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My journey to the land of Selasih was just like my first encounter; an encounter with the earth and with a great expanse of banana trees.
A densely planted clump of banana trees stood upright in front of me, as if they were lined up in defence of something. They were abundant, I could not take my eyes off of them. I set off on my automatic scooter downhill, then up, traversing the quiet and green winding roads of Selasih.
Agriculture forms the main source of livelihood for around eighty percent of the local people of Selasih, a village that is part of the Puhu village area, Payangan sub-district, Gianyar Regency, Bali. Selasih is located on a cliff on the side of a river, which also runs through Ubud and Payangan, where it is host to various popular tourist accommodations. The 300-acre village of Selasih is populated by around 1200 residents.
The land surrounding Selasih is predominantly occupied by banana tree plantations. In particular by pisang batu or pisang klutuk (Musa Balbisiana Colla), a sub-species of banana that contains many seeds and is therefore mainly used for animal food. Only the flowers and the trunk of the fruit are used for human consumption. However, the main benefit for the community is to be found in the leaves of pisang batu. These leaves are particularly important for Balinese Hindus, because of the important role they play in offerings and prayers. The leaves are also commonly used to wrap Balinese food in, such as nasi jinggo (a Balinese rice dish) and other traditional snacks. Since the implementation of the Governor of Bali Province Decree No. 97 on the Restriction of Single Use Plastic Waste (2018), banana leaves have become even more in demand, being a highly sought-after replacement for disposable plastics.
The use of pisang batu leaves that does not rely on seasonal harvests, creates a very stable demand in the market. Because of this, pisang batu competes with other banana species. The stable demand produces a stable price, which has clearly influenced the income of banana farmers in Selasih. It is therefore no wonder that many Selasih villagers rely on pisang batu plantations for their livelihoods. It brings about harmony in nature, from soil fertility and land maintenance, to human livelihood. However, even the most beautiful story can encounter obstacles. Such is the reality of life in Selasih village.
In defence of banana plantations
My first visit to Selasih, a year and half ago, was prompted by a “commotion” on my social media timeline at the end of November 2019. At that time, a series of photographs was being circulated depicting women in their bras. The women could be seen standing amongst the men, angrily facing officers wearing police uniforms. The women were Selasih farmers who were resisting heavy construction machines that, after twenty years of silence, had resurfaced on their lands.
The story of the brave women of Selasih caught the attention of various media outlets in Bali, including national media platforms. A news item published on Tirto.id (2019) stated that on the 19th of November 2019, two excavators tried to enter local Selasih farms, after having previously been denied entrance by residents who were members of Serikat Petani Selasih (SPS, or “Union of Selasih Farmers”). The following day, the excavators continued their attempt to invade the farms, but this time with a police escort. Three days later, the same thing happened, this time with an even bigger escort of 300-400 police officers.
The excavators, belonging to the PT. Ubud Resort Duta Development company (URDD), had been sent to clear the land with force. The land, which is owned by Selasih people, fertile and full of banana trees, was in fact controlled by URDD, the investor. Unmitigated, almost 200 acres of land would be converted into a luxury resort with golf courses. Behind the dense gathering of banana trees, including saplings waiting to blossom, their eyes on the future, one could see other trunks of trees whose fate had already been decided by the investor.
This, of course, is nothing new for Balinese people: fertile land and springs surrounded by nature offer an exotic scene gobbled up by tourism. In the late 1980s to 1990s, there were major cases of land dispossession in the name of tourism, such as Garuda Wisnu Kencana (GWK), Bali Nirwana Resort (BNR), Pecatu Graha, the reclamation of Serangan island and Padang Galak, and more. Selasih was one of these cases.
Several farmers I met said they knew of corporations that had invaded Selasih in the early 1990s by claiming that 85% of the land was unproductive. The assumption was therefore that instead of agriculture and plantations, the land would be more beneficial for other sectors. This is when the land clearings started.
“Actually, we used to grow rice, limes, snake fruit, durian, and even cloves before,” said Made Sudiantara, one of Selasih’s farmers.1 It is fascinating that pisang batu only started to be planted recently, during the 1997-1998 financial crisis (a period also marked by a water crisis in the village), when it became one of the top species of banana produced by Selasih farmers.
In his article in Harian IndoPROGRESS (2019), Made Supriatma argues that the clearing of 200 hectares of land (65% of the entire Selasih area) began in 1992. The acquisition effort was accompanied by intimidations that fuelled the farmers’ refusal and resistance. They organised a protest at the Ubud sub-district office in June 1993 as a way to express their refusal to sell off their land. In the end, however, many farmers gave in and gave up their land with heavy hearts, because the surrounding plots had already been sold off, of course under threat of the investor. This tense situation has made farmers reluctant to talk about the land dispute, even until today.
