Nickel rush for stainless steel, EVs guts Indonesia tribe's forest home
'I'm worried if they keep destroying the forest,' Bokum told AFP in a clearing in central Halmahera. 'We have no idea how to survive without our home and food.' The plight of the Hongana Manyawa, or 'People of the Forest', started gaining attention in Indonesia last year after a video widely shared on Facebook showed emaciated, un-contacted members emerging from their rapidly changing forest home to beg for food. But the remote region - about 1,500 miles (2,414 kilometers) from capital Jakarta - mostly remains far from the public consciousness.
AFP travelled into the Halmahera jungle to see how the sprawling Weda Bay Nickel concession has affected the once-pristine tribal lands that the Hongana Manyawa call home. During a three-day, 36-kilometre trek across parts of the 45,000-hectare concession, the mining operation's impacts were starkly clear. Booms from controlled explosions to expose nickel shook birds from trees, while helicopters buzzing overhead shared the skies with green parrots, Moluccan owls, hornbills and giant bees.
Tree stumps provided evidence of logging, and off-duty mine guards were seen hunting tropical birds with air guns. Throughout the night, the sound of excavators scratching the topsoil penetrated the thick vegetation, competing with frog calls and the drone of insects. Mud that locals say is stirred up by mining has stained rivers copper, and the water leaves skin irritated. In 22 river crossings, only a few fish were visible. Tribe members say they have mostly disappeared. AFP did not seek to meet un-contacted Hongana Manyawa.
Bokum emerged from isolation earlier in his life, but still has very limited contact with the outside world. He and his wife Nawate agreed to meet AFP around 45 minutes from his home deeper in the jungle. But he could not stay long: en route, he spotted miners and wanted to return to ward them off. 'The company workers have been trying to map our territory,' he told AFP, wearing a black cowboy hat, shirt and rolled-up jeans. 'It's our home and we will not give it to them.'
Indonesia's constitution enshrines Indigenous land rights, and a 2013 Constitutional Court ruling promised to give local communities greater control of their customary forests. But environmental groups say the law is not well enforced. With no land titles, the Hongana Manyawa have little chance of asserting their claims to stewardship of forest that overlaps with Weda Bay's concession. According to Weda Bay Nickel (WBN), its mine on Indonesia's Maluku islands accounted for 17 percent of global nickel production in 2023, making it the largest in the world. WBN is a joint venture of Indonesia's Antam and Singapore-based Strand Minerals, with shares divided between French mining giant Eramet and Chinese steel major Tsingshan. — AFP
WBN told AFP it is 'committed to responsible mining and protecting the environment', and trains employees to 'respect local customs and traditions'. It said there is 'no evidence that un-contacted or isolated groups are being impacted by WBN's operations'. Eramet told AFP it has requested permission from WBN's majority shareholders for an independent review of 'engagement protocols' with Hongana Manyawa, expected this year.
Further review of how the tribe uses the area's forests and rivers is also underway, it added, though it said there was currently 'no evidence' of members living in isolation in its concession. The Indonesian government, which acknowledges most of the concession was previously protected forest, told AFP otherwise. There is 'recognition of evidence of the existence of isolated tribes around Weda Bay', said the directorate general of coal and minerals at Indonesia's energy ministry. It said it was committed to 'protecting the rights of Indigenous peoples and ensuring that mining activities do not damage their lives and environment.'
Indigenous rights NGO Survival International said that was Jakarta's first acknowledgement of un-contacted, or 'isolated', Hongana Manyawa in the area. It called the admission a 'hammer blow' to Eramet's claims and said a no-go area to protect the tribe was 'the only way to prevent their annihilation'. Both WBN and Eramet said they work to minimize impact on the environment. Eramet's new CEO was in Indonesia last week seeking permission to expand the mine's capacity. Tsingshan and Antam did not respond to AFP requests for comment.
Bokum said mining has driven away the wild pigs, deer and fish he once caught for food. Now, he looks for shrimp and frogs in less-affected smaller streams. 'Since the company destroyed our home, our forest, we've been struggling to hunt, to find clean water,' he said in the Indigenous Tobelo language. 'If they keep destroying our forest we cannot drink clean water again.'
'Go away'
Nickel is central to Indonesia's growth strategy. It banned ore exports in 2020 to capture more of the value chain. The country is both the world's largest producer and home to the biggest-known reserves. Mining - dominated by coal and nickel - represented nearly nine percent of its GDP in the first quarter of 2025, government data shows. Nickel mined in the Halmahera concession is processed at the Weda Bay Industrial Park. Since operations began in 2019, the area has transformed rapidly into what some call a 'Wild West'.
