in Pontianak. Right away I grabbed my laptop and ran to nd reception outside the house by the soursop tree, hoping to get access to both of the large media\u2019s sites.<\/p>\n

A rubber planting ceremony for KTM PPB guests has now become a sort of new ritual in Loncek. Whoever comes will be \u201csentenced\u201d with indigenous law to plant rubber seedlings, not least the Head of Loncek Hamlet and the Head of Teluk Bakung Village.<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if the president himself came, we would also sentence him with indigenous law to plant rubber!\u201d such was the pledge from Pucuk and Riko to me once, after it rained exactly on Sumpah Pemuda day.<\/p>\n

The difference was, Sumpah Pemuda was pledged by the youth leaders and educated people in Kramat Raya, Central Jakarta. This time, the Sumpah Pucuk was pledged by two young forest foragers who dropped out of school as they were rolling cigarettes.<\/p>\n