Stranded in the Rising Waters: Kalimantan’s Floods, Broken Roads, and Forgotten People
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| The floods of Kalimantan hold little appeal for Jakarta—too local, not global enough. No diplomatic gain, no headlines abroad. Just disaster without an audience. Special dayaktoday.com |
🌍 DAYAK TODAY | PONTIANAK:
The water came in the dead of night. No warnings. No sirens. Just the sound of rushing currents swallowing villages whole, leaving behind mud-covered homes, ruined crops, and dazed survivors clinging to what little remained.
This was the third major flood to hit Kalimantan in 2025 alone. As families once again fled to higher ground—children slung over shoulders, chickens tied to woven sacks—there was a deafening silence from Jakarta. No helicopters. No emergency relief. No national outcry.
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Instead, the capital’s attention was fixed elsewhere—on faraway conflicts, on foreign aid missions, on the kind of humanitarian posturing that earns applause on the world stage. Meanwhile, entire swaths of Indonesian Borneo were left to fend for themselves, their suffering absent from national headlines.
A Crisis Unfolding in the Shadows
Across Kalimantan, the dual crises of flooding and infrastructure collapse have pushed rural communities to the brink. Makeshift evacuation tents are leaky. Relief kitchens run dry. Children sleep soaked and shivering. Schools have shut down, and local economies are paralyzed.
But few in Jakarta seem to notice—or care.
Take the highlands of Krayan, a lush, rice-producing region bordering Malaysia. Here, the people grow one of Southeast Asia’s finest heirloom rice varieties: beras adan. But they cannot even afford soap or salt—let alone fuel. Their only link to the outside world? A patchy, high-cost flight from the coastal city of Tarakan, available only a few times a week.
There are no roads—none that work, at least. To get basic supplies, many villagers are forced to cross illegally into Malaysia’s Sarawak state. “It’s not that we don’t love Indonesia,” said one Krayan farmer. “It’s just that Malaysia feels more real to us.”
Forgotten by the State, Dependent on a Neighbor
For decades, Krayan has sat in isolation—both geographically and politically. Despite repeated promises, no functional road has been built to connect it with the rest of Indonesia. Prices for daily essentials are eye-watering: a single liter of cooking oil can cost the equivalent of $5; gasoline, if available, is even more expensive.
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Many residents now rely on smuggling goods from Malaysian border towns like Lawas or Ba’kelalan. "Our ID cards say 'Indonesia,'" said a schoolteacher in Long Bawan, "but our lifeline is Malaysia."
The contrast is glaring. While Indonesian officials fly overseas to hand-deliver aid to Palestine, Yemen, or Sudan, remote citizens in their own provinces are left to brave disaster alone.
Roads Washed Out, Markets Paralyzed
In flood-stricken towns like Sintang and Sekadau, even after the water recedes, devastation lingers. Roads remain broken or buried in sludge. Distribution trucks can’t get through. Markets are bare. A 3-kg gas cylinder —normally subsidized— can cost up to 45,000 rupiah ($2.85), nearly double the normal rate. That is, if it can be found at all.
Floods have wiped out rice fields, corn plots, and pepper gardens—critical income sources for thousands. Thousands have been laid off by palm oil plantations and mining companies in the aftermath. With no disaster insurance and limited government support, entire communities are now jobless.
“We didn’t just lose our homes,” said an elderly Dayak woman in the hills of Sekadau. “We lost our dignity.”
The Price of Extraction
Many experts blame unchecked mining and deforestation for the scale of the disaster. Open-pit gold extraction using heavy machinery—called dongfeng and kasbuk locally—has turned once-pristine rivers into toxic sludge. Watersheds that once buffered heavy rains have been stripped bare by palm oil expansion.
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“Floods are no longer natural,” said a local environmentalist. “They’re man-made. The rain hasn’t changed. The land has.”
Yet officials in Jakarta continue to blame “extreme weather,” offering little more than tokenistic aid and vague platitudes. A systemic response is nowhere in sight.
Indonesia's Internal Refugees?
As foreign policy becomes a theater for moral posturing, some in Kalimantan wonder what it takes to be heard. “We send billions abroad in the name of solidarity,” said a local youth activist in Sintang. “But what about us? Do we need to become international refugees just to be seen?”
The question, once unthinkable, now echoes across Kalimantan’s valleys and floodplains. In the absence of state presence, communities are organizing their own relief networks. NGOs are stepping in where the government won’t. But the scale of need is overwhelming.
The Quiet Desperation of a Nation Within a Nation
Indonesia’s founding mythos celebrates its diversity—thousands of islands, hundreds of ethnic groups, one united people. But in Kalimantan, that unity feels increasingly rhetorical.
From the highlands of Krayan to the flooded streets of Sintang, there is a growing sense of betrayal. People are tired of being patient. Tired of promises. Tired of invisibility.
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“The state only arrives here during elections,” one villager muttered. “Then it disappears again.”
Indonesia’s remote provinces don’t need charity. They need connection. Roads. Schools. Medical access. Disaster preparedness. Economic opportunity. Above all, they need acknowledgment—that their lives matter as much as any foreign cause.
Until then, the rain will keep falling, the rivers will keep rising, and the people of Kalimantan will keep waiting. Not for the flood to end—but for the country they call home to finally notice they exist.
-- Sidi Dangan