Why, I can't see the smoke for the fires

Flying was not a big deal for me until an incident a couple of years ago. I had to fly in four different planes for 30 hours almost non-stop, squashed in economy class, the trip ending in Slovakia under the tight scrutiny of heavily armed troops.

Now I despise flying. In fact I have never met anyone who really takes to the "joy" of flying. Who would have a high time sitting in cramped rows of poorly padded chairs, in between strangers who are either a chatterbox, having flatulence problems or taking delight in resting their lolling head on your shoulder.

My recent trip from Yogyakarta to Jakarta brought back that jittery feeling. The plane was approaching the airport, when I suddenly sniffed something suspicious. I smelled smoke.

Fire!

"A darn plane I'm on is finally on fire!" I whispered to myself.

I looked through the diminutive window, to find out if the wings were still safely attached and not covered in flames. Finally, I alerted one of the ever-smiling flight attendants.

"It's OK, it's only the smoke from the burning forests in Sumatra. The wind picked it up and it's partly absorbed into the plane's air conditioning systems."

Alrighttty then: The important thing, obviously, was that our plane was safe and that fire was somebody else's problem.

Now, the fire probably has eaten up half of Sumatra's forest, but not to worry, I thought, sucking the mint-flavored candy the attendant gave me ("It'll help get rid of the smoky scent," she cooed).

Since early this year, the seemingly permanent forest fires of Sumatra and Kalimantan have breached the tolerable limit, again. A lot of people who never dreamed of being affected by the fire, like myself, have felt its impact, in minor and major ways.

That includes the millions of people who live in Singapore and Malaysia, for example, not to mention the poor people who are trapped inside a plane because the pilot will not dare to take off or land due to the limited visibility.

It's rather strange -- if you ask any Jakartans about the fires, most of them probably reply something along the lines of, "Oh, yes, it's happening somewhere in Indonesia," choosing to ignore the reality that it's in their backyard.

We are blissfully ignorant, like my case in the plane, that due to the fires, almost 10 million hectares of forest and nonforest land in Indonesia was burned back in 1998, affecting the lives of about 75 million Indonesians.

And while it only covers less than 6 percent of the earth's surface, tropical rain forest contains more than 50 percent of the total world's biodiversity. Meaning? Well, maybe, just maybe one tiny moss that could help cure AIDS or cancer went up in smoke in this year's forest fire.

It sickens me to know that the progressive loss of forest cover, using fire as the clearance tool, continues from year to year, mainly under the pressure of so-called economic development.

Who is to blame? The small-scale farmers who have been practicing slash and burn agriculture methods for generations to survive? If that is so, then why weren't there uncontrollable forest fires a generation ago?

Or should we blame the large-scale plantation estates? Or is it the government's fault for issuing the licenses to those estates, and then letting them do as they please?

Or is it the fault of the big D -- the country's development?

Whoever is to blame, the destructive rate of the red devil is very high. In Sumatra, the highlands are the only remaining forested areas since they are too steep for agriculture or plantations, while less hilly areas are still scheduled to be converted to oil palm plantations or destined for pulp and paper la-la land.

Can't we just completely ban the setting of fires, no matter how small, in a forested area? Especially in Sumatra and Kalimantan which are heavily infested with juvenile peat, peat swamp and coal seams which -- hello? -- are almost as combustible as gasoline?

The penance for these pyromaniacs could be a jail term for 10 years, inside a tiny aluminum cubicle under the scorching heat of the sun. The ban idea sounds easy, unless a million dollar project happens to be in the way, of course.

And I suspect perhaps there are many idiots out there who enjoy seeing innocent people like me get freaked out on a plane trip. They no doubt take some perverse pleasure in seeing Singaporeans wear masks to protect their lungs, witnessing fellow Indonesians lose their homes and the world's green treasures blackened to ashes, just so they can pocket the enticing reward.

Almost a decade ago I was in the middle of a virgin forest in Sumatra, watching five local people standing before a giant tree with their chain saw at the ready. The diameter of the tree was close to two meters.

I imagined the life of a tree that had endured for hundreds of years was about to end. The chain saw roared. The tree was bleeding, the strong fibers cracked, the canopy swayed wildly before it crashed to earth with a loud boom. Tears flowed down my cheeks, and it was not because of the tiny debris that flew into my eyes.

Really, I don't oppose development. But why does something so beautiful have to suffer for it?

I know a lot of people are standing near the raging forest fires today with tears rolling down their cheeks. But I wonder if it is because of the sad phenomenon, or is it merely because of the hot smoke getting in their eyes?

-- Aida Greenbury