The 'Back to the Villages' Projects contributed to Textile Revival

Weavers inspect an old textile that I purchased in an antique store
and brought to them. They have no more templates like these in the villages.

Recently the knowledgeable textile collector, Lewa Pardomuan, listed several people in Indonesia engaged in textile revival. My name, together with that of MJA Nashir, was not on his list, but I would argue that it should be. To date, we have not produced Batak textiles or new designs. However, I believe we have taken important steps to revitalize the tradition found in the region around Lake Toba.

To my mind, the revitalization of indigenous textile traditions has to do with weavers. Not designers in the popular sense of the word. And not fashion.

Weavers constructed all of the weaving traditions in Indonesia. Their collective results have built up over the course of centuries. Indonesia's weaving traditions are the product of weaver creativity and skill in managing local resources and impinging external influences, each generation building upon the contributions of the last. If we assume, as I think we can, that weaving traditions were initially relatively simple and that they increased in complexity with time, this was the cultural product of village women with artistic and other skills. (We are now undeniably witnessing a phase in which the weaving arts are shrinking in complexity and artistry, some disappearing altogether, others threatened with extinction.) The women in the villages are no longer building on the past; they have lost (access to) most of the knowledge and skill that was built up over centuries. Revival, to my mind, would consist of re-building their capacities.

Some of the examples of revival on Lewa Pardomuan's list are the work of designers who have submitted tasks to weavers. this usually relates to fashion developments that reference indigenous traditions. Can this be called 'revival'? I don't think so. I have nothing against designers; their work is exciting and important. But revival of indigenous cloth through the work of designers? Unlikely. Theirs is business that competes by referencing indigenous skill, resources and design. If the capital or the initiative collapses, so does the 'revival' because it is dependent. It is not rooted in the culture It is not rooted in the weavers; they just work for the designer.

To my mind, revival has to do with inspiring the spirit, knowledge and know-how of weavers. The knowledge that I am referring to relates to being keepers of technical and design heritage. UNESCO called this intangible heritage. Know-how relates to their skill in translating that knowledge into tangible products. The revival of textile tradition has to do with expanding the capacities of the hands of the weavers, as well as what is between their ears and in their hearts. The tangible is but a momentary expression of the weaver's participation in her intellectual/spiritual/technical universe. Unless the weavers are nurtured (physically/spiritually/mentally), a textile tradition cannot be revived. Beautiful revival textiles only emerge when weavers are inspired, talented, practised and well taught, when they believe in themselves and their craft capacities; otherwise they will not spend their resources on creating a cloth to the very best of their abilities.

In addition, they need the room to make a beautiful textilee. By 'room', I mean enough time and enough financial security. Furthermore, they need templates so that they can test their skills against those of their ancestors. Revival cannot be built on exhausted wavers who are underpaid by the market and whose families are suffering from the effects of poverty. When the weavers are reduced to labourers (as is usually the case when they work for designers), they become practitioners of a limited set of techniques, working repetitively, boringly, for an insufficient wage. Reviving their weaving heritage may be the last thing on their minds. When they are focused on meeting the design requirements set by someone else, they are not reviving their weaving tradition; they are behaving as paid labourers. They are in a dependent position. Revival is about giving the weavers the space to express their own abundant creativity.

My 'Back to the Villages' projects have entailed giving to weavers and not asking anything of them,  reversing the flow in a world in which weavers, quite simply, are exploited. The 'Back to the Villages' team has returned to the weavers their woven heritage in print form (Legacy in cloth, Batak textiles of Indonesia, a book documenting their repertory) to give them access which they otherwise would not have because there are no museums that cater to them and because the beautiful old templates have disappeared out of the villages. Because my book, Legacy in cloth, was sumptuously produced, it kindled a sense of pride in the weavers for their own tradition. Our film, Rangsa ni Tonun, also encouraged a sense of pride. The film reminded them that in the Batak past, when the culture wa still vigorous, weavers were believed to be doing the work of the goddess, Si Boru Hasagian. Their work was honoured and revered. In addition, the actors in our film, just ordinary village weavers, felt intensely proud to have been transformed into 'movie stars' showing their weaving talents to the world.

