Mitrardi
Sangkoyo
"The names of people in this essay have been altered, but their stories are real, gathered from interviews and conversations during several trips to the Mountain. ‘Asep,’ the late ‘Ujang,’ ‘Titin,’ and their histories really do exist, and somewhere along the northern slope of Mount Halimun, you will find a ‘Munjung’ and its grief-laden family of miners. The insertion of a narrative—a snippet, so to speak—of the daily experience of commoners is for the sole purpose of bringing back in a long-ignored detail in political science: that of the human factor."
"The names of people in this essay have been altered, but their stories are real, gathered from interviews and conversations during several trips to the Mountain. ‘Asep,’ the late ‘Ujang,’ ‘Titin,’ and their histories really do exist, and somewhere along the northern slope of Mount Halimun, you will find a ‘Munjung’ and its grief-laden family of miners. The insertion of a narrative—a snippet, so to speak—of the daily experience of commoners is for the sole purpose of bringing back in a long-ignored detail in political science: that of the human factor."
The words came out almost
incomprehensible, but with conviction. Asep squeezed his mother’s hand and gave her a gentle kiss (it’s alright), gave his father a slow nod, opened
the door, and walked out.
The tears would not come. Nor would he
let them—not yet.
“Lā ḥawla wa lā quwwata illā billāh,”[2] he whispered.
The words rang hollow in the chill
of the night.
The Mountain bore silent witness to
the victims of man and his eternal lust for gold.
• • •
Munjung[3]
is a small dusun or hamlet located about 30 kilometers southwest off the
city of Bogor, West Java—one
of many that occupy the northern slope of Mount Halimun.[4]
The local residents of Munjung have, for many years, relied on agriculture
(focusing on rice and a large mixture of vegetables), livestock, and freshwater
fishing to sustain their daily needs. All that began to change—slowly
at first, then drastically—with
the advent of mining. It started in 1974, when the national mining company, PT
Aneka Tambang (PT Antam), began to conduct geological testing in the Pongkor
region.[5]
What started out as small-scale surveys fledged into full-scale explorations,
culminating in the establishment and operation of the 5,058-hectare Pongkor
Gold Mining Venture in 1994.[6],
[7]
From
its inception, PT Antam’s
mining activities, fueled by rumors of a gold rush, attracted people from all
over the region. These miners, or gurandil as they are called, flocked
to the Nanggung and Sukajaya subdistricts to set up their own miniature
clandestine mining operations.[8],
[9]
Both corporate mining and gurandil are involved neck-deep in the
destabilization of the precarious social-ecological balance on the mountain
slope.
Over
the years, what used to be an almost completely agrarian society experienced a
severe cultural transformation. Less and less people are still tending their
fields. Previously common vegetables such as tomatoes, leeks, and spinaches,
now have to be imported from many kilometers downhill. Once finished
from middle or high school, younger generations race to flee their villages,
choosing to pursue low-wage jobs in the cities or abroad. Rising school and
living expenses force families to continue mining, lured by the prospect of
quick money.
The
ecological side of the story is no less haunting; mountain mining modifies not
only the landscape, but also the sensitive hydro-orological conditions
necessary for ecosystem reproduction. Chemicals released into water bodies and
the soil as a by-product of the mining process—such
as mercury,[10]
sodium cyanide,[11]
and arsenic—find
their way into the food chain through paddy fields and fishes, to be consumed,
finally, by the human body.,[12]
• • •
Asep shivered, quickening his steps to
heat his freezing legs while glancing left and right, keeping an alert watch
for any vipers that might be lurking in the underbrush. The sounds of the takbiran
that had repeatedly, relentlessly echoed throughout the night had ceased,
replaced by the sounds of the wind, the crickets, and the burning beating of
his own heart.
He was only four—
The cobblestone steps faded. As his
body continued the uphill trek, his mind slipped…
::
You were only four (when Ujang drank water from the
bottle that had previously held mercury).
Mom came too late (to stop Ujang from drinking).
Three years later, it all started to
go wrong.
(Ujang’s nervous system began to break down.
His eyesight started to deteriorate, his head was frequently attacked by
migrains, his body wracked by
periodical seizures.)
I remember carrying you, Jang… (into the bathroom, when, by 2007, his
legs started having difficulty moving.) I can still feel your weight on my
back.
We went everywhere together. (They were the closest of friends,
brother-in-arms, confidants, separated by only two years.)
How long do you have, brother? (WILL YOU MAKE IT UNTIL SHALAT ID?)
How long do any of us have?
Us, captive fugitives of the corrupted
meaning of wealth
Us, inheritors of loss
::
The mosque was empty. Asep chose a
spot near the podium and sat down, cross-legged. He closed his eyes and inhaled
deeply, trying to calm his tired breathing. (You are closer to us than our jugular
veins.)
His hands lifted up in prayer. (In
the end, we will all return to You.)
The tears came.
