- Section 1.1.6
Previous Section
The Nuaulu case
Historical
background
The Nuaulu are an ethnic group of south Seram widely known
in the central Moluccas for the tenacity and success with which they
have clung to a traditional animist way of life. What distinguishes
them from other similar groups is their demographic strength and the
compromises they have historically made which have enhanced their
survival as a discrete group. My own Nuaulu fieldwork has spanned
the period 1970-1990, during which time important changes have taken
place in terms of Nuaulu relationship with forest. However, there
is no particular reason to assume that before 1970 significant changes
were not already underway.
By the latter part of the nineteenth century Nuaulu inhabited dispersed
patriclan hamlets on the southern side of the watershed of central
Seram, focused on the Nua and Ruatan valleys. In this scheme of things,
the term wasi referred to all cultivated clan-hamlet
land, in contrast to wesie, uncut forest. It was
not necessary to assert clan ownership of particular plots, since
all territory was clan territory. But also, the idea
of collectively identified Nuaulu territory, as opposed
to the land of individual clans, remained no more than a vague abstraction
until faced with the political realities imposed, first by the conditions
of coastal settlement, and then by the Indonesian state in the nineteen-eighties.
In the eighteen-eighties Nuaulu began to settle around Sepa, a polity
with which they have recorded traditional relations of amity going
back to the seventeenth century. This led to changes in land tenure
arrangements upon which I have already reported [Ellen, 1977; 1978:
81-107]. Here, I draw on this earlier work, and present only enough
information to clarify the main issues being discussed.
Land tenure circa 1970: normative arrangements
The clan Matoke is held to be primus inter pares with
respect to many ritual matters, including those relating to the utilization
of forest resources. The extent to which this was the case prior to
1880 is unclear, but it was a custom firmly embedded by the time Nuaulu
clans were moving into the area of Sepa jurisdiction. The relationship
which Matoke have with the land is perhaps best described as guardianship,
though by 1970 this was routinely being translated into Ambonese Malay
as 'ownership' ('punya', to possess; 'milik', property). The role
is personified in the 'lord of the land', the ia onate
Matoke, who is ultimately responsible for the ritual supervision of
Nuaulu relations with their environment. By 1970 day-to-day responsibility
had been delegated to Matoke sub-clans (Matoke-hanaie in Niamonai,
Matoke-pina in Rohua) and, in the case of the village of Bunara, to
the clan Sonawe-aipura (in the person of the so-called ia
onate Matoke Sonawe [Ellen, 1977: 57, n.8]. The clan Matoke
has no practical jurisdiction over gardens or plantations which are
not regarded as traditional Nuaulu territory. If a domestic group
or individual wishes to cut forest from an inland area over which
it is generally agreed the Nuaulu have jurisdiction, authority must
theoretically be sought from the ia onate Matoke,
or his proxy. Although the Matoke headman may rule or advise that
certain areas cannot be cultivated or extracted from, in practice
the immediate authority is the head of the clan which claims the land
as part of its own traditional territory. It is the head of this clan
or his proxy who must be present when forest is first
cut, in order to seek permission from the ancestors of the relevant
clan, and to offer a compensatory sacrifice.
The cutting of mature forest (wesie) yields wasi,
a term applied to all land which has been humanly-altered through
clear-felling and over which direct (rather than residual) rights
are maintained. The term may refer to cleared land in general or to
individual jural units; to both a vegetational type and to a legal
idea. Individual plots of wasi cultivated in any
one year, or their productive ecological successors are known as nisi,
which we may translate as 'garden'. Specific rights are thereby conferred,
through the exercise of labour, on individuals, domestic groups, 'houses'
and clans who obtain access and use for as long as the claim is effectively
perpetuated. The rights so conferred are serial, in that they are
simultaneously individual, household, clan, or whatever; the level
of emphasis depending wholly on context. Such land is inherited through
the male line, though can be transferred between clans through marriage.
Changes in land tenure, 1880-1970
The above highly-compressed summary represents what we might regard
as the 'traditional' and normative arrangements as they existed in
1970. Since first concentrating on the coast important structural
changes have been taking place. The factors involved can be grouped
under five headings: (i) the creation of multi-clan settlements, (ii)
cash-cropping, (iii) land scarcity, (iv) sale of land (v), and market
individualism. All of them are discussed in detail in Ellen, 1977,
and the issue of market individualism is taken further in Ellen, 1993b:
131. Here I mention just a few aspects for each heading:
- (i) With the congregation of the first clans on a confined area immediately to the
- west of Sepa, in what is now Nuaulu Lama (or, in Nuaulu, Niamonai,
'old village'), Nuaulu settlements forfeited their genealogical exclusiveness;
formal kinship groups were no longer coterminus with local groups.
