In the lush, biodiverse heart of Halmahera Island, Indonesia, an ancient way of life is under threat. The O Hongana Manyawa, a nomadic forest people, have lived in this rainforest for generations, their existence inextricably linked to the land. They are one of the last few remaining uncontacted Indigenous groups in the country, and their survival is now in jeopardy, not from some natural calamity, but from the relentless, global demand for critical minerals like nickel. This is a story of a modern-day tragedy, one that is rooted in a colonial mindset, masked by the rhetoric of a ‘just energy transition,’ and compounded by the failure of those who should be their allies.
A Colonial Mindset Reborn
Indonesia’s failure to recognise the rights of its Indigenous Peoples isn’t a modern political blunder; it’s a direct inheritance of a colonial mindset forged during the brutal spice wars.
The Western explorers who came to the archipelago centuries ago saw the Indigenous inhabitants not as equals, but as primitive, backward people whose unique ways of life were an impediment to progress. This view, which positioned European civilisation as the pinnacle of human achievement, became embedded in the national psyche, persisting long after the European colonial powers were expelled. It is this very mindset that the modern Indonesian state, which emerged from the ashes of World War II, has never fully dismantled. The result is a persistent and pernicious denial of Indigenous rights.
Throughout Indonesian history, this colonial ideology has manifested in devastating ways.
During the military junta led by Suharto, the state’s approach to Indigenous Peoples was a chilling copy-cat of colonial practices. The government’s ‘development’ policies often entailed forced contact, followed by forced relocation and resettlement, and even religious conversions. Indigenous communities were seen as obstacles to ‘development’ — a concept defined by the state and its corporate allies. These forced removals, often carried out with military force, were justified by the paternalistic belief that these communities needed to be ‘modernised’ for their own good. The notion of a nomadic people living in harmony with nature was, and still is, considered an anachronism that doesn’t fit with the aspirations of a modern, unified state.
This historical baggage is the primary reason for the Indonesian government’s persistent reluctance to ratify the Indigenous Rights Bill. Despite decades of pressure from Indigenous organisations like the Indigenous Peoples’ Alliance of the Archipelago (AMAN) and other civil society groups, the bill has languished in parliament. The state’s unwillingness to provide a legal framework for the recognition and protection of Indigenous lands, cultures, and self-determination is a clear manifestation of this deeply ingrained colonial mindset. It’s a mindset that allows the government to sign international accords like the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) while simultaneously denying the very existence of Indigenous Peoples in Indonesia.
The colonial mindset is not merely a historical footnote; it is a live and active force shaping policy today. It is reflected in the way the government speaks about its own citizens. Indigenous communities are often referred to as masyarakat hukum adat (customary communities), a term that subtly undermines their status as distinct peoples with inherent rights. This linguistic sleight of hand is a deliberate tactic to avoid the obligations that would come with full recognition. The state prefers to see them as ‘tribes’ or ‘ethnic groups’ that can be assimilated into the larger national body, their unique identities and self-governance structures subsumed under state control. This approach echoes the colonial era’s civilising mission, which sought to ‘improve’ the natives by making them more like the colonisers.
The military junta’s approach to Indigenous Peoples was particularly brutal. The “transmigration” programs of the New Order regime, which relocated millions of people from densely populated islands like Java to less populated ones like Halmahera, were not just about demographic rebalancing.
They were a tool of social engineering, intended to dismantle Indigenous ways of life and replace them with a state-sanctioned model of settled agriculture and a unified national identity. This process was often violent, leading to land conflicts and the displacement of Indigenous communities, who were seen as occupying ’empty’ land, a colonial lie that ignored millennia of stewardship and use. The forced relocation of the O Hongana Manyawa, should contact be made, would be a direct continuation of this dark chapter in Indonesia’s history. It would be an act of cultural and physical erasure, justified by the same old arguments about progress and development.
The Extractive ‘Energy Transition’
The current global push for an energy transition, with its promise of a cleaner, more sustainable future, is tragically not built on a foundation of fairness or justice. Instead, it’s a new iteration of the same old extractive mindset that fuelled the coal and gold rushes in Indonesia during the Suharto era. The fall of the military junta in 1998 didn’t lead to the dismantling of this development model. On the contrary, the post-junta era has seen a continuation of policies that treat natural resources as commodities to be exploited, with the land and the people on it as mere externalities.
The O Hongana Manyawa are now on the front line of this ‘green’ rush. Their rainforest home in Halmahera sits atop some of the world’s largest nickel reserves. The demand for this critical mineral, driven by the global electric vehicle and battery industries, is leading to a catastrophic expansion of mining operations. Data from organisations like Auriga Nusantara shows that this mineral rush is a primary driver of deforestation in Halmahera. The tropical forests, which are the very heart of the O Hongana Manyawa’s existence, are being torn up to feed a global appetite for ‘clean’ energy. It’s a cruel irony that the solution to one crisis — climate change — is triggering another: the annihilation of a people and their unique way of life.