At a checkpoint near the industrial park, men stopped AFP to demand cash and forced our vehicle to move elsewhere, before a local government official intervened. The towns on the mine edge - Lelilef Sawai, Gemaf and Sagea - form a chaotic frontier. Employees in hard hats crisscross muddy roads that back up with rush-hour traffic. Shops catering to laborers line the roadside, along with prostitutes looking for business in front of bed bug-infested hostels. The mining workforce has more than doubled since 2020 to nearly 30,000 people.
Locals say these are mostly outsiders whose arrival has sparked tensions and coincided with rising cases of respiratory illness and HIV/AIDS. Smelter towers belch a manmade cloud visible from kilometers away. 'Mining companies have not implemented good practices, have violated human rights and there is rarely any evaluation,' said Adlun Fiqri, spokesman for the Save Sagea campaign group. Inside the jungle, a similar story is playing out, said Hongana Manyawa member Ngigoro, who emerged from the un-contacted as a child. 'Long before the mining, it was really quiet and good to live in the forest,' said the 62-year-old, as he marked his route by slicing pock-marks into trees with his machete.
He remains at ease in the forest, using reeds for shade and bamboo shoots to boil water. 'There was no destruction. They were not afraid of anything,' he said. He climbed nimbly down a steep slope by clinging to tree roots before crossing a riverbed peppered with garnierite - green nickel ore. 'This land belongs to the Hongana Manyawa,' he said. 'They existed living in the rainforest before even the state existed. So go away.' That sentiment echoes elsewhere on Halmahera. At least 11 Indigenous people were recently arrested for protesting mining activity in the island's east, Amnesty International said Monday.
'We will not give our consent'
Despite their 'contacted' status, Bokum and Nawate have rarely met outsiders. They approached haltingly, with Nawate refusing to speak at all, instead surveying her visitors with a cautious smile. Bokum described moving at least six times to outrun encroaching miners. NGOs fear the mine operation risks wiping out the tribe. 'They rely entirely on what nature provides for them to survive and as their rainforest is being devastated so too are they,' said Callum Russell, Asia research and advocacy officer at Survival International. 'Any contact with workers in the forest runs the risk of exposing them to deadly diseases to which they have little to no immunity.'
The government told AFP it has 'conducted documentation' to understand isolated tribes near Weda Bay, and involved them 'in the decision-making process'. Activists say this is impossible given most of the group do not use modern technology and limit contact with outsiders. Amid growing scrutiny, there have been rumblings of support for the tribe, including from some senior politicians. Tesla, which has signed deals to invest in Indonesian nickel, has mooted no-go zones to protect Indigenous peoples.
And Swedish EV company Polestar last year said it would seek to avoid compromising 'uncontacted tribes' in its supply chain. For Bokum however, the problem is already on his doorstep. A 2.5-kilometre-long open pit lies just over the hill from a plot where he grows pineapple and cassava. Bokum and Nawate received mobile phones from mine workers - in an unsuccessful attempt to convince them to approve mining operations. They and other tribe members use numerical codes to identify contacts and make calls. They must approach the concession to pick up signal, but when mine workers near his home, Bokum wields his machete to scare them off. 'This is our land. Our home,' he said. 'We will not give our consent to destroy it.' — AFP
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Kuwait Times
14 hours ago
- Kuwait Times
Plastic pollution plague blights Asia
GENEVA: Kulsum Beghum sorts waste at a landfill in Dhaka. Her blood contains 650 microplastic particles per milliliter, according to an analysis funded by a waste pickers' union. 'Plastic is not good for me,' she told AFP through a translator during an interview in Geneva, where she came to bear witness on the sidelines of 184-nation talks to forge the world's first global plastic pollution treaty. 'It started 30 years ago' in the Bangladeshi capital, the 55-year-old said, supported by her union. At first, 'plastic was for cooking oil and soft drinks', she recalled. Then came shopping bags, which replaced traditional jute bags. 'We were attracted to plastic, it was so beautiful!' Today, in one of the most economically fragile countries on the planet, plastic is everywhere: lining the streets, strewn across beaches, clogging the drains. Alamgir Hossain, a member of an association affiliated with the International Alliance of Waste Pickers, showed photos on her phone. Beghum wants non-recyclable plastics banned, pointing out that she cannot resell them and they have no market value. 'No one collects them,' she said. 'Disaster for the environment' Indumathi from Bangalore in southern India, who did not give her full name, concurs: 60 percent of the plastic waste that arrives at the sorting center she set up is non-recyclable, she told AFP. This includes crisp packets made of a mixture of aluminium and plastic, and other products using 'multi-layer' plastic. 'No one picks them up from the streets and there are a lot of them,' she said. Scientists attending the treaty negotiations at the United Nations in Geneva back her up. 