I believe that the 'Back to the Villages' expeditions executed by MJA Nashir and myself have contributed significantly to raising awareness of the fact that the Batak weaving tradition is in sharp decline and now on the verge of total collapse -- and that this should not be allowed to happen. Now there are several people on the front lines talking about, and trying their hand at reviving the Batak textile tradition.

So far, however, all of this attention has not ameliorated the plight of Batak weavers. With the 'loss of ulos' having turned into a hot issue, people are still concerned about the disappearance of the cloth. Not many seem to have thought about how the plight of the weavers is connected to the decline in the textile tradition. The village tradition continues to decline because weavers are not receiving enough for their work and because young women are not interested in taking up the trade. Why would they want to take up a life of grinding poverty based on extremely hard work?

A ceremony last year intended to highlight the 'intangible' heritage instead highlighted only the tangible heritage. The weaver was left out. She has not yet been sufficiently celebrated despite being the source of the cloth that all claim to love and to want to preserve. Is this because, although she is the descendant of the mythical goddess of weaving, she is practically invisible on the lowest rung of the social ladder?

Everywhere I go, I encourage political leaders to give to the weavers what they need not just to survive, but to thrive:

Designate weaver villages in ways that tourists can find the weavers

Celebrate weavers by recognizing that they are cultural heroes.

Distribute pamphlets about weaver traditions.

Promote the makers of the cloths as artists instead of leaving them anonymous.

Give the weaver centre stage and not just the designer or the politician who is using her skills to show that he/she is a cultural promoter.

Indonesia is a country in which attention is paid upwards to the person of status. Revival of the textile tradition means reversing this flow -- or recognizing that the weaver, humble and poor as she is, is nevertheless a cultural hero and needs to be celebrated as such.

This, Lewa, is what my work has been designed to do. That is why we call my projects "Back to the Villages": we want the flow of respect and resources to go back to the villages where cultural items such as ulos are produced. The weavers have been squeezed financially and socially and it shows in their products. If we want textile revival, we need cultural revival that puts weavers back in touch with the work of their ancestors and inspires the youth to want to be bearers of their traditions.

Harna's Heritage

The consequences of the first Pulang Kampung journey, of distributing copies of Legacy in Cloth among Batak weavers and their families, have evidently not yet achieved completion. The pebbles that I threw into the water then are still creating rings.

In 2010 I gave a copy of Legacy in cloth to Ompu Sihol’s only child (a son) and his youngest son (i.e. Ompu Sihol’s grandson), Juni. Ompu Sihol was my weaving teacher in 1980, the one who so thoroughly taught me the basics of weaving that this knowledge served as the foundation for all my subsequent understandings and documentation of Batak weaving techniques. I described my emotional Pulang Kampung moment, back in her village in Harian Boho, in one of my blogs. It was confrontational to be back in the village where I began my anthropological career as a 24-year old. The lessons with Ompu Sihol had been challenging. She was strict and I was unsure of myself, suffering greatly from culture shock. We managed to muddle our way through our respective cultural misunderstandings and I gradually discovered her good and kind heart and she forgave my confusions. On the last day when we ate our ritual lunch together, we had chicken and I was given the wings (I had given up my vegetarian lifestyle in the village). Ompu Sihol flapped her arms and said that the wings were to help me weave back in my village. I hope that I have done those wings proud even though I have never really become a weaver. I recorded her singing a weaving song on that day. Little did I know that thirty years later it would become the theme song of my film, Rangsa ni Tonun. Her daughter-in-law repeatedly urged me to “not forget the family” and I gave her my promise. “How would I be able to forget you?” I asked in return. When in 2010, thirty-five years later, I gave a copy of Legacy in cloth to Ompu Sihol’s son, his wife was already deceased, he was blind and could not witness the book, and his granddaughter (son Juni’s daughter) had never seen a Batak weaving loom. Times had changed drastically. Ompu Sihol's son was the only one living in the dying village. There were no more weavers in the valley. When I handed over my book, I offered it to three generations that descended from Ompu Sihol, three generations that represented the end of weaving in Harian Boho.  I could not help but wonder how the book would be received, not just then, but on into the future. What would it mean to them? At least they would have a record of an ancestor who was a master weaver and she could be a source of pride for them.