When Indonesia signed the UNDRIP, it was not an act of liberation or a genuine commitment to honouring Indigenous rights. It was a diplomatic stunt, an act of international theatre designed to project an image of a progressive nation while maintaining the status quo at home. The UNDRIP, which is not legally binding, has been used as a shield by the government to deflect criticism while it continues to grant vast concessions to mining and plantation companies. The state’s actions demonstrate that the signing was never meant to be a full and meaningful respect for the rights of Indigenous Peoples, especially the most vulnerable, uncontacted groups.
The current ‘energy transition’ is, in many ways, a rebranding of the old extractive model. The same multinational corporations and state-owned enterprises that exploited Indonesia’s resources for decades are now simply shifting their focus from fossil fuels to critical minerals. The core logic remains unchanged: natural resources in the global south are to be extracted at minimal cost to fuel consumption in the global north. The Indigenous peoples who live on these lands are simply obstacles to be removed or ‘managed.’
This is evident in the lack of Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) for mining projects on Indigenous lands, a core principle of the UNDRIP. Corporations often bypass communities, or engage in superficial consultations that do not genuinely respect their right to say no.
The destruction of the rainforests in Halmahera is not just a matter of losing trees. As documented by organisations like Birdlife International, this region is a global biodiversity hotspot. The forests are home to a staggering array of endemic species, including birds like the Wallace’s standardwing and the ivory-breasted pitta. The O Hongana Manyawa are not just living in this ecosystem; they are an integral part of it. Their nomadic lifestyle, which involves moving through the forest and using resources sustainably, is a form of conservation. They are the ultimate custodians of the forest, their knowledge of its flora and fauna unparalleled.
The destruction of their habitat for nickel mining represents a double tragedy: the loss of a unique human culture and the irreversible damage to a critical ecosystem. The promise of a ‘green’ future built on this foundation is a lie.
The Peril of Misunderstanding Uncontacted Peoples
The O Hongana Manyawa are a nomadic forest people with a unique relationship to their environment. They do not cut down trees to build permanent shelters; instead, they construct small, temporary camps from sticks and leaves. They live in a state of deep, ritualistic respect for the forest, believing that trees possess souls. They are, in essence, an extension of the forest itself. This profound dependence on their landscape makes them the most vulnerable group of people in the world. Any change to their environment poses an existential threat.
This is a critical point that many civil society actors in Indonesia still fail to fully grasp. The concept of an uncontacted Indigenous people presents a unique challenge, one that requires a different approach than advocacy for settled communities. For the O Hongana Manyawa, the destruction of their forest home is not just a matter of losing land or resources; it’s a death sentence. The destruction of their habitat means the loss of their food sources, their medicines, their sacred sites, and their very identity. Moreover, forced contact with outsiders exposes them to diseases to which they have no immunity, a historical pattern that has led to mass deaths in other parts of the world.
The only way to preserve the O Hongana Manyawa and their way of life is to establish no-go zones — areas that are off-limits to all external activities, particularly extractive industries.
Many civil society groups, however, still struggle with the urgency of this need. Their focus often remains on broader issues of land rights and environmental justice, without fully appreciating that for uncontacted peoples, the simple act of being left alone is the most fundamental right of all. The continuous push for ‘development’ and the failure to protect the O Hongana Manyawa’s forest home from the march of bulldozers and mining operations will lead to their extinction. It is a slow-motion genocide, happening in plain sight, with a deadly irony: the sacrifice of a people for the sake of a supposedly ‘green’ future.
The failure of civil society to fully comprehend the situation of uncontacted peoples is a significant part of the problem.
Many well-intentioned NGOs and activists operate under the assumption that all Indigenous issues can be resolved through legal and political battles, such as securing land titles or advocating for the passage of the Indigenous Rights Bill. While these are crucial goals for many communities, they are completely irrelevant for the O Hongana Manyawa who have no desire to engage with the state, whose existence they may not even fully comprehend.
Their survival depends on their isolation.
The best form of advocacy for them is not to speak for them, but to ensure that the world leaves them alone. This requires a shift in strategy, from engaging with the state to actively protecting the physical boundaries of their territory.
The concept of a “no-go zone” is seen by some as radical or impractical, but it is the only ethical and pragmatic solution. It is an acknowledgment that some places on Earth are not for sale and some ways of life are not to be disturbed. The alternative is a path of destruction and cultural extinction. The mining companies, backed by global demand, will not stop. They see the forest as nothing more than a resource to be exploited, a spreadsheet entry in their balance sheets. The Indonesian government, blinded by the promise of economic growth and national prestige, is complicit in this destruction.
The story of the O Hongana Manyawa is a microcosm of a much larger, global issue. It exposes the hypocrisy of a world that claims to be moving towards a ‘green’ and ‘sustainable’ future, while repeating the same colonial patterns of exploitation and disregard for the rights of Indigenous Peoples.
It is a story of a system that sees people and nature not as things of value in themselves, but as inputs for a capitalist machine. Until this fundamental mindset is changed, until we recognise that the rights of uncontacted peoples to live in peace and isolation are paramount, the extinction of the O Hongana Manyawa will not be a tragic accident but a predictable and avoidable consequence of our own greed and ethical failure.
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