'Multi-layer plastic bags are a disaster for the environment,' said Stephanie Reynaud, a polymer chemistry researcher at France's National Centre for Scientific Research. 'They cannot be recycled.' Indumathi was also critical of what she described as public policy failures. After single-use bags were banned in her country in 2014, for example, she saw the arrival of black or transparent polypropylene lunchboxes, which are also single-use. 'We're seeing more and more of them on the streets and in landfills. They've replaced shopping bags,' she said. According to a recent OECD report on plastic in Southeast Asia, 'more ambitious public policies could reduce waste by more than 95 percent by 2050' in the region, where plastic consumption increased ninefold since 1990 to 152 million tons in 2022. Plastics 'colonialism' Consumer demand is not to blame, argues Seema Prabhu of the Swiss-based NGO Trash Heroes, which works mainly in Southeast Asian countries. The market has been flooded with single-use plastic replacing traditional items in Asia, such as banana leaf packaging in Thailand and Indonesia, and metal lunch boxes in India. 'It's a new colonialism that is eroding traditional cultures,' she told AFP. According to her, more jobs could be created 'in a reuse economy than in a single-use economy'. Single-dose 'sachets' of shampoo, laundry detergent or sauces are a scourge, said Yuyun Ismawati Drwiega, an Indonesian who co-chairs the International Pollutants Elimination Network NGO. 'They are the smallest plastic items with which the industry has poisoned us—easy to carry, easy to obtain; every kiosk sells them,' she told AFP. In Indonesia, collection and sorting centers specializing in sachets have failed to stem the tide, mostly shutting down not long after opening. In Bali, where Ismawati Drwiega lives, she organizes guided tours that she has nicknamed 'Beauty and the Beast'. The beauty is the beaches and luxury hotels; the beast is the back streets, the tofu factories that use plastic briquettes as fuel, and the rubbish dumps. – AFP
Kuwait Times
2 days ago
- Kuwait Times
China's Gen Z women embrace centuries-old script
At a studio in central China's Hunan province, a teacher grips an ink brush, gently writing characters of a secret script created by women centuries ago and now being embraced by a new generation. Nushu, meaning 'women's script', emerged around 400 years ago. Barred from attending school, the women secretly learned Chinese characters and adapted them into Nushu, using the script to communicate with each other through letters, song and embroidery. Passed down through generations of women in the remote and idyllic county of Jiangyong, it is now gaining popularity nationwide among Chinese women who view it as a symbol of strength. Student Pan Shengwen said Nushu offered a safe way for women to communicate with each other. 'It essentially creates a sanctuary for us,' the 21-year-old told AFP. 'We can express our thoughts, confide in our sisters and talk about anything.' Compared to Chinese characters, Nushu words are less boxy, more slender and shaped like willow leaves. 'When writing... your breathing must be calm, and only then can your brush be steady,' Pan said. On Instagram-like Xiaohongshu, the hashtag 'Nushu' has been viewed over 73.5 million times -- mostly featuring young women sharing tattoos and other modern work incorporating the old script. Student He Jingying told AFP she had been enrolled in a Nushu class by her mother and that writing it brought her 'a deep sense of calm'. 'It feels like when the brush touches the paper, a kind of strength flows into you.' Teacher Xu Yan writing Nushu characters during a workshop in Beijing. A student holding a book with Nushu characters during a workshop in Beijing. Xu Yan (right) teaching students during a Nushu workshop in Beijing. This picture shows students writing Nushu characters during a workshop in Beijing. Xu Yan (left) teaching students to write Nushu characters during a workshop in Beijing. The aerial photo shows Goulan Yao Village in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. Nushu inheritor Hu Xin (right) writing Nushu calligraphy in a hotel conference room repurposed as a temporary classroom in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. Nushu inheritor He Yuejuan writing Nushu calligraphy at her workshop in Goulan Yao Village in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. Against 'injustice' Nushu is more than just a writing system -- it represents the lived experiences of rural women from the county, Zhao Liming, a professor at Beijing's Tsinghua University, told AFP. 'It was a society dominated by men,' said Zhao, who has been studying Nushu for four decades. 'Their works cried out against this injustice,' she said. The words are read in the local dialect, making it challenging for native Chinese speakers not from the region to learn it. Teacher He Yuejuan said the writing is drawing more attention because of its elegance and rarity. 