Marginalized Dayaks violently assert their rights<\/p>\n
By Dini S. Djalal<\/p>\n
JAKARTA (JP): Ethnic conflict is the accepted catchphrase to
\ndescribe the ongoing clashes between the indigenous Dayaks and
\nthe migrant Madurese in West Kalimantan, which have reduced two
\ndozen Madurese settlements to ashen rubble.<\/p>\n
Indonesia's ambitious transmigration program, which resettles
\nthe very poor of Java and Madura to the outer provinces, is being
\nblamed for the riots, and not without reason. Often arriving with
\nlittle knowledge of their hosts' culture, the transmigrants
\nexpand the cultural divide by living in separate hamlets.
\nAnalysts advise that the Coordinating Body for National Unity
\n(Bakom PKB) should focus not only on assimilating the ethnic
\nChinese, but also on acculturating migrant communities.<\/p>\n
The cultural differences dividing the Dayaks and Madurese are
\nindeed great. The Dayaks complain that the Madurese are quick to
\ndraw the knives they always carry -- itself an affront to Dayak
\nadat (custom). Graffiti proclaiming \"Madurese out\" proves that
\nethnic friction does fuel the Dayaks' fury.<\/p>\n
But theories of tribal enmity, along with assumptions of
\neconomic disparity between the Dayaks and Madurese, are shallow
\nexplanations of the fighting. Situating the conflict within the
\ncontext of political economy, and its impact on traditional Dayak
\nsociety, offers a clearer picture. \"This movement must be seen in
\nthe context of tradition, and to the Dayaks, this is self-
\ndefense,\" said Pastor Heny Derksen of Pahauman.<\/p>\n
After all, the more traditional groups are inflicting the most
\ndamage. Ethnic-based theorizing does not explain the fact that
\nmany Dayak warriors razing Madurese villages are from the
\ninterior, where there is less contact with Madurese. \"Many Dayaks
\nhere don't have a problem with the Madurese,\" said Pastor Willy
\nYacob of Ngabang. \"But the Dayaks from the interior view the
\nMadurese as their enemies, because the Madurese often threaten
\ntheir children studying in the cities,\" he said. This inward
\nbehavior reflects their education. In the upstream villages, the
\neducation level is still very low, with 84 percent of the
\npopulation having only an elementary school education.<\/p>\n
Pastor Yeremis of Menjalin parish, which saw 5,000 Dayak
\nrefugees during the peak of the violence, says that the Madurese
\nare now scapegoats of pent-up Dayak anger. He explains that the
\nDayak, docile for many decades, are reacting to years of
\npolitical, economic, and social marginalization. \"The Dayaks are
\nso gentle and generous, but they are also easily manipulated and
\nused. This frustration is exploding now, and manifesting in their
\nconflict with the Madurese,\" he said.<\/p>\n
Angry Dayaks are sweeping down by the thousands from the
\nKapuas Hulu, Sambas, and Putussibao regencies by Malaysia's
\nSarawak border, crying war and injustice. Although more
\ntraditional than their southern kin, inland Dayak societies are
\nstill being eroded by government-led modernization. The famous
\ncommunal longhouses have been replaced by single-family
\ndwellings, simultaneously taking away the oral traditions,
\ncultural cohesion, and political unity, of longhouse culture.<\/p>\n
\"The structures of their villages are being transformed. Their
\ntraditional leaders are coopted into becoming civil servants,\"
\nsaid Pastor Yeremis.<\/p>\n
Societal restructuring is not the only change modernization
\nbrings. As vital to the Dayaks, and to the unrest, is the
\nstripping away of their traditional land for the interests of
\ntransmigrants and commercial plantations. \"This is about land
\nconflict,\" said Laurentius Kadir, a Dayak and head of the
\nprovince's Directorate for Village Development. \"What has to be
\ndone is more balanced development,\" he said.<\/p>\n
Structural poverty<\/p>\n
Structural poverty may be the core issue, but not economic
\ninequity between the Dayaks and Madurese. Even the Dayaks
\nthemselves admit many Madurese are poor, although some
\ntransmigrants have prospered. More important than differences in
\neconomic status are the means by which some Madurese gained their
\nwealth.<\/p>\n
\"Many Madurese are becak (three-wheel pedicab) drivers or
\nconstruction workers. Sure, some are rich, but we're not jealous.
\nWhat we don't like is the way they've gotten their land with
\ngovernment help,\" said a Dayak who requested anonymity.<\/p>\n
Complaints of land conflict illustrate the relative poverty of
\nthe general population, whether Dayak, Madurese, or Javanese.
\nMartinus, a Dayak man whose house in Kepayang was burned by angry
\nMadurese said: \"Some of the burned Madurese houses were very
\nluxurious -- some of them cost Rp 20 million (US$8333)\".<\/p>\n
Martinus' family, now in hiding, exemplifies the Dayaks'
\nincreasing marginalization. Initially, the family had a lot of
\nswidden land in the area. But during the 20-year fallow period
\ntraditional shifting cultivation requires, bit by bit their land
\nwas \"borrowed\", with government consent, by migrant Madurese.
