Transmigration, actually

An issue that I have been wanting to write about since I first came across it is transmigration. I actually wrote an entire blogpost about this months ago, but for whatever reason wasn’t quite happy with it and never posted it. Today, after what was perhaps my 5th trip to the Penjalaan Trans community, I have determined that I need to put some of my thoughts into words. Forgive the excess length in advance.

First, some background. Transmigration is the Indonesian government’s policy of subsidizing the migration of poor landless peoples from overcrowded “inner” islands such as Java and Bali to the less populated “outer” islands such as Papua, Sulawasi and Kalimantan. This controversial policy was originally started by the Dutch in the 19th century and eventually discontinued, only to be picked up again during the Suharto reign. The transmigrants are each given a small house and plot of land as well as some fertilizer and pesticide to start them off in their new life. The policy has many laudable qualities, namely trying to alleviate crowding and overpopulation and give people a new start, and it is not forced migration, however it has also been highly criticized. From the perspective the indigenous populations on these “lesser populated” islands the government is seen as simply trying to spread the already dominant Javanese influence, while simultaneously diminishing their resources. Indeed, the reason that the “underpopulated” islands were often much less populated stems partly from an inherent difference in the fertility of the land. The rich volcanic soils of Java and Bali are able to support a much denser population than the thin soil of Kalimantan. Thus, when the government clear cuts a swathe of forest and places a whole a group of alien people there has a number of obvious problems. The lack of trees makes the trans communities very hot and dry, yet prone to flooding. The transplanted farmers are often shocked and dismayed to see how much harder it is to get things to grow.

I first visited the Penjalaan trans community when I accompagnied Etty on a Penyuluhan (community environmental education).
Here is what I initially wrote:
The road there is considered very bad, and this is by Indonesian standards, not American. I had heard tales of the trans villages, but was not quite prepared for the bizarre and sad reality. While generally in Indonesia houses appear to be placed higgedly-piggedly, creating a happy sort of disorganization, the trans community has the alarming order of military barracks. We emerged from the dirt path in a huge cleared area (the government razed a large portion of the forest to create the space) with no trees for a few km in each direction. The community is split into several blocks referred to as “trans 1”, “trans 2”, etc. each of which is a road leading off of the main road with a long row of houses on each side. Behind each house is a small plot of land (allotted by the government) on which people can grow their vegetables or rice. The houses are all exactly the same, though some of been modified by adding an extra shack to the back, or made to look prettier with some flowers in the front etc. There is no electricity or running water. People cook over wood fires and collect their rainwater from their roofs. We went first to the house of gentleman from block 5, originally from central Java. Their house was small, two rooms in the front, one to the side with a tikkar sleeping mat on the floor covered in a mosquito net, and one empty but for a bamboo mat on the ground (Indonesian houses often have very little furniture, but the trans houses tend to be extreme examples), behind the front room was the “kitchen” with its smoky fire over which cassava were being deep fried into fritters known as kripik which the Ibu (mother) then spiced and sold at the school. Behind the house was an outhouse, as well as a newly built pen for their newly acquired goats. And of course, a handful of chickens running all around outside.

Thus, I experienced some of the best hospitality I’ve had yet. We sat in the front room and dined on freshly fried cassava chips (keripik) and chatted in a mixture of Indonesian/Javanese/English (the Ibu knew quite a few English words, as she was proud to show). It was remarkably lovely. Soon, a small horde of local kids started showing up and sitting by the door/on the front porch. We tried to buy some of the keripik, but of course were not allowed to, and forced to take a whole bag stuffed full. Next, a woman across the street proudly showed us her vegetable garden and gave us three delicious cucumbers. Her adorable little son hid in her arms and she explained that he thought I was a doctor coming to give him shots since we had shown up in the ambulance. Finally, we visited Pak Maskur, whom I imagine to be one of ASRI’s star pupils. He was so excited to show us his vegetables patches, new cow, and compost pile. Here too they made cassava chips, so we snacked some more out on their front porch as the entire neighborhood seemed to slowly gather around us. Though my Bahasa Indonesia is not yet good enough to understand everything, smiles are universal.

Though everyone seemed generally happy, and they were all so wonderfully gracious, I could not help but wonder about their lives. First, what sort of poverty had driven them to move away from their homes to this inaccessible corner of an island without trees and notoriously difficult soil? Second, what sorts of opportunities were now available to their kids? The elementary school was in the kampung (village outside the trans area), close to the village head’s house we had been at earlier, an easy enough bicycle ride away. The middle school however was much farther, and the high school so far that it seemed almost laughable, an hour and a half at least by bike, maybe more. When it rained, they said, they kids couldn’t go to school. I wondered too about assimilation. If they were all off down this road in their enclosed community how could they ever hope to assimilate?

Today I look back on this first impression and realize while I now have a somewhat deeper understanding of the community, and a much deeper attachment many of my questions are still unanswered. My primary project for the past few months has been to conduct a survey of those who had previously attended ASRI’s organic farm training last summer. Penjalaan was among the the five villages that participated, and about half of the trainees were from the trans community necessitating several trips with iin to survey.

I still marvel at the hospitality of these people. While Indonesians are generally gracious and we are served a drink fairly regularly when interviewing, Last Thursday when Iin and I were there we forgot to eat lunch because we were so full from eating snack and drinking very sweet tea at every house (I actually think this is an occupational hazard and I blame my future obesity and diabetes on being a polite guest).

As I returned more to the community, however, I also began to notice how many of the homes were empty: I would say almost half, though the community is only 3 years old, and it’s no wonder. The community is highly isolated making it extremely difficult to do any work aside from farming, while the farming is very difficult due to the very acidic nature of the soil there. Many people high-tail it back to Java just as soon as they can.

This behavior is what worries me most about the trans communities and frustrates me most about the governments plan to continue building them. In Riam Berasap, another survey site, we recently heard about plans for a new trans community to be built, but why bother when there are so many empty houses already elsewhere? Another case of unintended consequences...the government has good intentions, but moving people is is not as simple as it seems and so much of the forest is getting lost along the way.