'It seems to be quite highly regarded, especially among many students in the arts,' He told AFP outside her gallery, which sells colorful merchandise, including earrings and shawls with Nushu prints. As a Jiangyong native, He said Nushu was 'part of everyday life' growing up. After passing strict exams, she became one of 12 government-designated 'inheritors' of Nushu and is now qualified to teach it. Nushu instructor Jiang Yanying conducting a pronunciation lesson in a hotel conference room repurposed as a temporary classroom in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. Nushu inheritor He Yuejuan writing Nushu calligraphy at her workshop in Goulan Yao Village in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. The photo shows a student writing Nushu calligraphy in a hotel conference room repurposed as a temporary classroom in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. Nushu inheritor He Yuejuan (center) talking with university students at her workshop at Goulan Yao Village in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. People learning Nushu pronunciation in a hotel conference room repurposed as a temporary classroom in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. People learning Nushu calligraphy in a hotel conference room repurposed as a temporary classroom in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. Nushu inheritor He Yuejuan (right) displaying a Nushu calligraphy work at her workshop at Goulan Yao Village in Jiangyong county, southern China's Hunan province. 'Really special' An hour's drive away, around a hundred Nushu learners packed into a hotel room to attend a week-long workshop organized by local authorities trying to promote the script. Zou Kexin, one of the many participants, told AFP she had read about Nushu online and wanted to 'experience it in person'. 'It's a unique writing system belonging to women, which makes it really special,' said Zou, 22, who attends a university in southwestern Sichuan province. Animation student Tao Yuxi, 23, one of the handful of men attending the workshop, told AFP he was learning Nushu to gain inspiration for his creative work. He said his aunt was initially confused about why he was learning Nushu, as it is not typically associated with men. As it represents part of China's cultural heritage, Nushu has to be passed down, he said. 'It's something that everyone should work to preserve -- regardless of whether they are women or men.' — AFP
Kuwait Times
2 days ago
- Kuwait Times
With poetry and chants, Omanis strive to preserve ancient language
Against the backdrop of southern Oman's lush mountains, men in traditional attire chant ancient poems in an ancient language, fighting to keep alive a spoken tradition used by just two percent of the population. Sitting under a tent, poet Khalid Ahmed al-Kathiri recites the verses, while men clad in robes and headdresses echo back his words in the vast expanse. 'Jibbali poetry is a means for us to preserve the language and teach it to the new generation,' Kathiri, 41, told AFP. The overwhelming majority of Omanis speak Arabic, but in the mountainous coastal region of Dhofar bordering Yemen, people speak Jibbali, also known as Shehri. Researcher Ali Almashani described it as an 'endangered language' spoken by no more than 120,000 people in a country of over five million. 'Protected by isolation' While AFP was interviewing the poet, a heated debate broke out among the men over whether the language should be called Jibbali -- meaning 'of the mountains' -- or Shehri, and whether it was an Arabic dialect. Almashani said it was a fully-fledged language with its own syntax and grammar, historically used for composing poetry and proverbs and recounting legends. The language predates Arabic, and has origins in Semitic south Arabian languages, he said. He combined both names in his research to find a middle ground. 'It's a very old language, deeply rooted in history,' Almashani said, adding that it was 'protected by the isolation of Dhofar'. 'The mountains protected it from the west, the Empty Quarter from the north, and the Indian Ocean from the south. This isolation built an ancient barrier around it,' he said. But remoteness is no guarantee for survival. An aerial picture shows a touristic spot on the Wadi Darbat lake in the region of Dhofar, near Oman's Salalah city.--AFP photos Other languages originating from Dhofar like Bathari are nearly extinct, 'spoken only by three or four people,' he said. Some fear Jibbali could meet the same fate. Thirty-five-year-old Saeed Shamas, a social media advocate for Dhofari heritage, said it was vital for him to raise his children in a Jibbali-speaking environment to help keep the language alive. Children in Dhofar grow up speaking the mother-tongue of their ancestors, singing along to folk songs and memorizing ancient poems. 'If everyone around you speaks Jibbali, from your father, to your grandfather, and mother, then this is the dialect or language you will speak,' he said. Not yet documented The ancient recited poetry and chants also preserve archaic vocabulary no longer in use, Shamas told AFP. Arabic is taught at school and understood by most, but the majority of parents speak their native language with their children, he said. After the poetry recital, a group of young children nearby told AFP they 'prefer speaking Jibbali over Arabic'. But for Almashani, the spectre of extinction still looms over a language that is not taught in school or properly documented yet. There have been recent efforts towards studying Jibbali, with Oman's Vision 2040 economic plan prioritizing heritage preservation. Almashani and a team of people looking to preserve their language are hoping for support from Dhofar University for their work on a dictionary with about 125,000 words translated into Arabic and English. The project will also include a digital version with a pronunciation feature for unique sounds that can be difficult to convey in writing. — AFP
