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WORLDWIDE FOREST/BIODIVERSITY CAMPAIGN NEWS

Nomadic Rain-Forest Dwellers in Malaysia Fear Extinction

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Forest Networking a Project of Ecological Enterprises

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8/16/99

OVERVIEW & COMMENTARY by EE

Following is an update of the couple decade long struggle by the Penan

of Malaysia to continue their lives in their forests.  Despite the

best efforts of many, the brutal repression of indigenous cultures in

Malaysia continues, as the Penan and other rainforest dwellers

increasingly worry of extinction.  In the Borneo state of Sarawak,

home of the Penan, 70 percent of one of the world's oldest forests has

been denuded, at a rate nearly twice that of the Amazon.  While the

destruction of indigenous cultures has been a universal component of

western style development; it is indefensible that outright land

theft, persecution and genocide continues to this day against those

that are most in touch with their land.  Shame on Malaysia.

g.b.

 

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Title:   Nomadic rain-forest tribe in Borneo fears extinction

Source:  Associated Press

Status:  Copyright 1999, contact source for permission to reprint

Date:    August 15, 1999

Byline:  BETH DUFF-BROWN

 

IN THE BORNEO RAIN FOREST (August 15, 1999 1:26 a.m. EDT

http://www.nandotimes.com) - The Borneo headman drew his clenched fist

to the midnight fire, opened his palm to the moon and revealed the

flint he had kept in a bamboo box around his neck. "This was handed

down by my grandfather and he got it from his grandfather," says Along

Sega.

 

"I'll show them that I have more power in this fire-maker than all the

loggers put together."

 

The next morning, a shotgun blast boomed through the jungle. It

silenced the shrilling cicadas. One young tribesman reached for his

poison blowpipe, another for his spear.

 

The gunshot, almost certainly fired by a hunter from a nearby logging

camp, was a reminder that here, hundreds of miles from paved roads and

electricity, seemingly centuries from modern civilization, Along and

his Penan tribe are fighting a losing battle.

 

All the loggers put together greatly overpower the people known as the

lost tribe of Borneo, among the last rain-forest nomads in the world.

Along believes only 260 Penans still live in the jungle. He can't be

sure because they don't count one another. Nor do they track time or

age.

 

"But we are dying," Along said. "Of this we can be sure."

 

The timid nomads are being stampeded out of their dark jungle

homeland. Logging, and the tug of city life and modern ways, are

pushing them to extinction with the turn of the new millennium.

 

Environmentalists estimate that in the Borneo state of Sarawak, home

of the Penans, 70 percent of one of the world's oldest forests has

been denuded, at a rate nearly twice that of the Amazon.

 

Most of the 9,000 Penans on the Malaysian side of Borneo have moved

into temporary government settlements. Only some 63 families remain in

the jungle, living off hearts of palm, wild fruit, bear and boar.

 

The wild game has dwindled, the rivers are polluted by logging waste,

and many trees whose bark and leaves provide everything from snakebite

antidotes to contraceptives have died out.

 

"Tell them to stop the bulldozers," Along urged a rare Western visitor

who had slipped across logging territory in northeastern Sarawak and

hiked into the rain forest with a Penan guide. "Tell them to give us

back our lives."

 

In the jungle, bare-chested with loincloth, Along was a compelling

sight. A man in his late 50s, his dense black hair was severely

cropped at the forehead and shaved above his ears. Each earlobe was

pierced with a three-inch hole, then jammed with a tight spiral of

bamboo that dangled to his neck.

 

Three weeks later and 350 miles west, in the Sarawak capital of

Kuching, he cut a different figure. He seemed sadly out of place among

the McDonald's restaurants, the businessmen with cell phones, the

Muslim women on mopeds with helmets over their headscarves. He wore

the blue jogging pants that his Western visitor had left at his camp.

He and a dozen other Penans had come to the city to mount yet another

protest against the loggers.

 

At the center of attention was a short, wiry man with a shaved head

and an infectious laugh, a former shepherd from Switzerland named

Bruno Manser whose lone battle for the Sarawak rain forest has won

international attention.

 

If the Penans regard anyone as their savior, it is Manser. The 45-

year-old Swiss has spent 15 years crusading for the Sarawak rain

forest and lived with the Penans from 1984 to 1990. He joined

thousands of them in confronting the bulldozers in highly publicized

logging blockades. Expelled from Sarawak, he has returned secretly

several times.

 

On his latest visit, he had just walked 150 miles from the Indonesian

side of the island to elude authorities and mount another stunt to get

the government's attention.

 

He intended to fly a paraglider into the compound of Chief Minister

Abdul Taib Mahmud, Sarawak's highest official. But he kept crashing or

getting tangled up in trees. Finally the propeller broke. Things

didn't look good.

 

Manser's difficulties would cause few Malaysians to shed tears.