After a few years, a young woman named Alph Kianna Harna contacted me through Facebook saying that she was one of Ompu Sihol’s great grandchildren. She had seen the copy of Legacy in cloth that I had left behind in Ompu Sihol's village and she had googled my name. Her father was one of the little boys living in the village when I was there, one of the sons of that daughter-in-law and that now blind man. I met Alph Kianna Harna briefly when she came to Taman Mini at the launch of Pulang Kampung III and we hugged each other. She felt like family. I liked her equanimity and presence. She said that she worked for Singapore Airlines. We stayed in touch.

Harna had her first meal in The Netherlands with us.

Wonder of wonders, when I last returned from Indonesia (29 September 2015), Harna landed at Schiphol during her first visit overseas. Our planes landed at the same time and we fetched our luggage in the same hall. We met as we were both exiting that hall and I brought her home with me to give her a cozy bed where she could get over her jetlag. Our plan was that I would show her Ompu Sihol’s weaving equipment and textiles.

Harna looked at the pictures of her great
grandmother in my book.

I showed Harna her great grandmother's loom.

Harna said that she didn't know about
Batak weaving.

And we did that. We thumbed through the many pages in Legacy where her great grandmother is depicted. I shared my stories with her and she shared her reactions -- also to my collection of pictures taken during those fateful months. 

It turned out that the grandson who had been given the task of
looking after the chicken for our lunch grew up to be Harna's father.

It felt so odd to be in the position of sharing information about Batak weaving to a descendant of my erstwhile weaving teacher. It must have felt just as odd for Harna. I experienced the need to point out that I had purchased the weaving equipment, that I had exhibited it on several occasions, that I hoped that I had sufficiently honoured it through my work, that I hoped that one day it would all go back to the Batak area. I was gratified when Harna said that she was pleased that I had looked after it all so well. I had been a good custodian but I felt also strangely guilty. It is Harna’s heritage! Our bond is therefore very strong. I care about her as though she is my own family because she is inextricably bound up with the most important heritage of my career. How remarkable to share that heritage with her in The Netherlands! I remembered carrying out the wooden implements on my head as I walked from Ompu Sihol’s village to the edge of the lake, then packing it in crates to be shipped out to The Netherlands: my “anthropological study collection”.

My “stuff” is not unlike collections in anthropological museums: material that can rekindle culture in the places where it was acquired. But it needs to be shared with the descendants. What will Harna’s path look like? I hope I attain a great age so that I can keep track of her and her future children.

And I hope that Ompu Sihol and her daughter-in-law, Harna’s great grandmother and grandmother, were smiling down on us, nodding in approval. How many times Ompu Sihol had shaken her head while watching me fumble my way through a weaving technique and shared her amazement and dismay with her ever-curious neighbour. I gave Harna my blown-up picture of the two of them sitting together. 

Peter James Jasper has purchased a copy of Legacy in Cloth, Batak Textiles of Indonesia

My dedication in Peter James Jasper’s copy of Legacy in Cloth, Batak Textiles of Indonesia, reads “What an honour that this book, inspired by the works of grandfather Johan Ernst Jasper, should come into the possession of his grandson, Jim Jasper.”

Jim has been generous with his assistance when I have had questions about J.E. Jasper’s life. An email friendship has grown up between the two of us. For me it is a very special friendship. 

….

J.E. Jasper as Governor
of Yogyakarta

The grandfather, J.E. Jasper (1874 -1945), is one of the foremost, early figures in the history of craft studies in Indonesia. For many years his work has been an inspiration to me and for good reason.

First is his love and respect for Indonesian craft. Precisely when he started to explore Indonesian basketry as a hobby is unclear but we know that he had a passion for the diversity of plaiting that he found in the Dutch East Indies and that he was writing about it even before he landed the assignment to survey craft in the Indonesian archipelago for the colonial government.  He was assigned the task because in addition to his passion, he showed intelligence and talent. That was evident early on in his career when he was still an assistant Controleur. Punctuating all of his subsequent publications are expressions of admiration for craft in the archipelago and a commitment to having it thrive.

Second is the abounding evidence of Jasper’s insistence on quality research. Again, reading between the lines, it is clear that he aspired to become one of those top colonial administrators who were gargantuan in their interests, detailed in their observations and accurate and prolific in their writings. Jasper’s publications on craft have become foundation stones for later research because of their detail. He appears to have been tireless in his dedication to explore the subject area thoroughly.

