Conservation Through Consecration

Our natural world is being destroyed to fuel our more luxurious lifestyles. But that’s hardly news.

We’ve all heard how millions of hectares of rainforest are being turned into money-spinning estates of single-crop plantations.

There are vivid accounts of how precious biodiversity and traditional villages (mostly impoverished) have had to give way to megaprojects backed by steel-fisted governments, viz. the Three Gorges Dam in China.

Tales abound, too, of how the mining industry ravages pristine plains and hulking mountains, reducing them to polluted pits and moonscape quarries.

We’ve also all probably witnessed, heard or listened to so many of the same sobering stories that we begin to grow numb to them, to the point where some of us couldn’t care less if those brazen-faced corporations continue making a mockery of the things we stand for.

Try this on for size: Would a heated dinnertime discussion about deforestation in Kalimantan affect what you’d snack on later? Would you really put down that pack of palm oil-laden potato chips or cookies?

Probably not, which is why I find the following story insightful and uplifting. For me, it’s a refreshingly different take on a much-debated, oft-reported but largely ignored theme.

The horn-shaped island of Flores in East Nusa Tenggara province is home to a continuum of dramatic terrain. Stretching 360 kilometers from its fertile west to arid east, the scenery switches from vast expanses of savanna to lush virgin forest to acre upon acre of terraced rice paddies and on to a mountain range of dazzling beauty.

One hill in Sikka regency, 20 minutes from Maumere (the administrative capital and the closest thing to a city on the island) in eastern Flores, is the focus of our story.

Keling Hill in Nilo village was once as nondescript as the other hills around it, except for one thing: it held the village’s sole source of fresh water, and given the region’s unrelenting aridity, it held a central place in village life. It had been this way for centuries.

A few years ago, though, after several geological studies verified the presence of a massive limestone reserve beneath the hill, the peace in Nilo was disrupted.

There was talk of evicting the villagers in preparation for mining the marble. The hill, to be bulldozed away bit by bit, would eventually vanish from sight. Aware that this would affect, perhaps even stop the flow of water to surrounding areas, the villagers naturally rebelled at the idea. But who were they, this bunch of impoverished, helpless people? The plan was bound to proceed, regardless of their righteous indignation.

Then one day a group of Catholic missionaries, the Passionists, who for centuries had been instrumental in shaping Flores’ religious makeup, came up with an ingenious idea to thwart the plan and stop the life-giving hill becoming a money-churning quarry.

Their idea? Turn Keling into a “holy hill”.

They commissioned the construction of a statue of the Virgin Mary at the top of the hill. This was no ordinary statue. Standing 28 meters tall, the copper statue was an awe-inspiring spectacle when it was first set up in 2005. (It had to be erected a second time in 2006, after the foundation cracked and it toppled over in high winds.)

The statue of “Mary, Mother of All Nations” (Maria Bunda Segala Bangsa) is still a sight to behold. Her hands opening to the sky, she stands there in the biting breeze overlooking Maumere, towering 500 meters above sea level. On a clear day, Maumere townsfolk can see her from their town. At dusk, they see her gracious form glow in the fading light.

The Passionists’ idea was a masterstroke, above all because it capitalized on the unique demographic of Flores. More than 80 percent of Flores residents – and 90 percent of Sikka residents – are Catholics. So devout are they that voting in the 2009 presidential election had to be postponed in some regions here because it fell during Easter Week.

Putting up a statue of such a venerated biblical figure was thus tantamount to pinning a badge of sanctity on the hill. Such an idea might not have caught on elsewhere, given the different demographics, but for Nilo, it was perfect.

It worked for the people, because their all-important source of water was preserved. It worked for the hill, because it’s now universally viewed by locals as sacred. And it worked against the prospectors, because while ransacking a hill for its mineral content is one thing, desecrating a “holy” site is definitely another.

Mission accomplished? Not quite.

The idea proved to be all the more brilliant through the spin-offs it generated. Locals who previously wanted to work in the quarry backed down. The local administration, to accommodate the hordes of visitors now flocking to the statue, improved the access to the hill, fixing the road and widening it. The Passionists later built a simple retreat around the base of the statue.

In turn, the improved access allowed local villagers to sell their produce in Maumere, thus enhancing their livelihoods in a more sustainable way. The children, too, enjoyed better access to schools.

The hill was no longer the same. Precisely in order to prevent it being transformed into one thing, it had to be transformed into another. Change was necessary. And this change led to its preservation, not destruction.

Sound a bit like James Cameron’s Avatar? Perhaps. Only here victory is achieved with more brain than brawn. And it didn’t happen on Pandora, which we could just abandon in ruins once we’re done with it. It happened on Earth; there’s nowhere else to go.

Preserving a threatened ecosystem sometimes takes more than just letting it stay that way.

Just use a little ingenuity. + Chriswan Sungkono

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