 

Malaysia, which shares sovereignty over Borneo with Indonesia and

Brunei, is famously prickly about Westerners telling it what to do,

and the logging issue is part of that broader East-West standoff.

 

Already in 1992, on the eve of the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro,

Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad was denouncing Manser's

campaign as "the height of arrogance." Today his words are echoed by

Barney Chan, general manager of the Sarawak Timber Association.

 

"I know that it's not politically correct to say, but you have a bunch

of white guys running around telling the brown man what to do," said

Chan. "It's a situation whereby very few people, 260 Penans, are on

one side and on the other side you have a few hundred thousand people

benefiting from logging."

 

By "white guys," he meant U.S. Vice President Al Gore and other

international luminaries who have lent public support to Manser's

cause.

 

The timber industry produces $1.5 billion in annual revenue and

provides good livelihoods for 100,000 families. It says it's tired of

Manser and others crying environmental and human devastation. And it

is offering to set aside land for the Penans.

 

"With or without Bruno, we - meaning the government of Sarawak - are

on the side of the Penans and we're willing to help the Penans," said

Chan.

 

Logging began sweeping across Mississippi-sized Sarawak in the 1970s,

and Malaysia quickly became the world's No. 1 exporter of tropical

hardwoods for scaffolding, chopsticks and furniture.

 

But by 1991, even the pro-logging International Tropical Timber

Organization warned that Sarawak would be denuded within 13 years if

the 150 timber concessions didn't cut production drastically. It

recommended halving exports and halting logging on steep slopes to

prevent erosion.

 

The government insists it responded well. Within five years, it says,

exports were more than halved. And last year, Sarawak's state

government passed legislation banning all commercial hunting in an

effort to protect tribal food sources.

 

Asia's 1997 economic crisis also intervened. Japan, Taiwan, South

Korea and Thailand, the biggest customers for wood, cut their

purchases and by the following year exports were down 30 percent.

 

Four-fifths of Sarawak is covered in forest. More than half of it is

licensed for logging under a system that fells 8 to 12 trees for every

2 1/2 acres, replanting and then allowing the forest to regenerate for

25 years.

 

About 12 percent of the rain forest has been set aside as protected

areas for national parks and wildlife sanctuaries.

 

But while the plan appears solid on paper, environmentalists say it it

isn't happening in reality, that erosion and river silt have already

destroyed ecological gene pools long before regeneration can occur.

 

"Only the most remote areas of Sarawak haven't been affected by

logging," said Thomas Jalong, coordinator of the Sarawak branch of the

environmentalist Friends of the Earth. "Logging activities are now

carried out right in the interior and most of these areas are

sensitive ecological zones."

 

Only seven hours by foot from remote Penan territory, many patches of

balding cliffs are visible where trees have been uprooted.

 

"We may be on the losing end now," said Jalong. "Despite all the

campaigns and all the concerns, both locally and internationally, the

logging activities still go on undeterred."

 

Logging, poaching and man-made fires to clear land for palm-oil

plantations have cut deep into Sarawak's rich wildlife. The red-haired

orangutan, found only in Borneo, faces extinction, its numbers down

from an estimated 180,000 a decade ago to no more than 30,000 today.

 

Also on the endangered list is the hornbill, Sarawak's state bird,

which is known for its huge curved beak and piercing call.

 

It is revered by the Penans.

 

"When the hornbill calls, it's like hearing our father speak, it makes

us feel warm," said Along. "But now we don't hear our father speak to

us anymore."

 

---

 

Before daylight fades - early in a land where sunshine rarely breaks

through thick vines of mossy elephant ears - the Penan men clear the

jungle at the bank of the Limbang River. They whack down wiry palms

and put up a platform so everyone can sleep above the wet ground and

leeches massing at the scent of human flesh.

 

The women weave a rooftop of palm fronds for protection from the

never-ending drizzle and the children clip kindling for the fire. They

flick bloated leeches off their ankles as they boil a thick paste of

sago palm and tapioca starch.

 

Later they will wrap themselves in faded batik sarongs and hum and

rock one another to sleep.

 

While most Penans who have moved into the settlements have been

converted to Christianity, nomads are largely animists who believe

nature has a soul and forest spirits must be protected and

undisturbed.

 

Their poison darts, made of "tajem" from the latex of the ipoh tree,

are only used to kill big game. A hunter will often return with a baby

bear or monkey which becomes part of the clan and will never be eaten.

 

The Penans never walk directly toward another person and when they

pass by, they bend slightly and bow. Eye contact is rare.

 

"Never once in the course of six years did I see a Penan interrupt

another, let alone shout at or assault another," Manser writes in his

1996 book, "Voices from the Rainforest."

 

They are a people unsuited to confrontation. But the ruin of their

habitat has forced many of them into an existence of pleading and

demanding and blockading, all contrary to their nature.