Third, Jasper helped to set the early parameters of craft discourse. This is true in both geographical and thematic terms. His observations were astute. He knew the literature and themes of his time. He summed up past work and he distilled directions of future inquiry.

Fourth, Jasper was encouraged (especially during the first years of his assignment) by the central administration of the country. Who can say that about craft studies today? This is not something for which we can admire Jasper but it is a facet of his career that we can envy. He was lucky to be able to ride a unique wave. And the way he rode it is evidence of how craft can benefit from governmental support of the right kind. We can admire how he made use of the opening that was given to him: with boundless enthusiasm he plunged into the tasks of setting up craft schools, markets and exhibitions. He appears to have been a dedicated and inspiring figure. He had a vision and a dream and was determined to give his best to both.

Fifth, Jasper’s work is excellent for its breadth of focus. His travels took him to the far corners of the archipelago. His readings supplemented his findings. His publications lay a foundation of such scope that all students of craft have since consulted them. For the comparative study of craft in the archipelago, they are unsurpassed.

Sixth, Jasper’s working relationship with Pirngadie appears to have been exemplary. Mas Pirngadie, the brilliant, self-taught Javanese artist was Jasper’s protégé. His style and interests were a perfect match for Jasper’s needs. Fitting, but remarkable for the time, Jasper made him the second author of his primary publication on craft, the five-volume De Inlandsche Kunstnijverheid in Nederlandsch Indië, because his contributions to the volume merited this. This was another example of Jasper’s respect for Indonesian talent and accomplishment and his insistence on fairness.

A huge compliment for Legacy in Cloth, Batak Textiles of Indonesia

There are some emails that one saves. This one, from Pamela Cross, is definitely a keeper. I value Pamela's judgement. She designed and manages the best website on tribal textiles.

www.tribaltextiles.info 

www.tribaltextiles.info/community forum

This is what she wrote to me.

I am still in love with my jobit/runjat! [a Batak textile type]  Just wonderful to have such excellent supporting documentation in the form of Legacy In Cloth!  How you must have poured over the old photos trying to identify the cloths being worn - incredible!  It made me realize how amazing the work that you and the designer did on Legacy In Cloth putting the links backwards and forward between the Style Regions [Part II] and the Catalogue [Part III].  I love the thumbnail pictures in the Catalogue of details in the old photos in the Style Regions!  It is only when one works through in earnest with a real textile that it is possible to appreciate this properly.  It so fits with your wish that Legacy In Cloth could be used by museums to identify their textiles.  (I know that the focus at the moment is on recording and giving back the designs/examples of the cloths to the Batak weavers but you always had several aims in mind.  Of course, for me as a collector, I am just proving that it also works for us!)    

"Why do you love Batak Textiles?"

I was interviewed many times during the Pulang Kampung III journey in which my team brought our film, Rangsa ni Tonun to the Batak area. The first question when I was interviewed was always, “Why do you love Batak textiles?”  I found this question difficult to respond to in a sound bite while standing on a windy field, hence this note.

I once impatiently answered in return, “What does it matter? The Pulang Kampung expeditions are not about me and my likes and dislikes, they are about the repatriation of material and intellectual culture. What I love is not the point.”

Was I wrong?

Many interviewers seemed poised to have a truth unveiled, the microphone pointed expectantly at my mouth. In the not too distant past, white-skinned newcomers entered the region and said that the textiles and most of the rest of Batak culture were of the devil. The White Man’s views achieved dominance through the hegemony of the new church and state. Sometimes I sense that only a white-skinned newcomer can release the culture-bearer from the burdensome yoke that my ancestors placed on them and, like a kiss from the prince, awaken them to the beauty of their own culture. These textiles have value, I say; do not underestimate them! What makes you love them? they press in return. Tell us what it is! They have been taught that modernity has value, not indigenous culture. Why does this white woman spend so much time, money, energy, so much of her life, on this textile tradition? What on earth does she see in these cloths?

Beautiful supplementary warp. Are there any weavers left
who know how to do this?

