Gender equality a threat to unique Donggala silk

Gender equality a threat to unique Donggala silk

Hera Diani, The Jakarta Post, Donggala, Central Sulawesi

Juleha, 67, is proud of the fact that three of her daughters, of
five children, have their own careers and are financially
independent.

Yet, the resident of Kabonga Kecil village, Banawa district,
complained about how young women today refuse to learn the skill
that has been passed down through generations: weaving.

"My daughters just don't want to do this. They're lazy, or
have got too many other things to do: teaching and working. And
while they're at work, they drop their children here and ask me
to mind them," sighed the woman at a recent visit I made to her
house.

In front of her was the traditional weaving equipment made of
ebony, gedokan, as Juleha prepared to work on another sarong in
the living room that noon.

Around her, two toddlers ran around the simple wooden house,
while one of her daughters-in-law was trying to put her baby to
sleep.

"If my grandchildren are not around, I can finish more
quickly," Juleha said while looking for her glasses, finding them
in a wooden box filled with thread.

She is justified in worrying, though, as Juleha is one of only
three elderly women left in the village with the skill to produce
traditional handwoven cloth.

Donggala regency is famous for its home industry that produces
handwoven cloth, or ikat, made of silk, which has become a
trademark of Central Sulawesi.

Unfortunately, handwoven textiles are on the brink of
extinction, as fewer and fewer women are willing to master the
skill, like Juleha's daughters.

At neighboring Wani village, there is not a single woman left
who can weave using gedokan. In the past, Wani was the most
famous place, turning out Donggala silks, using natural dyes.

Handwoven cloth is still produced in the area, but with more
modern, more sophisticated equipment (ATBM), which is faster and
more productive.

That is part of the reason why young women prefer to work with
ATBM, as a piece of cloth can be finished in less than a week,
compare with two weeks or even months if working with gedokan.

However, ATBM cannot produce certain motifs that are the
trademark of Donggala silk. Although slicker, ATBM cloth lacks
the detailing and unique "imperfections" found in traditional
handwoven cloth.

"Bombakota (a checkered motif) is difficult to make on ATBM.
It can't weave two-sided cloth like this either," Juleha said,
showing off one of her creations, where one side has golden
thread, which does not show through on the other.

Juleha has woven using both ATBM and gedokan, but since last
year, she gave up the ATBM as she found it too large and
cumbersome to operate in her old age.

She then recalled how she learned the craft back in the World
War II period, when the Japan colonized the country.

"We had plenty of food back then, but there was no fabric, let
alone clothes. The Japanese taught us how to plant cotton, make
thread and use natural dyes," said Juleha, whose husband is a
retired schoolteacher.

Today, she said, people here no longer used natural dye as it
could only be applied to cotton.

"But we don't produce cotton anymore, because it's really
difficult to weave. The material is easily broken. We only use
silk now, and that's what has made Donggala famous."

It was amazing to see Juleha installing the threads one by one
on the more-than-100-year-old gedokan, as she recognized well
what the motif would be, while it was still in the form of
thread.

"Hey, there's a high level of mathematics involved. There is
nothing that has not been calculated. I may only be an elementary
school graduate but I'm experienced," she bragged, laughing.

Now, she no longer breeds silkworms, making thread and dyeing
it. Others exist who can provide that service, and thread is
readily available on the market.

"But now it's becoming more expensive. Before the economic
crisis in 1997, three threadballs, which could produce one piece
of cloth, cost only Rp 25,000. Now they cost Rp 105,000," Juleha
said, shaking her head.

Her creations cost about Rp 300,000 to Rp 350,000, but Juleha
said the profit was not that great.

"Well, it's not bad, it helps my husband," she said.

But at least she does not have to look for customers, as
people come to her house: government officials, tourists and
others.

Sometimes they order, and many prefer purple, brown and grey
hues.

"It usually takes two weeks for me to make a piece of cloth.
My mother, though, worked very fast, taking only three days to a
week," Juleha said.

When asked whether she felt sad that handwoven silk might
become extinct, Juleha paused for a moment, looking into the
distance.

"I'm sad, of course, but well, what can I say?" she asked
wistfully, while continuing with her work.