Native land and soul: When will justice take root in S'wak?

Malaysiakini

a day ago

LETTER | For too long, the soil of Sarawak has been rich with contradiction. It is a land of rivers and rainforests, of ancestral memory and spiritual depth - but also a land of encroachment, exploitation, and bureaucratic cruelty.
Nowhere is this contradiction more painfully felt than in the long and unresolved battle over native customary rights (NCR) land.
Recently, PKR deputy president Nurul Izzah Anwar added her voice to what Sarawak's indigenous communities have been crying out for, not for years, but for generations.
In calling for an immediate halt to new licences issued over disputed lands and the expedition of surveys and legal ownership titles, she speaks not merely as a politician, but as a Malaysian with a conscience.
Her words cut to the heart of the matter: 'Land is more than just a place to live. It is part of their soul and identity.' That soul, however, has been eroded, piece by piece, hectare by hectare - while court victories ring hollow, and elderly men and women die waiting for land titles that never come.
A decade on the bureaucratic treadmill
Take the case of Mary anak Nakai (not her real name), someone personally known to me. For the past 10 years, this middle-aged Bidayuh woman has made the long trek from her kampung to various Land and Survey Department offices - from Kota Samarahan to the towering Menara Pelita in Petra Jaya.
She carries a neatly bound folder of letters, old maps, and hope - hoping that 'this visit' will be the one where someone finally tells her, 'Yes, puan, your land grant is approved.'
But each visit ends with the same bureaucratic riddle. One officer tells her the file is 'under review.' Another says it's 'with the legal unit.' The next time, the officer in charge is 'at a meeting.' If not in a meeting, then 'on duty outside.'
Sometimes, there's the cryptic 'we cannot locate your file'. And the cycle goes on.
Nakai now refers to the actual decision-maker as 'the ghost officer' or 'pegawai hantu' - ever-present in theory, but never seen in reality. Only when Nakai arrives, the 'hantu officer' (ghost officer) has a meeting and cannot be disturbed.
Her story, as she told me, is tragically familiar. Across Sarawak, countless NCR land applicants like Nakai have spent decades navigating red tape, only to die landless on land their families have lived on for generations.
Forgotten rights, forgotten lives
Names like Harrison Ngau and the late Bill Kayong are now etched into the legacy of resistance.
Kayong, shot dead in broad daylight in 2016, remains a martyr for the cause of NCR land. His killers may have faced justice, but the system that emboldens land grabs has yet to be dismantled.
Their struggle was not merely about court documents; it was about honouring the covenant between a people and their land.
It was about saying: 'We were here, we are here, and we have the right to stay.'
Numbers mask a deeper injustice
Deputy Premier Awang Tengah Ali Hasan recently reported that over 1.2 million hectares have been surveyed under the New NCR Land Survey Initiative since 2010, with nearly 936,000ha gazetted as Bumiputera Communal Reserves under Section 6 of the Sarawak Land Code.
On paper, these numbers seem promising.
But statistics don't show the heartbreak. They don't reflect the speed at which bulldozers have cleared sacred forests while villagers wait years just to have their land claims recognised. They don't show the faces of the elderly being told - yet again - to 'come back next week.'
And communal reserves are not the same as individual titles. Section 6 gives temporary security. Section 18 gives rightful ownership. That distinction means the world to the people living on that land.
When law lags behind morality
NCR is not merely a matter of administrative delay - it is a moral emergency. While state officials and companies profit from the spoils, communities are left navigating a legal labyrinth that too often leads nowhere.
And though courts have recognised the legitimacy of native land based on 'adat' (customary law), enforcement remains inconsistent, and victories too often remain confined to courtroom transcripts, not real-life outcomes.
It is one of the cruellest ironies of our modern federation: the Iban, Bidayuh, Orang Ulu, and Penan are treated as if they are squatters on their own ancestral land.
Generations have been born and buried on these lands. Sacred grounds, burial sites, fruit groves, rivers, and hunting trails - all mapped in memory and tradition - have long constituted a living system of land tenure that predates any Sarawak Land Code.
Yet, despite decades of promises and court affirmations, the land continues to be leased out to palm oil giants and timber tycoons with impunity.
Often, this happens without consultation, without consent, and without even the courtesy of compensation. The result is not just legal ambiguity; it is cultural violence.
A politician who knows
That's what makes Nurul Izzah's intervention especially significant. Here is a politician from Putrajaya - far from the hills and rivers of Sarawak - who not only understands the law, but 'feels' the issue.
Her call to action reflects rare empathy and clarity – as if she's telling Sarawakians, 'I hear you'.
She cited heroes like Ngau and Kayong and reminded the nation that 'land is not just for living, but for worship, culture, and the soul.'
To many Sarawakians, that sounds like the first time someone from Peninsular Malaysia truly gets it.
Let the land be theirs again
If the Sarawak government is sincere in its intentions, it must treat land rights not as a political concession but as a fundamental right.
Expedite the surveys. Issue the titles. Halt all new licences on disputed land. Recognise the sacred and sovereign connection between a people and their land.
To delay is to dispossess. To ignore is to erase. And to exploit is to colonise.
Until then, people like Mary anak Nakai will keep catching buses, making appointments, and circling the same bureaucratic merry-go-round, no music, no horses, no joy - just hope, prayer, and the aching wait for someone to finally say: 'This land is your land.'
The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of Malaysiakini.