The man
known as Indonesia's "green governor" chases the roar of illegal
chainsaws through plush jungles in his own Jeep. He goes door-to-door to tell
families it's in their interest to keep trees standing.
That's why
5,000 villagers living the edge of a rich, biodiverse peat swamp in his
tsunami-ravaged Aceh province feel so betrayed.
Their
former hero recently gave a palm oil company a permit to develop land in one of
the few places on earth where orangutans, tigers and bears still can be found
living side-by-side - violating Indonesia's new moratorium on concessions in
primary forests and peatlands.
"Why
would he agree to this?" said Ibduh, a 50-year village chief, days after
filing a criminal complaint against Aceh Gov. Irwandi Yusuf.
"It's
not just about the animals," he said, men around him nodding. "Us
too. Our lives are ruined if this goes through."
Irwandi - a
former rebel whose life story is worthy of a Hollywood film - maintains the
palm oil concession is by the book and that he would never do anything to harm
his province.
But critics
say there is little doubt he broke the law.
The charges
against him illustrate the challenges facing countries like Indonesia in their
efforts to fight climate change by protecting the world's tropical jungles -
which would spit more carbon when burned than planes, automobiles and factories
combined.
Despite
government promises, what happens on the ground is often a different story.
Murky laws, graft and mismanagement in the forestry sector and shady dealings
with local officials means that business often continues as usual for many
companies.
"This
is really a test case," said Chik Rini, a World Wildlife Fund campaigner,
noting that while it's not uncommon for timber, pulp, paper and palm oil
companies to raze trees in protected areas, few developments occur in areas
that seem so obviously off limits.
"If
they get away with it here, well, then no forests are safe."
Ibduh, the
village chief, sits on the floor of a house rolling a cigarette as he and other
men try to understand why - after years of stalling - Irwandi agreed on Aug. 25
to give PT Kallista Alam a permit to convert 4,000 acres of peat swamp forest
in the heart of the renowned Leuser Ecosytem.
In addition
to being home to almost every large animal found in Disney's adaptation of
"The Jungle Book," it's teeming with thousands of plant and insect
species, many yet to be identified.
Irwandi
says there's nothing amiss with the concession. "I know what I have to do
for the people of Aceh," the 51-year-old says, alleging that political
opponents in coming provincial elections are trying to turn the tide against
him.
But Ahmad
Fauzi Mas'ud, spokesman for the Forestry Ministry, agrees with critics that
things don't sound right.
"We
haven't received the documents for this license yet," he said by telephone
as he boarded a plane in the capital Jakarta.
"But
if it's inside peatland, it can't be converted."
A copy of
the map of the new concession, obtained by The Associated Press, has it sitting
squarely on a parcel of peatland forest identified as off limits under
President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono's moratorium enacted in May.
For
environmentalists, it's an all too familiar story.
Fifty years
ago in Indonesia, more than three-quarters of the archipelagic nation of 240
million people was blanketed in tropical rain forest. But half those trees have
since disappeared.
Aceh
offered a uniquely clean slate when its separatist insurgency came to an end
after the devastating 2004 tsunami. The decades-long conflict had kept illegal
logging at bay.
Irwandi,
well-educated with a laid-back style and quick wit, made protecting Aceh's
forests one of his first goals when he surprised the pundits and won the
governorship in 2006.
He was a
former rebel, but not the fighting kind. For years, he'd led the propaganda
campaign for the insurgents who saw the government in Jakarta as self-serving
and corrupt.
He was
serving a nine-year sentence for treason when the tsunami hit, crashing down
the walls of the prison.
"I
didn't escape from prison," the rebel-turned-politician likes to say.
"It escaped from me."
Irwandi
fled to Jakarta, then Malaysia and finally Finland where he ended up joining
exiled leaders of the Free Aceh Movement in negotiating an end to fighting
after the tsunami - with both sides eager to end the suffering.
After his
return and election win, Irwandi immediately banned logging in Aceh. To this
day, he can often be seen pulling over on the side of the road when spotting a
pile of recently felled trees. He also makes spot checks at old logging camps
and saw mills.
Which is
why his turnabout on the Tripa swamp forest - home to the world's densest
population of critically endangered Sumatran orangutans - has left Ibduh and
other villagers so confused and angry.
Already
excavators have started knocking down trees and churning up soil.
Drainage
canals also have been built and villagers' drinking wells are already
noticeably drier as result, they say. Security forces are deployed by the palm
oil company along the perimeter of the forest, guns raised when anyone tries to
enter.
Ibduh and
other other, older men recall happier times when they could still earn money
collecting rattan, honey and herbs for traditional medicine. Not long ago, they
say proudly, pristine swamps and the Tripa river were teeming with catfish so
large that many of them were able to earn enough at the local market to go to
Mecca for the hajj pilgrimage.
Even now,
gliding in a small wooden boat down the broad river that slices through the
spectacular Tripa forests, saltwater crocodiles can be seen slipping silently
from view. A rhinoceros hornbill lifts off with a gentle helicoptorish whoosh.
And as
skies darken, troops of monkeys clamor in the branches above to settle in for
the night.
"But
for how long?" asks Safari, 32, one of the men. "When that forest is
cleared, these animals will all be gone, every last one of them."
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