Aside from buying plots directly from the land owners, the investors also cleared lands cultivated by Selasih farmers, which administratively belonged to Puri Payangan, the kingdom that used to rule the Payangan area. As the puri, the castle, possessed the deeds to the land, the peasants worked the soil, of course paying tax to the puri (at least during the royal era). It was the peasants who had the worst luck of all, because in addition to caring for and living from the land, they had to be prepared to be evicted without having even the slightest involvement in decision-making. Historically, the peasants who worked the land owned by Puri Payangan, were descendants of the farmers who had, with great effort, cleared, cultivated and preserved the land.
Without disregarding the fact that some of the disputed land plots were not owned by the farmers in a juridical manner, I agree with Supriatma’s statement that when it comes to cases of land grabbing, it is extremely important for us to “look at the narratives related to land disputes and recognize the farmers’ status as citizens, as people who have sovereignty over the land that they work on as their source of livelihood.”2
Land is more than a certificate or a contract, there is a history and context that encapsulates its various dimensions. How terrifying it is to realise that we can so easily disregard the narratives coming from the farmers and peasants. How easy it is to uproot ourselves from our brothers’ and sisters’ origins, from our land.
Seeking the Voice of Selasih Women
Clouds still covered half of Selasih’s lands as I rode my scooter with utmost care. I had entered a restricted area and had already passed a sign that warned me to turn back. I felt the need to be on guard in case I was suddenly met by uniformed officers, considering that during my very first visit to Selasih, my friends and I had been followed. It was said that the number of security guards hired by the investor to monitor local people’s movements kept increasing, making them more and more anxious in their daily lives.
Quiet. Only leaves were blowing in the wind. Banana trees stood tall, some had fallen down. The rice paddies were still wet. From a distance, I could see some pieces of wood. I passed a middle-aged woman who was painstakingly sorting out weeds. No more than half a kilometre away, another woman sat squatting on the land, busying herself with the plants in front of her.
In the midst of solitude, women still cared. In the midst of uproar, women still cared. But there is something else we need to remember: women are and do much more than this.
Made Liu, a banana farmer, confessed that she had to stand and watch as her banana trees were felled in front of her eyes. “Kan sing runguanga munyin tiangé,” she said (“Well, they don’t listen to me anyway”).3 Like in a play, Liu and other female farmers in Selasih performed and express their voices, but they are not the main characters.
In her article “Women’s Access to Land: An Asian Perspective,” (2011) Nitya Rao argues that at least 45% of women in Southeast Asia work in the agricultural sector, whether they are the rightful owners of the land they cultivate or not. The women also take control of agricultural work and provide safety nets for higher-risk male ventures.
Female farmers work no less hard on the land than male farmers do. This is a classic fact that is the same anywhere in the world. Women farmers from Selasih prepare the land, grow and care for the banana trees until they are mature and healthy, they harvest the leaves, tie them together with a rope, count them and sell them to markets in Bali’s capital of Denpasar, for which they have to travel 30 kilometres each day. Not to mention that women play an important role in the many Balinese-Hindu ceremonies in which they pray to plants. And in all this, we have not even considered the domestic work these women do: taking care of their husbands, children, households, and traditions.
How exhausting it is to be a Selasih woman, a Balinese woman. It is a heavy burden to bear as a woman, considering one’s experience a given, something that cannot be contested. In my opinion, a collective critical awareness about the fact that there is something underneath the surface, something that is being taken for granted, has not yet surfaced in Bali. Even to begin to realise this problem seems hard for Balinese women, because they already spend so much time on work that is not regarded as labour.
Despite the large amount of work Selasih women do, much like Balinese women in general, they do not have the same opportunities as men do to speak up, let alone make decisions at paruman, or community gatherings. It is a rare occurrence to see women attend meetings or mediations between farmers and investors. It is more common for women to play a complementary role in community gatherings in Bali, for instance by preparing or serving food.
According to Nitish Jha (2004), the freedom to make decisions that affect the welfare of a group requires participation. The power to make decisions occupies the highest position in the hierarchy of tasks as it requires an overview of other tasks and duties: how these are scheduled, who carries them out, what kind of resources are needed, and so on. Participatory decision-making forms a part of any democratic form of governance, and the ability to participate in this process, beyond the boundaries of the domestic, guarantees well-being.