 

One of the main problems, according to some environmentalists, is that

the government and loggers are one and the same.

 

Ruled for a century as a private fiefdom by the Brookes, an

adventurous English family, Sarawak was ceded to Britain in 1946. In

1949, the British awarded a timber concession to James Wong Kim Min,

who pioneered hill logging with bulldozers and made a fortune.

 

Wong is now Sarawak's environment minister.

 

Taib, the chief minister, is also the forestry minister, whose

department grants logging concessions and approves environmental

impact statements.

 

Wong and Taib declined to respond to questions for this report, but

Wong sent a copy of his book, "Hill Logging in Sarawak," an emotional

33-page defense of logging practices in which he proclaims, sometimes

through poetry, his love of the land.

 

He blames most deforestation on centuries of slash-and-burn

cultivation by islanders and warns that a boycott of Sarawak hardwoods

would result in fewer reasons to protect the forest.

 

"It would be nice of course if a country could afford to leave its

natural resources in a pristine state," Wong writes. "Every nation

exploits its natural resources to survive and provide better living

for its people."

 

Wong has hostile words for Manser:

 

"He went around encouraging the nomadic Penans to continue living in

their primeval and unhealthy way of life, but he himself after a few

years of vacation decided he had had enough ... - no doubt he missed

his Swiss cheese and the comforts of civilization - and ran away from

his friends."

 

The Penans call Manser "Lakei Dja-au," or Big Man. The loggers have

dubbed him the new White Rajah, alluding to Sarawak's past as a corner

of the British Empire.

 

"Bruno has some special power; he's like a god sent down to us," says

Kayan Etek, another tribal headman.

 

Manser says he never set out to be a crusader. The Swiss Alpine

pastures had become too congested, and Borneo was a magical land he

had mused over for years. So he came here "as a human being who loves

nature, who loves life and who also loves adventure."

 

"That's when I found the Penans. I joined their life for six years and

they asked me for help. If a child is drowning and crying for help,

what would you do?"

 

Manser has consistently badgered the Malaysian government to honor its

decade-old promise to create a 1,280-square-mile forest reserve for

the Penans in what they regard as their ancestral land.

 

But a 1958 British colonial law designates all uncultivated native

land as state forests. Since the Penans are nomadic and don't clear

land for annual harvest, the law gives them no ownership rights.

 

"They don't live for dollars. They don't ask for anything," Manser

said. "They live only for all the resources that they find in the

virgin forests, for the wild game and the wild fruit."

 

Government policy is to encourage Penans to move into mainstream Malay

culture, become rice farmers, get modern medical care and educate

their children under the Malay curriculum.

 

But the Penans describe the government settlements as little more than

tin-roofed refugee camps with dirty water beneath the dreaded tropical

sun. They are heartsick for home.

 

"We want the choice to go back to the forests," says James Lalokeso, a

spokesman for the 1,500 partially settled Penans in Ulu Baram in

northeastern Sarawak. "But so far, we have no reserved land, no

protected areas, and loggers are operating on our land even as we

speak."

 

In 1990, the European Community passed a resolution calling for the

protection of tropical forests. Al Gore, then a U.S. senator,

introduced a resolution in Congress demanding that Malaysia end "the

uncontrolled exploitation of the rain forests of Sarawak."

 

Even some Manser antagonists have a grudging respect for him - such as

Chan of the timber association, who has known him for years.

 

When Manser called Chan to tell him he was going to paraglide into

Taib's compound, Chan tried to talk him out of it.

 

"I told him, `Don't be stupid. This is not the Asian way."'

 

---

 

On the second day of the holiday to celebrate the end of the Muslim

hajj, or pilgrimage, Manser and his small crew from Europe, armed with

a more powerful propeller, tried again to get his paraglider up over

Kuching and into the chief minister's compound.

 

"I hope the chief minister will celebrate by helping to protect the

Penans and one of the most beautiful forests in the world," Manser

said just before he took off, successfully this time.

 

A dozen Penans had come from around Sarawak to cheer him on. Dressed

in loincloth and holding their spears, they stood in an open field

next to a Muslim cemetery as Manser took flight with his blue

parachute that read: "Taib + Penans."

 

As soon as he landed by Taib's compound, he was hustled into a jeep

and put on a first-class flight back to Switzerland.

 

One of those squinting up as Manser glided over the blue-tiled dome of

the state mosque was his old friend Along, a veteran of logging

protests who once spent two weeks in jail. He had been promised an

audience with Taib and was prepared to remain in the big city until he

had his say or was thrown in jail.

 

"Our government is like an old grandfather," Along said. "If the chief

minister is not yet ready to talk with his children, then we will just

wait until he will see us."

 

But there was no audience. The next day, Along was put on a bus and

told to go home, back to the jungle where now even fewer trees stood.

 

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