Some attempt was made to assert clan autonomy through the establishment
of separate settlements, first at Aihisuru, then Hahuwalan, Bunara,
and finally at Rohua. But all of these - with the exception of Hahuwalan
- eventually became multi-clan villages. This has had radical implications
for land relations in general and has given rise to some contradiction
in interpreting the rules, aggravated by pressure on land [Ellen,
1977: 59]. There has been, therefore, a greater conscious identity
generated between groups and individual plots. In coming to the coast
much ancestral land was neglected, except that of those clans with
traditional claims to land on which most Nuaulu gardens in the Sepa
area are now situated. There was a dislocation in the hitherto enduring
connection between clan and land. This situation, together with the
movement of land between clans following marriage, has meant that
the lineal continuity of association between a clan and a particular
area of land was broken.
- (ii) Cash-cropping, particularly of cloves and coconut, but also of coffee, quickly
- followed daily contact with the market economy which coastal settlement
made possible. This has led to rules relating to land increasingly
resembling those relating to other kinds of property. Traditionally,
swiddens were cleared, cultivated and re-absorbed into the forest,
leaving traces only in the form of small groves of valued trees, such
as Areca palms. But the relationship between people
and land was still regarded as highly personal, being likened to that
between a father and children. As a father is responsible to the ancestors
for his children, so is the group for the land. With permanent or
semi-permanent groves, the human effort going into the transformation
of the forest and maintenance of the land became continuous and hence
the particular relationship became more enduring and intensive.
- (iii) Prior claims by Sepa, and by other long-established coastal villages, to accessible
- garden land, and increasing demand for land arising from cash-cropping
and population growth had, by the early seventies, for the first time,
turned land into a scarce resource. Scarcity provided an incentive
to maintain relations with land over long periods of time, which resulted
in a greater emphasis on clear-cut, unambiguous, jural relations with
land held in perpetuity. This has inevitably become a source of conflict
between clans, villages, and particularly between Nuaulu and non-Nuaulu
in Sepa and Tamilouw. Disputes increased during the seventies and
eighties, as pressure on land and other resources has become more
acute, due to yet more cash-cropping, indigenous population growth,
in-migration and land sale. The situation has been further exacerbated
by the lag in revising rules and practices relating to land tenure,
amongst the most important of which has been failure to establish
clear boundaries between wasi.
- (iv) In the early seventies sale of land was still a relatively novel concept [Ellen,
- 1977: 63]. No one could remember a Nuaulu ever having acquired land
from Sepa since the first gift of land made by Raja Kamari Kaihatu
Tihurua around 1870, which established the physical villages of Watane,
Aihisuru, Bunara and Hahuwalan; and only one other instance of sale
of land in Rohua could be recalled. However, in 1968 Merpati Sonawe
of Watane had bought some garden land from Sepa for 9000 Indonesian
rupiahs, and during February 1970, Utapina Kamama of Bunara bought
some land from Sepa as a means of obtaining some level ground for
a coconut grove. But despite the rarity of actual sale, the concept
of land as an exchangeable commodity was well-established by 1970
[ibid., 63-4].
- (v) Although attitudes to land are being increasingly moulded by a market model,
- individual transactions still involve a customary element. Thus, in
1990 during my visit to Simalouw, the main Nuaulu settlement in the
Ruatan transmigration zone, Merpati was engaged in setting-out the
terms of a sale for some new settlers at Kilo 7 for approval by the
local District Officer. The asking 'price' on this occasion was: five
piruna hatu (lit. 'stone plates'; that is old porcelain,
though not necessarily oriental in origin), five meters of red cloth
and 10,000 rupiahs for each household head. This is a global payment
to the Nuaulu negotiated on their behalf by Merpati at the time of
my visit.