In the world of Balinese agriculture, including in Selasih, women do not play an active part in collective decision-making. Whether we like it or not, whether we want it or not, on a domestic and public level, women either consciously or unconsciously succumb to male authority. Their participation in various agricultural activities is not considered to be a strong enough reason for women to take the place of men in important meetings where decisions are made. Whereas in fact, women’s closeness to and experience with the land should make them key decision makers when it comes to the land.
Maria Mies and Vandana Shiva (2014) are right. They argue that the systemic oppression of men against women is closely related to the massive exploitation of nature and Earth by humans. Nature is something to be exploited, as is life created by women–a worldview justified by the patriarchal-capitalist system. Both do not have (or are allowed to have) power over anything.
The strong patriarchal nature of Balinese families positions man as head of the family, which automatically determines the ownership of family assets, such as land. Because of this, the value of women is often reduced; instead of the rightful owners of the land they cultivate on a daily basis, they are regarded merely as wives and/or mothers. The land and any other, related matters that require decision-making is men’s business. Women conform to that idea, without considering how close they are to the land they care for, the very source of their own livelihoods and their families’.
What happened in Selasih demonstrates that the thick glass ceiling is still unbreakable in Bali. It reminds me of the fact that, in Western dichotomous philosophical thinking, women are often associated with the category of nature, and excluded from the category of culture because their physiology and work are rooted in and associated with nature. Whilst this places women within the trap of essentialism, it could be a source of strength for them to move forward (although of course this must be criticised). Because, as Sherry Ortner (1974) argues, women actually form a bridge because they exist in two realms at once: nature and culture. They are indeed close to nature in everyday life, but they are also aware of what they nurture, what they fight for: land and nature for the survival of their children and grandchildren, as well as other living creatures. This is their secret weapon.
The courage to take off their shirts when confronting the police and heavy-duty machines represents the great disappointment felt by Selasih women, it represents the culmination of anger that can no longer be suppressed. Being used to not occupying a central position, they dared to join the frontline, even though they still had to swallow their pride. They did whatever needed to be done for the land that feeds them, even though in reality, they still had to allow themselves to be subordinate to men.
Learning from below
In their book, Derek Hall, Philip Hirsch, and Tania Murray Li (2011) state that since the 1980s, Southeast Asia has seen a process of “deagrarianization”. Deagrarianization is defined as a process by which agriculture becomes less and less important for the national economy, even as a source of livelihood for people in rural areas. Tourism has become the second largest driving force for large-scale conversion of agricultural land. This conversion is marked by the presence of intimidation and violence, which is partly carried out by the military and police who work for the interests of the state and the private sector. The conflict in Selasih shows this all too clearly.
About two months after the heavy machinery ambushed Selasih, a news story about the conflict was published online. The village chief (“Bendesa Adat”) of Selasih emphasised that the conflict did not involve the customary village. He claimed that instead, he felt disadvantaged by the conflict, as it prevented immediate investment in the area. This situation turned into a horizontal conflict amongst local people. Harmony quietly left the land of Selasih, gradually leaving its people to fight a cold war.
The investors successfully approached several local people, whereas other residents stood their ground under difficult circumstances that included disagreements with local families with different opinions, growing anxiety because of being under constant scrutiny, and of course the plummeting of family income. Some farmers who felt that their lands were worth fighting for organised a farmers’ union (SPS). At the time of the protests, in November-December 2019, at least 52 families were registered SPS union members, with 32 families residing on land claimed by investors.
One of the agreements made in November 2019 during mediation efforts between SPS and the investors, states that the farmers were still allowed to cultivate land under the provision of leasehold as long as the site had not been built upon. Nevertheless, the SPS still hopes for the implementation of Government Decree No. 11 on the Control and Utilisation of Displaced Land (2010) and the Presidential Decree No. 86 on Agrarian Reform (2018). “I just want what my ancestors had, living here like this”, added Gede Nova, a young Selasih farmer.4
Tourism offers enormous opportunities; even the corporation PT. URDD has promised that once the development is operational, local farmers will be employed based on their respective skills. However, some farmers and peasants are still determined to defend their land. Their only wish is to continue living on and from the land that they have inhabited for four generations.
It reminds me of the subsistence perspective, proposed by Maria Mies and Veronika Bennholdt-Thomsen (1999). The subsistence perspective can offer a way to think about a different kind of future, based on the situation in Selasih, which I believe is not the first and not the only one in this damned world.
The subsistence perspective values a “view from below” of what is needed. This perspective allows people to produce and reproduce their lives, to stand on their own two feet, to be able to express their voices. Looking at the daily reality of people on a grassroots level will truly help us demystify the delusion fabricated by those “at the top”, or “from above”. That a simple life offers a possibility for minority groups, especially nature, “The Other”, women and children.
