The Indonesian government’s mission to preserve nature through conservation policies, particularly through the establishment of national parks, has sparked significant backlash from indigenous communities across the country. For these communities, national parks represent not a sanctuary, but a direct threat to their ancestral lands, sacred values, and centuries-old relationships with the forest.
Aleta Kornelia Baun, a 60-year-old indigenous woman from Mollo, East Nusa Tenggara (NTT), has become a vocal critic of the government’s plan to designate the Mutis Timau region as a national park. To her people, the Mutis area is not just a forest; it is an ancestral, sacred territory that sustains their spiritual and cultural identity. She fears that the imposition of strict government zoning—specifically the implementation of a “core zone” that excludes human activity—will strip the land of its sacredness and sever the ties between the people and their ancestors.
“The word ‘sacred’ does not even appear in the definitions drafted by the government,” Aleta noted in May 2026. Her concerns are echoed by organizations like the Indonesian Forum for the Environment (WALHI) and the Indigenous Peoples Alliance of the Archipelago (AMAN), which argue that current conservation approaches are exclusionary. They contend that zoning often serves as a tool for displacement, ignoring local knowledge that has effectively protected these ecosystems for generations.
Critics and academics point to a deeper issue: a colonial-era mindset that frames the state as the sole guardian of the forest, systematically marginalizing those who have lived there for centuries. This pattern of conflict is not isolated to Mutis; it is recurring from Kalimantan to Nusa Tenggara, raising a critical question: Can conservation succeed without alienating the very communities that have served as the forest’s primary protectors?
Resistance in Mutis Timau
Following recommendations from a joint ministerial team in 2024, the Mutis Timau region, covering nearly 80,000 hectares across Kupang, South Central Timor, and North Central Timor, was slated for conversion from a nature reserve to a national park. Former Minister of Environment and Forestry Siti Nurbaya justified the decision by highlighting the region’s importance as a “lung for East Nusa Tenggara” and a key symbol of sustainable biodiversity protection.
However, the local response was immediate and fierce. In late April 2026, as government officials arrived for a “socialization” session, residents staged protests, blocking access roads to stop the entourage. While the government eventually agreed to a temporary halt on activities within Mutis, the local indigenous communities remain deeply distrustful. They argue that the government’s vision fails to account for their lived reality and threatens to gradually erase their presence.
Yuvensius Stefanus Nonga, Executive Director of WALHI NTT, explained that the community has responded with a ritual known as “closing the forest.” In their culture, “opening the forest” allows for access and use, while “closing” it creates a spiritual and physical barrier. “When the government labels indigenous activities as obstacles, they fail to understand that to the people, the forest is a sacred site,” Nonga stated.
Preserving Ancestral Harmony
For the people of Mutis, the ecosystem relies on the concepts of air nama (water), kayu nama (wood), and batu nama (stone). These elements represent the harmony between nature and human life. The three mountains in the region—Kekneno, Mollo, and Mutis—are the source of vital springs that feed four major rivers. Stone and wood are central to the identity of their clans. Aleta stresses that this entire system is at risk under national park management, which limits access to the very people who maintain it.
“The state acts as if the forest has been without guardians until now,” Aleta said. “But the land was given to us by God to sustain our lives, long before the modern state was born.”
A Nationwide Pattern of Exclusion
The struggle in Mutis is part of a larger nationwide phenomenon. From the Bukit Baka Bukit Raya National Park in West Kalimantan, where the Belaban Ella indigenous community faced criminalization, to the Gunung Halimun Salak National Park in West Java, indigenous groups have faced constant pressure to abandon their traditional livelihoods. In Komodo National Park, the Ata Modo people have spent decades fighting displacement driven by the state’s prioritization of tourism and conservation-based relocation.
In Central Sulawesi, the Moa indigenous community saw their proposal for an indigenous forest slashed, with the remaining land swallowed by the Lore Lindu National Park. Similarly, the Semende people in South Sumatra were labeled as encroachers in the Bukit Barisan Selatan National Park, despite their presence in the area dating back to the early 19th century.
The Colonial Legacy in Modern Conservation
Geger Riyanto, an anthropologist from the University of Indonesia, notes that current conservation practices are inherently exclusionary. “These people are labeled as ‘poachers’ or ‘encroachers,’ even though they are the ones who have managed the forest sustainably for centuries,” Riyanto explained. Legal expert Yance Arizona adds that the core issue is a lack of participatory processes. “Suddenly, the state declares their ancestral lands as state forests, based on a colonial-era ideology that only the government is competent to manage natural resources.”
Research by historian Matthew Minarchek suggests that this approach is a legacy of the colonial era, where conservation was used as an instrument for political control. By creating a “crisis narrative,” colonial authorities could justify seizing land and stripping indigenous populations of their rights under the guise of environmental protection.
While the Constitutional Court of Indonesia has issued rulings (such as Number 95/PUU-XII/2014 and 181/PUU-XXII/2024) establishing that indigenous communities should not be criminalized for living in forests to meet their basic needs, the bureaucratic reality remains complex. According to Arman Moehammad of AMAN, the government is often more focused on climate mitigation projects like carbon trading, which frequently prioritize industrial or corporate interests over the rights of local inhabitants.
The Path Forward
The Directorate General of Natural Resources and Ecosystem Conservation (KSDAE) maintains that conservation cannot succeed without community participation and claims to be implementing partnership models to empower local residents. They emphasize that protecting biodiversity requires a collaborative approach between the central government and the local level.
However, for communities like the Dayak Meratus in South Kalimantan, the government’s actions often speak louder than its policies. Facing the potential establishment of the Meratus National Park, they have organized mass demonstrations, fearing the loss of their katuan (sacred prohibited forests) and jurungan (utilization forests). As these communities continue to voice their dissent, the demand for the state to recognize indigenous knowledge and shared governance of the forest grows louder.
Ultimately, the ongoing conflicts underscore a fundamental disconnect: the state views the forest as a resource to be zoned and controlled, while indigenous peoples view it as a living, sacred inheritance that is inextricably linked to their survival and identity.
Summary
The Indonesian government’s expansion of national parks, including the recent designation of the Mutis Timau region, has triggered significant resistance from indigenous communities who view these areas as sacred ancestral lands. Critics, including indigenous leaders and environmental organizations, argue that state-imposed zoning and “core zone” restrictions threaten to sever centuries-old relationships between local people and their environment. This exclusionary approach, often rooted in colonial-era policies, prioritizes state control over traditional stewardship, frequently labeling indigenous inhabitants as encroachers despite their proven historical ability to manage ecosystems sustainably.
Nationwide, this pattern of displacement continues to affect groups from Kalimantan to Nusa Tenggara, sparking protests and legal challenges regarding the rights of indigenous people. While the government claims to seek collaborative partnership models for biodiversity conservation, many communities remain skeptical, fearing that conservation efforts are primarily driven by bureaucratic interests or carbon trading rather than the recognition of traditional land rights. The conflict highlights a fundamental disconnect: the state views forests as resources to be zoned and regulated, whereas indigenous communities view them as inseparable components of their cultural, spiritual, and physical survival.