I could have waxed lyrical about the complex, beautifully executed, supplementary warp patterning (jugia) that is sometimes found in old textiles. I love the innovative combinations of supplementary weft (jukkit) and ikat. I love the way the same patterns are sometimes executed in all of the textile techniques in a single cloth: ikat, supplementary weft and warp and twining. I love the clever ways that weavers have adapted external influences and ‘Batakized’ them on their backstrap looms. I love the micro-regional traditions that used to be so vibrant, yielding ever so slight differences in weaving equipment and the resultant textiles. I love the deep, ancient colours that were obtained by methodical hard work, knowledge of nature and infinite patience. I love the way weavers once had the latitude and the opportunity to express their creativity at their looms. I love that I had the opportunity to work with Ompu ni Sihol and to catch a glimpse of how a textile was made in pre-colonial culture. But how could I share all of that when the people who were interviewing me probably didn't know the fine details of the old textiles and the names for the techniques that constructed them? The tradition is dying.

Beautiful ikat. Nobody makes this anymore.

How quickly and radically things have changed! I confess that I don’t like the brightly coloured, modern Batak textiles with gold yarn that are made on ATBM looms. I find them gaudy. They make me sad. I see in them the careless, simplified, purely market-driven dead end of a rich and dignified heritage. This is not the part of the tradition that I love. But it may be all that the reporters are familiar with. Hence their question, perhaps? Hence my difficulty in responding.

But even my admiration for Batak weaving techniques and patterning could not have sustained me for all of these years were it not that they opened a window onto something much larger that never ceases to fill me with awe: the entire complex and tradition of Indonesian weaving. There are a few places on the world’s surface where weaving has attained a dazzling height of complexity and achievement. The Indonesian archipelago is one of those places.The weaving of the Batak people of Sumatra is a small, though very special, variant in that giant corpus of Indonesian weaving.

A stunning bintang maratur ikat. This textile is no longer made.

This makes Batak weaving all the more precious. Its distinct and special value emerges when it is juxtaposed with all of the other traditions in the archipelago. The value of the Indonesian textile tradition as a single, great complex is greater than the sum of the weaving traditions that comprise it. Each individual tradition is a building block or a link in the mesh. Each gains additional meaning from that larger whole and contributes to the fabric of that larger complex. Only as an assemblage is it complete. When people ask me why I love Batak textiles, one of my stock answers is that my focus on Batak textiles is a fluke of fate. I could have chosen any of the textile traditions in the Indonesian archipelago. All are rich. All are deserving of deep scrutiny within a comparative context.

Frankly, I am dismayed that UNESCO chooses to select bits and pieces (batik, Sumbanese weaving) to promote as intangible world heritage. This well-intentioned attempt to preserve the finest cultural contributions in fact demonstrates how little UNESCO knows about what is special about the weaving culture of Indonesia. Its recognition of pieces of the whole undermines momentum to recognize that larger whole. By focusing on the individual pieces of the puzzle, UNESCO fails to see the larger image. There is a need to recognize and protect the entire complex.

Only a simple twined edge, but so well made and the colours blend beautifully.

Through my own work I do what I can to raise awareness of the value of the Batak tradition. My means are limited. I have no institutional backing and no source of funding. (I am very lucky to have the loyal support of MJA Nashir who understands and shares my vision and goals and hugely augments my ability to pursue them.) The Batak tradition is more than rich enough in all of its facets to fill my anthropological career. Research of the Indonesian textile tradition is a multi-person project.

An ikat pattern that is no longer made. It combines three different ikat patterns.

Combination of supplementary weft and ikat. Soft and beautiful.

Sometimes I want to answer the question of why I love Batak textiles by invoking an even larger context. I want to point out that it is not Batak textiles per se that I love. Rather, I am committed to doing what I can to make room in this world for indigenous culture. The world is in deep crisis. Indigenous cultures are endangered. Languages and cultures are disappearing at an ever-increasing rate. Contrary to what some Batak people think and thank me for, my intent is not to “promote Batak culture outside Indonesia”. Instead, I confront people, and especially Batak people, with the fact that Batak culture is a victim of so-called progress. The spectacular cultural accomplishments of the Batak people are diminishing daily. Do I feel love for this? No, I love the possibility of cultural diversity. I feel horror, sadness, disgust at cultural loss. Will the Batak people choose to nurture, protect and promote their own cultural contributions or will they continue to turn their backs so that they can march to the drum of modern materialism? To my mind, a well-made Batak textile has greater and more lasting value than a Mercedes Benz fresh off the assembly line, but my views are not supported by the global economy. Will the Batak safeguard their cultural identity? How will they do it if they choose to do it? It is a huge challenge and it faces all of the indigenous peoples of the world.