Population growth and transmigration, 1970-1990
During the period covered by my own fieldwork Nuaulu population has
continued to grow dramatically (Table 1), despite some fall-away due
to religious conversion. This has led to greater pressure on existing
land, intensified by competition along the south Seram littoral with
people from traditional non-Nuaulu villages, and due to unplanned
immigration, mainly of Butonese. Prior to this there had been the
arrival of a few Chinese and Buginese traders, but these have hardly
amounted to much; and some re-settlement from Ambon-Lease, internal
relocations (Yalahatan, Rutah), and of course some growth of the administrative
post at Amahai. Growth along the south coast was facilitated by extension
of a metalled road during the early eighties.
Table 1. Nuaulu population growth in relation sub-district population,
1971-19903
Census Year Rohua Total Nuaulu Total Sepa Total Amahai
(desa) (kecamatan)
1971 180 496 2667 18,538
1973 196 544
1975 207 575
1978 2507 22,477
1979 25,207
1980 30,820
1981 269 747 31,023
1983 3307 35,306
1986 268+ 744 5976
1988 6081
1990 452 1256
Note For the basis of figures
listed in columns 2 and 3 see footnote 2. The Sepa figure for 1971
(based on 1970 data) was provided by the Kantor Sensus dan Statistik,
Dati II, Maluku Tengah, Masohi. The remaining sources are: Amahai
1971 [Kantor Sensus dan Statistik Propinsi Maluku, 1972]; Amahai 1978,
Sepa 1978 [Kantor Sensus dan Statistik Propinsi Maluku, 1980]; Amahai
1979, 1981, 1983, Sepa 1983 [Kantor Kecamatan Amahai, 1983]; Amahai
1980 [Kantor Sensus Propinsi Maluku,1980]; Sepa 1986, 1988 [unpublished
figures in Kantor Camat, Amahai, 1990].
At about the same time the government began to establish transmigration
settlements along the Ruatan valley4. The government recognized uncut
forest in the vicinity as belonging to the Nuaulu and encouraged them
to move into one of the new settlements at Simalouw. Many saw this
as a return to traditional land and although by 1990 only the villages
of Watane and Aihisuru had moved permanently, many Nuaulu established
temporary dwellings, used the improved transport facilities to reach
ancestral sago areas and began to cut land for cash crop plantations.
Implicit government recognition of Nuaulu preferential rights to over
one-and-a-half thousand square kilometres5 enabled them to sell land
to other incomers. This alleviated the growing pressure on Nuaulu
land generally and permitted them also to sell land along the more
crowded south coast around Sepa, most of which has gone to Sepa itself
and to incoming Butonese. As I have argued elsewhere [Ellen, 1993b],
this created a rarely reported situation whereby an indigenous forest
people appeared to be endorsing further forest destruction, by themselves
and by others, for short-term gain. Moreover, the practices which
accompanied this were not dramatically contrary to any locally-asserted
principles of indigenous ecological wisdom [Ellen, 1986]. However,
there has been increased conflict with other autochthonous villages
over rights to land and, since 1990, serious conflict with settlers
resulting in convictions for murder being brought against three residents
of Rohua. Thus, the possibilities for re-creating some aspects of
traditional social life and intensifying others, paradoxically through
sale of land and other resources to outsiders, is undermining the
very system the protagonists seek to preserve.
Discussion
In this paper I have tried
to make sense of the small amount of data available on the ecological
and human consequences of deforestation in the Moluccas, and human
responses to this. I have supplemented the brief reports we have from
most places with one case-study, that of the Nuaulu, which summarizes
what I have published elsewhere. The Nuaulu case may well be atypical,
but it is at least indicative in several general ways.
Firstly, it enables us to look at a case where deforestation arises
from a number of interacting forces: intensification of subsistence
agriculture, cash-cropping, forest extraction, logging and transmigration.
The commercial lumber industry has grown remarkably over the last
three decades, but the main threat to the livelihoods of those people
dependent on the forest, and to the future of the forest itself, comes
from Indonesian government transmigration policy.
Secondly, the Nuaulu case shows how the form, rates and consequences
of deforestation change over time; and that when we assess the advantages
and disadvantages to local populations, these must be related to different
stages in a process. I note that the initial response to some forms
of forest destruction and consequent land settlement may often be
viewed positively by indigenous peoples, the situation offering opportunities
to sustain, and indeed intensify, existing patterns of subsistence
and other cultural practices. I further suggest that an eventual realization
of the follow-through consequences leads to a middle phase of uncertainty,
which may eventually translate into intense hostility to incomers
and to any additional destruction of forest. This final stage is fast
approaching for the Nuaulu, and in the Maneo area it is evident that
villages should be expected to act decisively to defend territorial
interests were they to be faced with comparable challenges. Of course,
not all local groups are in a position to resort to such measures,
and locally patterns of response must be expected to vary.