• • •
Halimun
is hardly an isolated case in Indonesia. From the Leuser National Park in Aceh
on the northern tip of Sumatra, all the way to the tallest peak of Papua, the
advent of the extractive industry—still
a dominant source of income for the country—has
been eating deep into the social-ecological resilience of the archipelago and
its inhabitants. The population explosion in many instances has been given too
much credit for ecological degradation.[13]
What is needed is an alternative
social-ecological parameter to measure economic competitiveness—one
which is based not on the pure logic of accumulation and expansion, but rather
on long-term social and ecological resilience. Such an alternative path should
be based on a more superior rationality for material and energy consumption,
alternative global protocols for material and energy use, and, perhaps most
difficult of all, a holarchic social learning practice where new instutions,
mechanisms, instruments, and ways of collaborating are put into a unified
perspective to resist futher social-ecological destruction and heal the damages
that have been wrought.
• • •
He uttered only one prayer. The only
one that mattered.
“Ya Allâh, kalau kematian lebih baik untuk
Ujang, ambil lah nyawanya, jangan biarkan dia menderita.”[14]
Again, and again, for what seemed
like an eternity.
Suddenly, Asep heard light but
hurried footsteps approaching in the distance—softly at first, then louder, tearing
at his solitude.
“Sep! Asep!”
It was his older sister, Titin. She
stood at the entrance of the mosque, flushed, her face brittly on the brink
between panic and composure.
“Ujang mulai parah-parah lagi.”[15]
Asep leapt to his feet and rushed
for his sandals. Without a word, the two of them ran down the rocky hill,
jogging at first, then sprinting. Let the vipers bite. Asep’s heart leapt into his mouth, his mind
blank.
That night, the Mountain bore
witness to the purity of its children, its keepers, tainted by the dark hands
of greed and injustice, borne on the dark, oozing mercuric and cyanidic
by-waters of the mines. The mines, factories of loss; the children, their
inheritors.
As the house loomed closer, a tiny
figure appeared from inside and walked slowly towards them. It was Titin’s daughter. She was crying.
“Aa Ujang udah meninggal.”[16]
Penulis adalah Mahasiswa Ilmu Politik, Universitas Indonesia dan Anggota SEMAR UI.
Artikel ini pernah dipresentasikan dalam konferensi "ICONIC" yang diadakan oleh PPI Jerman di Nurnberg (Kampus Technische Hochshule Nurnberg George-Simon-Ohm) pada 8 Nopember 2014.
Artikel ini pernah dipresentasikan dalam konferensi "ICONIC" yang diadakan oleh PPI Jerman di Nurnberg (Kampus Technische Hochshule Nurnberg George-Simon-Ohm) pada 8 Nopember 2014.
Bibliography
Lestari, Nina Indriati, 2007, “Illegal Gold Mining in West Java – Can Antam’s Community Development Programs Win Over Cynical Locals?” Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining in Asia-Pacific Case Study Series.
Muhammad, Chalid et al, “Deposits: The Ultimate Sacrifice, Mining Mount Pongkor,” KEREBOK, Volume 3,
Number 18, January 2012
Perusahaan
Perseroan (Persero) PT Aneka Tambang Tbk, Laporan Tahunan 2013
United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP) Division of Technology,
Industry and Economics (DTIE) and International Commission on Large Dams (ICOLD), 2001, “Tailings Dams- Risk of Dangerous
Occurrences, Lessons learnt from practical experiences, Bulletin 121”
Media and online references
Koran Tempo, 6 November 2001
Republika, 7
December 2001
Kompas, 11
December 2001
Heroe Baskoro, “Mendulang Emas Pongkor di Perut Gunung Halimun,” Kompas 1 April 1996
“1.100 Gurandil Masih Bertahan di Bukit Pongkor,”
5 April 2014,
PosKotaNews.com, http://poskotanews.com/2014/04/05/1-100-gurandil-masih-bertahan-di-bukit-pongkor/ (accessed 31 July 2014)
International Cyanide Management Code’s Directory of
Signatory Companies, http://www.cyanidecode.org/signatory-companies/directory-of-signatory-companies (accessed 31 July 2014)
National Department of Forestry’s page on the Halimun National Park, http://www.dephut.go.id/INFORMASI/TN%20INDO-ENGLISH/tn_halimun.htm (accessed 31 July 2014)
[1] “I’m going to go to the mosque.”
[2] A common dhikr or Muslim prayer in
Arabic, commonly translated as: “there is no power or strength except through
Allâh.”
[3] Pseudonym.
[4] A forest-covered peak rising up to almost
2,000 meters above sea level. The mountain and its forests, streams, and
waterfalls are home to a wild variety of plants and animals, alongside being
home to thousands of local inhabitants, who have lived spread-out for centuries
on its rainy slopes. Together, the mountain, its wildlife, and its human
inhabitants comprise a social-ecological historical entity, one that is of
immense ecological importance to its surrounding areas and to the entire island
of Java. The Halimun National Park, along with neighboring sister peak, the
Salak National Park, holds an irreplaceable hydrological function for the
surrounding lowland areas, not to mention the ecological balance that its
biodiversity contributes. See the National Department of Forestry’s page on the
Halimun National Park (http://www.dephut.go.id/INFORMASI/TN%20INDO-ENGLISH/tn_halimun.htm).
