A visitor (photo above) looks at photos of traditional fabric-making process. An elderly woman (photo left) weaves clothing with a traditional wooden device.The old generation of Bataknese faces a tough challenge to preserve the unique Batak weaving tradition, known for its distinctive motifs and techniques.
Dressed in a woven sarong and wearing her hair in a bun, Mutiara Pandiangan took off her slippers, crossed her legs on a mat behind a loom, before starting to move her hands, skillfully operating the traditional wooden device.
The 66-year-old showed visitors at the Dutch Cultural Center Erasmus Huis in Kuningan, South Jakarta, that she still had the energy to turn colorful yarns into a piece of cloth with a striking Batak motif.
In between weaving, Mutiara, who lives in Muara village in North Sumatra, recounted her experience with Batak textiles and the problems faced by the weaving culture.
For centuries, Batak women have woven textiles, which reflect the history of the Sumatran people, using backstrap looms. The pre-colonial Batak life was still imbued by mystics.
According to a Batak legend, the first weaver was Si Boru Deak Oarujar, a goddess from the Upper World who escaped an undesirable marriage by sliding down her newly spun yarn to the seas of the Under World. There she created the earth, the Middle world.
Studies indicate that the Batak textile tradition descends from the most ancient weaving knowledge in the Indonesian archipelago.
For a long time, Batak women have inherited this weaving skill, learning through doing, becoming breadwinners in their family.
This includes Mutiara, who learned weaving from her mother and earned a living through weaving to support her six children.
In modern days, however, a weaver like Mutiara faces more challenges that might also threaten the existence of the ancient patterns, design layouts, techniques and colors of the traditional textiles.
Mutiara revealed that women in her village tended to go for farming. The income earned through weaving used to complement their agricultural income, but this was no longer the case.
“We can make more money working in rice fields, therefore many women have stopped weaving,” Mutiara told Sunday Post.
“It does not add up if the finished textile fetches less on the market than the cost of the yarn needed to make it.”
To make cloth, she explained, typically required at least three balls of yarn and a week of work.
“A ball of yarn costs around Rp 25,000 [US$2.80]. If we work in a rice field, we can earn Rp 50,000 per day.”
Besides, there are fewer and fewer young people who master this handicraft skill. Most of the weavers still in her village are old women who are no longer strong enough to farm.
“Youngsters nowadays show less interest in preserving the tradition. They don’t want to live in the village anymore. They prefer to go to big cities to work or study at university to pursue other career paths,” Mutiara said.
Restuala Namora, the owner of Sopo Sorha Harungguan workshop and gallery, also shared his concerns about Batak textile.
“Batak people used to take pride in weaving and saw it as an honorable profession because woven cloth was state of the art. Now, it’s more of a handcraft. Many ancient motifs are gone,” said Restuala, who is on a mission to bring back ancient motifs and the use of natural dyes.
“People made cloths out of yarn with natural dyes by using backstrap looms, while today, the production uses modern machines and people use chemical dyes.”
Restuala’s spirit of preserving Batak fabric emerged after his meeting with Sandra Niessen, an anthropologist living in the Netherlands who cares about Batak heritage.
Sandra first came to North Sumatra to undertake a fieldwork expedition in 1979 as part of her PhD research at Leiden University in the Netherlands.
Her main purpose was exploring the world of Batak through its indigenous weavings. She spent years in the region before obtaining a PhD cum laude in 1985, producing a dissertation titled Motifs of Life in Toba Batak Texts and Textiles.
She has published two books on the topic, Batak Cloth and Clothing: A Dynamic Indonesian Tradition (1993) and Legacy in cloth: Batak textiles of Indonesia (2009).
The latest book features the full repertory of textile types of Toba, Karo and Simalungun Batak, including the history and production techniques.
More than 30 years after she first arrived in Batak, she came back to the region in 2010 as part of a project called Pulang Kampung (Back to the Villages).
The project was a way to honor Batak weavers whose works were drastically undervalued. Niessen wanted to elicit recognition of their talents, diligence and knowledge.
“I wanted to give the books to weavers to thank them for their contribution to my work. Because it’s their knowledge in my book so they deserve the copy. It’s their right to have a copy of the book,” Niessen told the Post.
“Besides, the book is filled with photographs of all the different types of textiles that I could find. And I want the Batak weavers to have the full set of their own heritage.”
Niessen was surprised when she revisited North Sumatra region. “I was very sad to see how few textiles are left, how few weavers work and how difficult [it is for them] to financially keep the traditional life,” she said.
She was also disappointed to see that not a single indigo-dyed piece was available to purchase, saying that the Karo Batak town of Kaban Jahe had been a center of indigo dying.
She offered some suggestions on how to continue the endeavor of Batak’s wealth textile craftsmanship.
“First, awareness, to be aware of what’s happening. Second, support the weavers. Make them feel proud. They are very unacknowledged. They need to be recognized and they need to feel proud,” she said.
Mutiara is now one among a number of women in her village who have pledged to keep on weaving for the rest of their lives. She still receives orders to make woven cloths.
“Many years ago, we, the weavers, would weave and sell woven cloths in the market. Back then, it was easy to do that, but not today,” she said.
“We only weave when there is an order. Fortunately, there are still many people out there who believe in us. People usually come to us to make cloths for special traditional events like weddings.”
She said she was concerned that she had not had the opportunity to pass on her skill to her children or younger women in the community.
“I have a daughter, but she prefers working in a city. So I guess nobody will inherit this profession,” she added, casting her eyes back on her weaving, continuing to move the loom with her wrinkled but energetic hands.