An unusual sibolang ikat. This is the only one I know.
An individual weaver's creative impulse?
Thankfully she had the time to experiment.

During my first ‘Back to the Villages’ project, I gave a copy of my book, Legacy in cloth, Batak textiles of Indonesia (2009) to a weaver and I watched her reaction. She ran an emotional gauntlet. The book confronted her with the fineness of the textile achievement of her culture and simultaneously with its loss. Memories surfaced. The book made her silent. Another weaver said she felt happiness on the one hand and pain on the other when she witnessed the achievements of her culture. My original intent was just to say thank you to the weavers by giving them my book. I am an anthropologist. It is my obligation to give my research results to the people about whom I conduct research. I had not reckoned on the impact that the return of cultural heritage would have. This is not about objects, not just about cloth. This is about identity, hearts, minds, memories, the sense of the past and the future.

 

Sihol

The day starts earlier in Indonesia than it does in Holland, so when I wake up in the morning, I like to check my email and Facebook messages first thing to get up to speed. This morning was very special because of a message from Ojak Tampe Silaban, one of the four young people on the Pulang Kampung III team. 

Ojak is full of the unexpected. (Photo by MJA Nashir on the DEL University campus.)

He said that he had given a copy of Rangsa ni Tonun to Sihol Malau, that he had told her in colourful detail about our adventures and that he had spent the night in her house. This message went straight to my heart.

Sihol Malau is the Ompu ni Sihol’s granddaughter, indeed, the one after whom Ompu ni Sihol is named. Several of Ompu ni Sihol’s grandchildren played in the village plain when I took my weaving lessons with her. They wound her weft, scared her pig, the dog and chickens away from her loom, fetched salaon (indigo plant) with me on the hillside, chewed the kemiri nut and spat it in the can when Ompu ni Sihol needed it for her starching solution (she had no teeth). I didn’t know them well. I was 24 at the time and was more focused on my weaving notes than on these children.

But now that granddaughter Sihol has Rangsa ni Tonun, my heart is very glad. I imagine her playing the film and hearing Ompu ni Sihol’s cracking old voice as the origin of the theme song of the film. I can see her open the book that I wrote about the film and find the picture of her grandmother. I can imagine her feelings. How I would love to find my own grandmother in a book!

Thank you, Ojak Tampe, for giving such a good start to my day. I look forward to seeing the photographs that you took.

The day of the launch of the Boat Budaya comes back to me. Saturday August 24. We were crazy busy setting up a stall where we could offer our books and posters for sale, dealing with some last-minute upsets and preparing for the afternoon event in which Ibu Stephanie’s textiles would be officially handed over to Museum Tekstil. Amidst all of that, I went over to the huge Batak house at the corner of the North Sumatran village of Taman Mini to review the exhibition and make sure there were enough copies of the Bhinneka Tabloid (about our activities) on hand for visitors. A young woman came up to me. She introduced herself as Harna. And then time stopped.

Stephanie Belfrage's textiles were displayed beautifully by the Museum Tekstil staff in the Batak house of Taman Mini. (Photo by MJA Nashir)

I looked at her. She looked at me. We were both speechless. Then we hugged each other for a long time. I know Harna through Facebook. She is another one of Ompu ni Sihol’s granddaughters. Legacy in cloth brought us together. After I had presented the book to her brother in 2010 (a gift from the book’s designer, Marie-Cécile Noordzij Pulles), it eventually made its way to her in Medan. She has now moved to Jakarta and made the effort to come to our launch. Meeting her was one of the most memorable moments of the launch.

The meeting took place surrounded by photographs of the Pulang Kampung I the journey when I gave a copy of  Legacy in cloth to Ompu ni Sihol's family.  (Photograph (and photo exhibition) by MJA Nashir.)