An understanding of subsistence requires people, especially women, to stop devaluing themselves, including their work, culture, even their own power. Without the expectation that a proper life will be given to them from above, women can really live, and see how their closeness to nature can help them to survive.
The perspective from below can help us define the true meaning of the good life, as well as direct us to sources of empowerment. Because empowerment can only be found within the self, by collaborating with nature within and around us. The microcosm (“Bhuana Alit”) and macrocosm (“Buana Agung”) are actually closely intertwined.5 And I think that the Balinese people should not deny this philosophy.
Whilst leaving Selasih, I hoped my next trip would reunite me with the dense fields of banana trees that protect anyone who cares for them. I hope.
Endnotes:
1 Quote taken from an interview with Made Sudiantara, conducted by the author on 8 December 2019 in Selasih.
2 See Supriatma, Made, “Selasih: Cerita Perampasan Tanah Yang Tak Pernah Usai” (2019).
3 Quote taken from an interview with Made Liu, conducted by the author on 8 December 2019 in Selasih.
4 Quote taken from an interview with Gede Nova, conducted by the author on 8 December 2019 in Selasih.
5 In the Hindu belief system there is a term called Panca Maha Bhuta, which literally means “the five main elements”. These elements are the main constituents of the universe (macrocosm), which is called bhuana agung. The same elements also make up the universe of the human body or body (microcosm), which is called bhuana alit. The five elements are: Pertiwi (solid element), Apah (liquid element), Teja (heat/light element), Bayu (wind element), and Akasa (space element). The presence of these elements in both the macrocosm and the microcosm are connected and together they create one unity. This teaches human beings to respect nature in the same way as they respect their bodies; and vice versa.
About the author:
Oktaria Asmarani is currently working as project manager in the environmental non-governmental organisation Yayasan Bumi Sasmaya in Ubud, Bali. She graduated from the Department of Philosophy, University of Gadjah Mada, Yogyakarta, and has recently returned to her hometown in Bali to keep writing whilst rediscovering issues related to women and nature, intersecting with feminist philosophy, culture and politics. To contact Asmarani, send an email to: oasmarani@gmail.com.
References and further reading:
(1) Asmarani, Oktaria. “Ketika Pisang Terakhir Ditebang.” Balebengong.id, BaleBengong, 16 December 2019. Available via: https://balebengong.id/ketika-pisang-terakhir-ditebang/.
(2) Bernie, Mohammad. “Kronologi Petani Gianyar Tolak Eksekusi Lahan Perkebunan PT URDD.” Tirto.id, Tirto, 14 November 2019. Available via: https://tirto.id/kronologi-petani-gianyar-tolak-eksekusi-lahan-perkebunan-pt-urdd-emd4.
(3) Hall, Derek, et al. Powers of Exclusion: Land Dilemmas in Southeast Asia. University of Hawai’i Press, 2011.
(4) Jacobs, Susie. “Gender, Land and Sexuality: Exploring Connections.” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, vol. 27, no. 2, 2013, pp. 173–190. Available via: doi:10.1007/s10767-013-9156-5.
(5) Jha, Nitish. “Gender and Decision Making in Balinese Agriculture.” American Ethnologist, vol. 31, no. 4, 2004, pp. 552–572. Available via: doi:10.1525/ae.2004.31.4.552.
(6) Mies, Maria, and Vandana Shiva. Ecofeminism. Zed Books, 2014.
(7) Mies, Maria, and Veronika Bennholdt-Thomsen. The Subsistence Perspective: Beyond the Globalised Economy. Zed Books, 1999.
(8) Ortner, Sherry B. “Is Female to Male as Nature Is to Culture?.” Feminist Studies, vol. 1, no. 2, 1972, p. 5-31. Available via: doi:10.2307/3177638.
(9) Supriatma, Made. “Selasih: Cerita Perampasan Tanah Yang Tak Pernah Usai.” Indoprogress.com, IndoPROGRESS, 9 December 2019. Available via: https://indoprogress.com/2019/12/selasih-cerita-perampasan-tanah-yang-tak-pernah-usai/#_edn1.
(10) Rao, Nitya. “Women’s Access To Land: An Asian Perspective.” un.org, United Nations, 30 September 2011. Available via: www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/csw/csw56/egm/Rao-EP-3-EGM-RW-30Sep-2011.pdf.
(11) Suriyani, Luh De. “Aksi Petani Pisang Mempertahankan Lahan Garapannya [1].” Mongabay.co.id, Mongabay, 5 December 2019. Available via: https://www.mongabay.co.id/2019/12/05/aksi-petani-pisang-mempertahankan-lahan-garapannya/.
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