[5] Located in the Nanggung Subdistrict (the
same subdistrict as Munjung).
[6] Muhammad, Chalid et al, “Deposits: The
Ultimate Sacrifice, Mining Mount Pongkor,” KEREBOK, Volume 3, Number 18, January 2012. The Pongkor Gold Mine was
revealed in 1991 to hold 6 million tons of ore, with gold concentration
averaging 17.14 grams per ton. The first set of explorations were conducted
from 1974 until 1981. Due to
limited funds and workers, more attention was given at that time to the ancient
mine of Cikotok, West Java (Under control of the national Aneka Tambang company
since the 5th of July, 1968. See the Banten Provincial Government’s Culture and
Tourism Board page on the Cikotok gold mine, http://disbudpar.bantenprov.go.id/place/cikotok-gold-mine). When
Cikotok started to show declining reserves, PT Antam renewed its interest in
Pongkor, beginning an intensive three-year geological survey and exploration in
1988.
[7] In 2013, the
annual gold production rate of Pongkor ranged from 1,500 to 2,000 kilograms of
gold. See Perusahaan Perseroan (Persero) PT
Aneka Tambang Tbk, Laporan Tahunan 2013, p. 36.
[8] Ibid. Beginning in 1992,
they came slowly at first and in small numbers, comprised of local residents
who decided to try their lot in this newfound mineral farming. By 1997, however,
their numbers had increased sharply. In 2002, a reported 3,000 gurandil
operated around PT Antam’s concession area in Pongkor. This number has decreased in later years.
In 2014, the local mining agency of the Bogor subprovincial district estimated
around 1,100 gurandil still in operation. See “1.100 Gurandil Masih
Bertahan di Bukit Pongkor,” 5 April 2014, PosKotaNews.com, http://poskotanews.com/2014/04/05/1-100-gurandil-masih-bertahan-di-bukit-pongkor/
[9] Gurandil themselves are
organized in overlapping stages of gold production. There are gurandil
who mine directly in dug-up mine-shafts (lubang); some set up makeshift
pools (rendeman) around the mine mouths which mix chemicals with rocks
to strip away the gold—these two variants are concentrated around the main Pongkor mine and
throughout the entire northern slope of Mount Halimun, all the way to the
border with the province of Banten; there are those who operate from the back
of their homes in the dusun or hamlet using rotating drums in which the
gold ore is separated from the rock (gulundung); some use a variant of gulundung
which then heat the ore using mercury (gentong); last, some operate
small-scale refining plants which burns the gold to discard impurities (gebosan).
[10] Mercury is classified as an occupational
hazard by the World Health Organisation (WHO) and is highly toxic to humans,
ecosystems and wildlife. Even relatively low doses can have serious neuro-toxic
effects on adults and children. Mercury, once coming into contact with
anaerobic organisms in the environment, evolves into methyl mercury, a highly
dangerous form which can cross the placenta, entering the fetus and
accumulating in the brain and other tissues. See Lestari, Nina Indriati, 2007, “Illegal Gold
Mining in West Java – Can Antam’s Community Development Programs Win Over Cynical Locals?” Artisanal and
Small-Scale Mining in Asia-Pacific Case Study Series.
[11] PT Nusa Halmahera Minerals, of which PT
Antam has a 25 percent share, is a recognized cyanide transporter and
registered with the International Cyanide Management Institute. See the
International Cyanide Management Code’s Directory of Signatory Companies (http://www.cyanidecode.org/signatory-companies/directory-of-signatory-companies).
[12] According to Jatam, in 2002, an estimated
57.6 tons of mercury is deposited into the Cikaniki River as a byproduct of gurandil
mining acitivies. PT Antam deposits around 350,000 tons of tailing a year; 60
percent of that amount is reused, while the rest (some 140,000 tons) is then
dumped into tailings dams. (See Prasetyo, Radyan, 2008, “Kajian Pemanfaatan Limbah Penambangan Emas: Studi Kasus Pemanfaatan Tailing di PT. Antam UBPE
Pongkor,” postgraduate thesis presented to the University of Indonesia.) Although
corporate use of tailings dams is, in theory, a safe method of waste
mitigation, one should put into consideration the hundreds of recorded tailing
dam incidents that have occured worldwide since the early 1960s. See United
Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP) Division of Technology, Industry and
Economics (DTIE) and International Commission on Large Dams (ICOLD), 2001, “Tailings Dams - Risk of Dangerous Occurrences,
Lessons learnt from practical experiences, Bulletin 121”
[13] Aceh, East
Kalimantan, South Sumatra, Halmahera, and Papua, where the population density
is low, are registered among the highest ecological damages in the country.
[14] “O Allâh, if death
is better for Ujang, take his soul, do not let him suffer.”
[15] “Ujang is getting worse again.”
[16] “Brother Ujang has died.”
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