\nLacking legal papers to their traditional land and confronted by
\nlaws which declare all uncertified land as state possessions,
\nprotests over land theft were often futile. \"We resent the
\nMadurese taking our land, but we also resent the government for
\nnot protecting our rights,\" said one Dayak.<\/p>\n
The shrinking size of their traditional land has adversely
\naffected not only community harmony but also local income. As
\nland availability diminishes, Dayak farmers are forced to shorten
\ntheir fallow period to five years, thus destroying the
\nsustainability of the fragile ecosystem. West Kalimantan is now
\nthe island's poorest region, the land depleted of rich soil and
\nreplaced by alang-alang (parasitic weeds). Once a vast rain
\nforest, the landscape has been transformed into unproductive
\nsavanna.<\/p>\n
The loss of forest cover due to intensive farming and alang-
\nalang has brought about abnormally long dry seasons. \"West
\nKalimantan is facing severe environmental degradation.
\nPreviously, you had uncyclic dry periods every 100 years, now you
\ncan have dry periods of up to six months,\" said environmental
\nscientist Frank Momberg, who spent a year conducting field
\nresearch in West Kalimantan. Exceptionally long dry seasons also
\nmeans forest fires, which halt economic activity. \"The planes
\nstop flying, the ships stop coming in because there is too much
\nhaze from the forest fires,\" said Momberg.<\/p>\n
The Dayaks' progressive poverty is exacerbated, says Momberg,
\nby the spread of palm oil and rubber plantations. Currently, 2.3
\nmillion hectares of land are allocated by the government for
\ncommercial plantations, making West Kalimantan Indonesia's second
\nlargest plantation area after Riau. Few Dayaks are involved in
\nthese projects.<\/p>\n
In some cases, these projects do not even provide jobs for the
\nDayaks. Despite an annual export-led growth rate of 10.7 percent,
\nWest Kalimantan has a high local unemployment rate: 13 percent in
\n1995. \"These projects have to stop bringing in labor from
\noutside. They must hire Dayaks too,\" said Laurentius Kadir.<\/p>\n
The big estates are making big money at the expense of
\nradically transforming traditional Dayak economy. Historically,
\nDayak farming methods were \"mutually supportive\", alternating
\nrice planting with commercial crops. The rice was harvested for
\nsubsistence, while the other crops, such as rubber and tengkawang
\n(illipe nuts used for cosmetics), were traded for essential
\ngoods.<\/p>\n
In the 1980s, the green revolution arrived, and with it a new
\norientation towards land. Offering credit of Rp 9 million per
\nfield, the International Body for Rubber Smallholder Development
\nencouraged farmers to establish monoculture rubber plantations,
\nwhich produced higher yields but required more labor. Many Dayaks
\nthen devoted more of their land to cash crops, leaving them with
\nfewer subsistence crops and forcing them to buy additional rice.<\/p>\n
To the Dayaks, increasing consumption meant more debt. The
\nDayak live by a barter system, and, forced by physical isolation
\nfrom more just market forces, began to sell their crops at below-
\nmarket prices.<\/p>\n
Yet turning to rubber tapping at least safeguarded Dayak land
\nand livelihood. \"If managed well, you can get a good return on
\nrubber,\" said Frank Momberg.<\/p>\n
More damaging was the proliferation of palm oil estates. In
\nthe 1980s, Dayak communities across the province protested being
\nforced to give up 25 hectares of their traditional land in
\ncompensation for only 2 hectares in palm oil plantation schemes
\n-- land then handed over to transmigrants and commercial estates.
\nIn recent years the Dayaks have burned three plantations in
\nprotest of land appropriation.<\/p>\n
The Dayaks complain that their interests would be better
\nserved with more Dayaks in government. Governor Aspar Aswin, they
\npoint out, is from Lampung, while many government officials are
\nnon-Dayak, despite the fact that the province is 51 percent
\nDayak. \"There are even more Irianese in government in Irian Jaya
\nthan there are Dayaks in government in Kalimantan,\" said Frank
\nMomberg.<\/p>\n
\"The Dayaks simply want more representation in parliament,\"
\nsaid Pastor Yeremis.<\/p>\n
But the quest for social justice is hindered by the perception
\nthat the few Dayaks in government, particularly those negotiating
\nthe peace process, represent the interests of big business.<\/p>\n
\"The Dayaks here feel they are treated unfairly. We have to
\nsell our land cheaply. Is this justice?,\" said a Dayak.<\/p>\n
Yet, as the Dayaks savagely assert their rights, a bigger
\nquestion is whether brutality will recover the justice the
\nmarginalized Dayaks have lost.<\/p>",
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