Cognitive and Spiritual Deforestation: Don’t Let Dayak Children Become Cultural Zombies
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| Dayak Ganteng by Mering |
In a giant mall in Jakarta, I was stunned by the sight of a long-haired man who looked healthy, yet had lost his memory. He could walk, talk, and even smile like any other Dayak person. But behind that, his soul was empty—uprooted from its origins. He had no idea where he came from, what the meaning of his life was, or where he was going. This, I believe, is the closest depiction of the grave threat now facing the Dayak people of Borneo: becoming cultural zombies—alive, yet severed from the ancestral roots of knowledge, values, and identity.
This is not a philosophical
metaphor. It is a creeping reality. When Borneo’s forests, mountains, rivers,
lakes, and the entire landscape are destroyed, it’s not just flora and fauna
that disappear—but also knowledge structures, biological and spiritual immune systems,
and the very axis of Indigenous collective intelligence. The question is: what
happens when the landscape, that vast living archive of memory, is obliterated?
And how can the younger Dayak generation survive amid such deepening
disconnection?
To Indigenous communities, nature
is not just a living space—it is teacher, library, and even the spirit of the
ancestors. Mountains hold origin myths, rivers flow with ancestral stories, and
forests are classrooms without curricula, rich in wisdom. This philosophy isn’t
unique to the Dayak. The Apache people of North America also view landscapes as
living entities infused with knowledge. Keith Basso (1996) documented how the
Apache embed their history and morality in toponyms—place names that carry
ethical lessons.
But when trees are felled, rivers
are polluted by industrial waste, and mountains are mined into craters, the
context that once unified people with place vanishes. This is not merely
physical deforestation. This is cognitive and spiritual deforestation. People
uprooted from their habitat lose the ability to read the signs of nature that
once guided their existential compass.
Researchers like David Abram (1996)
and Tim Ingold (2000) describe this disconnection as an ecological crisis of
perception—where humans no longer sense the world as a web of relationships.
When we stop touching the earth, smelling the rain, or listening to the
forest’s song, we lose not just natural beauty, but a vital part of our
consciousness.
Going further, the theory of
“ecological embodiment” emphasizes that direct interaction between the human
body and the environment shapes perception, cognition, and even ethics (Ingold,
2000). In this framework, habitat is not just living space—it is an extension
of the body. When forests are razed and rivers run dry, the human body loses
its external organs—its skin, its senses.
Scientists have found that
Indigenous communities living closely with nature possess rich and diverse gut
microbiomes (Schnorr et al., 2014). These microbiomes, cultivated through
direct contact with soil, wild plants, and unprocessed foods, play a crucial
role in shaping the immune system and even brain function. In other words,
connection to the environment fosters not only wisdom but also bodily
resilience and mental clarity.
In contemporary academic discourse,
there’s also the emerging field of “neuroecology,” which explores how natural
environments influence neural development and cognitive patterns. This means
habitat destruction could directly diminish the cognitive capacities of
generations born into ecological disconnection and pollution.
A study in Papua New Guinea
revealed that communities transitioning from traditional to modern lifestyles
experienced sharp declines in physical and mental resilience (Wahlqvist, 2014).
In other places—such as among the San people in South Africa—such changes have
even sparked rising social conflict and the erosion of communal values.
A similar pattern is beginning to
emerge deep within Borneo. Dayak children growing up without touching the soil,
bathing in rivers, or hunting in the forest are gradually losing the language
of the land. Words once rich in meaning now echo hollow. Terms like panjai,
pentik, or ngayau have lost their historical depth. What remains
is surface without roots.
The impact won’t be confined to
today—it will echo a century from now. If ecological degradation continues,
future generations of Dayak may still carry their ancestral names, but no
longer understand their meanings. They will appear Indigenous in form, but not
in spirit. They will lose the ability to think Dayak, feel Dayak, and live
Dayak. This is what I call the cultural zombie: an Indigenous body without its
ancestral soul.
Resisting Collective Amnesia: Mitigation and Adaptation Among Dayak Youth
But not all is lost. In the
darkness, a small ember remains—waiting to be fanned into flame. Today’s young
Dayak generation stands at a historical crossroads. They are a generation who
inhabit two worlds: one engulfed in the fog of modernity, and the other rooted
in ancestral memory.
The first strategy is
reconciliation with the land—both literally and symbolically. This isn’t merely
a return-to-village movement, but an effort to rebuild broken ecological
relationships. Agroecology projects, Dayak Literacy movements, tembawang
(ento-agro forestry) revitalization, sustainable farming, and Indigenous
schools are examples of resistance against collective amnesia. One such
initiative is the forest school established by the Dayak Iban community in
Kapuas Hulu, where children are taught local languages, folktales, and
traditional farming.
Second, the revitalization of
ancestral language and narrative. Language is not just a tool for
communication—it’s a medium of knowledge. Singing traditional songs, writing
poetry in one’s mother tongue, or digitally documenting ancestral stories are
ways to prolong the lifespan of wisdom. In Aotearoa (New Zealand), the Māori
language revival has shown to improve youth mental health and strengthen social
cohesion (King et al., 2009).
Third, cultural and political
diplomacy. Dayak youth must take active roles in national and international
forums—like Kynan Tegar, a young videographer from Sungai Utik, Kapuas Hulu,
West Kalimantan. We must not only be victims of exploitative development
narratives, but also become alternative narrators—voicing Indigenous cosmology
as a guide to the future. As seen in the Buen Vivir principle from Latin
America—a vision of life in harmony with nature, now enshrined in Ecuador’s
constitution—we need transformation that is not only local but also conceptual.
Fourth, synergy with modern
science. Adaptation doesn’t mean rejecting science—it means fostering dialogue
between traditional and modern knowledge. Participatory mapping, local
ecological research, digital literacy movements among Dayak youth, and
collaboration with academics can strengthen Indigenous communities’ roles as
Earth’s stewards and rightful holders of local knowledge.
Finally, we need to reimagine the
future through ancestral wisdom. As Yuval Noah Harari suggests, the future is
determined by the stories we choose to believe. If we keep believing that
Indigenous communities are mere relics of the past, destined for erasure, then
destruction will be inevitable. But if we believe that the Dayak spirit holds a
blueprint for sustainability, perhaps the forests of Borneo can teach the world
how to live again.
Now is the time to reverse
direction. From cultural zombies to ecological consciousness. From silenced
forests to forests that speak again. From bodies without memory to generations
who remember, care for, and bring ancestral lands back to life. To borrow the
words of Deny JA, let us stop seeing the Earth as a dead object to be
exploited, and instead view it as a living body in pain—a spiritual being
wounded by human greed. “The land, water, air, and all creatures are part of
our family,” wrote Pope Francis in Laudato Si’.
References
- Abram, D. (1996). The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-than-Human World. New York: Vintage Books.
- Basso, K. H. (1996). Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language among the Western Apache. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.
- Ingold, T. (2000). The Perception of the Environment: Essays in Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. London: Routledge.
- King, J., Skipper, R., & Tawhai, V. (2009). Māori Language Revival and Mental Health: The Role of Language in Wellbeing. Te Puni Kōkiri, Wellington.
- Schnorr, S. L., et al. (2014). Gut microbiome of the Hadza hunter-gatherers. Nature Communications, 5, 3654.
- Wahlqvist, M. L. (2014). Nutrition ecology and human health. Ecosystem Health and Sustainability, 1(1), 1–6.