Thirdly, the Nuaulu case reminds us that interpretations of the law
vary depending on local considerations, as well as political and bureaucratic
purposes. In theory, the Indonesian government continues to maintain
a fundamental assertion of the Basic Agrarian Law (Undang-Undang Pokok
Agraria) of 1960, namely that state law is based on adat (customary)
law [SKEPHI and Kiddell-Monroe, 1993: 236-7]. But the law is internally
contradictory, as are the goals and interests of different government
departments. The result is confusion. Officially, adat claims to historic
areas of forest have no bearing on the selection of transmigration
areas [MacAndrews, 1986], and certainly the government does not officially
entertain compensation. But as we have seen, in the Ruatan scheme,
Nuaulu and other indigenes were permitted to benefit by selling land
to transmigrants, and by releasing land to the government in exchange
for houses and other facilities. The Basic Forestry Law of 1967 recognizes
social, traditional and individual rights, but does not permit their
expression to interfere with the goals of the law, one of which is
the production of forest commodities. Other special forestry laws
override the Basic Agrarian Law, criminalizing certain kinds of forest
use by indigenous populations [Colchester, 1993: 75]. Thus, in 1971
the Forestry Department designated Yamdena a protected area, and ten
years later created a 60,000 hectare nature reserve with UNDP/FAO
backing, only to later issue a decree establishing a logging concession
in the area of the reserve. Such overlapping of decrees is common
in Indonesia [SKEPHI, 1992: 24; see also Hurst, 1990: 10-2]. In practice,
whatever the legal position, the state has the authority to regulate
and implement the allocation, use, supply, and care of all resources,
placing the national interest above that of the individual [Hardjono,
1991: 9]. But in certain areas traditional patterns of access still
prevail. Occasionally, compromise has been possible, but even if initial
prospects seem promising conflict of some kind is predictable eventually.
Fourthly, the Nuaulu case illustrates clearly that the increased
cutting of mature forest was only possible through new government
assisted infrastructures and incentives, and that land cut is for
the establishment of plantation crops not to supplement subsistence
swiddening needs. Nuaulu sell land because settlers ask for it, and
because the government expects them to do so. There is certainly a
financial inducement, though as we have seen, land transfers are still
partly a matter of customary ritual compensation. The material spin-off
has so far proved to be fairly short-lived, and its distribution the
cause of internal disputes. The benefits to the Nuaulu from selling
non-timber forest products is minimal, raising little hope for sustained
non-destructive extraction and income-raising [Dove, 1993: 17, citing
Shaw et al.]. This is consistent with Dove's observation [ibid,
p.21] that forest peoples do not appear to degrade forests because
they are poor, but because they are impoverished by the degradation
of their forests by external forces which they are too weak to control.
We have long known that ideology and cosmology are poor indicators
of practice, and now know that claims for the existence of balanced
ecologically self-sustaining rainforest economies are ethnographically
difficult to demonstrate. Some peoples, measurably, do not degrade
their environment in any obvious way; but this is often less 'adaptation'
(in the sense of an outcome of various selective pressures, or of
a particular ethos) than a benign consequence a specified social organization,
demographic structure and pattern of subsistence geared to investment
in environmental resources which replenish themselves through relatively
short cycles. What is critical is to maintain population at a level
which never threatens the carrying capacity of a system, even if it
alters it. To this end, the use of broad spectrum subsistence strategies
reduces stress on particular resources, patches and time-phases, and
the degree of isolation from other systems. The greater the degree
of isolation, the more effective control over resources. Both isolation
and low population are properties of a system which has the mechanical
effect of making regulation simpler and more reliable; relative autonomy
increasing the probability of effective regulation - consciously or
inadvertently. The varied ecologies of different Moluccan peoples
well illustrate these features in relation to an interconnected rainforest
and maritime system. The Moluccas also provides us with a conveniently
long historical time-depth in which to observe the break-down and
transformation of locally autonomous patterns of subsistence. Developments
over the last 20 years, however, have accelerated exponentially long
term processes in a way which endanger the survival of both remaining
sustainable extractive regimes and the forest itself.
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