The People Who Still Know How To Live With The Forest

I travelled along the Utik River in West Kalimantan to meet the Dayak Iban and experience a landscape long associated with one of Indonesia's most important stories of indigenous rights and forest conservation. But the deeper I travelled into their territory, where the dark, peaty scent of the river hung in the morning air and the sound of the rapids echoed beneath the dense canopy, the more I realised this was never simply a story about a river or a forest.

It became a story about how we see nature, how we define progress, and whose voices we choose to value when deciding the future of places like Utik River.

In policy discussions, forests are often viewed through carbon stocks, watershed functions, timber yields, and economic value. These measurements matter because they help scientists and policymakers understand the scale of today's environmental challenges.

Yet, walking barefoot along the cool forest paths of Utik River, those measurements begin to feel incomplete. Here, the forest provides food, medicine, timber for building, and materials for daily life. It is also where stories are passed on, customary boundaries are understood, and knowledge moves from one generation to the next.

Sitting on the veranda of the longhouse, Apay Janggut, one of Utik River's respected customary leaders, expressed that relationship in a single sentence.

"The land is our mother and the forest is our father."
— Apay Janggut, Traditional Leader of Sungai Utik

For the Dayak Iban, the forest is not something separate from human life. It provides what people need, shapes the rhythm of daily life, and carries responsibilities from one generation to the next.

Much of modern development begins with the assumption that nature exists to be used, with restoration following only after the damage has been done. Sungai Utik points to a different way of thinking. The question is not only how we protect nature, but whether we have learned how to live with it in the first place.

Environmental stories often fall into the trap of romanticising indigenous communities, turning them into timeless symbols of "wise forest guardians" untouched by modern life. The Dayak Iban living along the Utik River are neither frozen in the past nor disconnected from the present.

Younger generations have their own ambitions. Smartphones and satellite internet are part of everyday life in the longhouse, while market pressures and economic realities continue to influence the choices they make.

Tradition here is not preserved for display. It continues to evolve alongside changing times while remaining grounded in values the community still chooses to uphold. The question is not whether the Dayak Iban will change, but whether they will continue to have the authority to decide how that change happens, and which values they choose to carry forward.

Conservation is often discussed through protected areas, scientific research, NGO initiatives, and corporate sustainability commitments. Each has an important role to play. But time in the Utik River community raises a more fundamental question. Who gets to decide what happens to a forest?

For the Dayak Iban, that question is more than a matter of environmental policy. It is tied to their right to their customary territory and their ability to continue caring for it. When legal recognition remains something communities must continue fighting for, conservation cannot be separated from questions of justice, authority, and self-determination.

A forest may exist on an official map, but maps alone cannot keep it standing. Its future also depends on the people who know it intimately, whose lives are intertwined with it, and who have every reason to ensure it remains healthy for the generations that follow.

As the Utik River flows past the longhouse, it makes no distinction between what we call "traditional" and "modern". It simply flows.

Watching the river, I realised that sustainability is rarely built through a single breakthrough. More often, it is shaped by the decisions people make every day, repeated across generations. That is what has allowed the Dayak Iban to maintain their relationship with the forest for so long.

The story of the Utik River is not about choosing between tradition and development. It is about recognising that those who have lived with a forest for generations should have the right to decide its future. In the end, protecting a forest begins with protecting the people who have never seen themselves as separate from it.