Project Back to the Villages III meets Jesral Tambun

(Terjemahan dibawah)

Last night I received a series of excited posts on Facebook. Jesral Tambun had discovered salaon, a Batak indigo plant, in the area where he lives, close to Porsea. It was a plant growing wild in uncultivated land and his questioning of elderly people about indigo led him to his discovery. He was thankful to Lasma Sitanggang for having asked him whether indigo plants grew in the area. He is thinking of cultivating the plant beside the house that he is building.

Photo by Jesral Tambun

Photo by Jesral Tambun

 The last stop of Proyek Pulang Kampung on the way home to Medan was in Ompu Okta’s village. Jesral Tambun had helped MJA Nashir during the last filming session for Rangsa ni Tonun, so Nashir contacted him and let him know we were coming.

Jesral helped Nashir on the last day of filming Rangsa ni Tonun in Ompu Okta's village. We see the pipisan or cotton depitter than we purchased in Bali because we couldn't find one in the Batak area. It is strikingly similar to the Batak variant.

Jesral meets Proyek Pulang Kampung

It was my first meeting with Jesral. I had heard about him from his uncle, Nestor Rico Tambunan. Jesral is very interested in Batak culture, he had said. Might there be a way to include him in our activities? I did not forget this question and I was excited about meeting Jesral.

We all ate lunch together in Ompu Okta’s home (just as we had done when shooting Rangsa ni Tonun) and shared stories. 

Later we went to visit the house that he is building for his future.

Jesral's house is under construction. In the background is a carved and painted plank that he is restoring.

We had hoped that Jesral would be able to join us on the Pulang Kampung III journey but circumstances had intervened and made it impossible. I quickly discovered what an asset he would have been. He is fully dedicated to making a life in the village and enriching it with explorations of his culture. He is particularly interested in wood and has apprenticed so that he can make gorga, Batak painted woodcarving.

Jesral Tambun (Photo borrowed from Jesral's Facebook site)

He is an orphan; both of his parents died when he was still young. He is not wealthy by any means, but he has an extraordinarily nice collection of textiles that he can wear to adat, all purchased with his savings – quite remarkable in this day when the Batak are selling off their textiles! His textiles are new, but the finest modern ones that money can buy. There is a picture of him on Facebook wearing his textiles when he performed the special role of requesting music from the Batak indigenous orchestra at the TB SilalahiCentre. He loves the indigenous textiles of his culture and hopes to find a wife who is a weaver. He senses that he will be happy to come home to a woman who  is weaving. What a remarkable statement by this passionate young man.

His interests are broad and he has a lot of energy. I am struck by how fervently he plunged into the exploration of indigo and his enthusiasm when sharing his discovery. I asked him if he could also explore the mangkudu/bangkudu plant that the Batak used to make red dye. The use of this dye was particularly strong in his region. I also asked if there were any weavers left who could make the extraordinary supplementary warp patterning (jugia) such as in his textiles. The weaver of his textiles is now deceased. Was she the last? It will be through our contacts in the Batak area, contacts like Jesral, that our knowledge will grow.

Jesral joined Proyek Pulang Kampung III on the last day and the last stop, but I sense that he will remain with the project always in his heart and in his activities. The past of Batak culture will never return, but in people like Jesral Tambun, the culture will survive and will perhaps become vibrant again. It will bubble with enthusiasm and grow, connecting with the outside world in a new way.

This post was translated by Jesral's aunt, Rita Tambunan, a few days after it appeared.

Proyek Pulang Kampung III: Bertemu Jesral Tambun

Semalam saya menerima sejumlah postingan menarik di Facebook: Jesral Tambun 

telah menemukan Salaon, sejenis tumbuhan tropis yg dipakai masyarakat Batak 

untuk memberi warna biru, di wilayah di  mana ia tinggal di Porsea. Salaon adalah 

tumbuhan liar dan keingintahuan Jesral akan tumbuhan ini membuatnya bertanya-

tanya pada orang-orang tua yg kemudian membantunya menemukan Salaon. 

Jesral berterima kasih pada Lasma Sitanggang yang merangsang rasa ingin tahunya 

tentang keberadaan Salaon di daerah ia tinggal. Sekarang Jesral berpikir untuk 

menanam Salaon di samping  rumah yg sedang dibangunnya.

Perhentian terakhir dari Proyek Pulang Kampung, sebelum kembali ke Medan, 

adalah kampung tempat  tinggal Ompu Okta. Jesral Tambun membantu MJA Nashir 

dalam sesi terakhir pembuatan film ‘Rangsa  ni Tonun’. Karena itu, Nashir 

menghubungi Jesral dan memberi tahu bahwa kami akan berkunjung.

Itu adalah kali pertama saya bertemu dengan Jesral. Saya telah mendengar tentang 

Jesral dari pamannya, Nestor Rico Tambunan. Jesral punya perhatian besar pada 

budaya Batak, kata Nestor.  Apakah mungkin untuk melibatkan ia pada aktivitas 

kami? Saya tak pernah lupa akan pertanyaan itu dan karenanya menjadi sangat 

senang akan segera bertemu Jesral.

Kami makan siang bersama di rumah Ompu Okta (seperti pernah kami lakukan 

waktu pengambilan film Rangsa ni Tonun) dan berbagi cerita. Setelah itu, kami 

berkunjung ke rumah yang sedang dibangun Jesral untuk masa depannya.

Sebenarnya, kami berharap Jesral dapat bergabung dengan kami pada perjalanan 

Pulang Kampung III, tetapi ada masalah yg membuat hal itu gagal terwujud. Saat 

bertemu dengannya, saya segera mengetahui bahwa Jesral sungguh asset luar 

biasa; ia demikian berusaha untuk hidup di desanya dengan berusaha 

mengeksplorasi budaya Batak. Jesral sungguh mengabdi untuk desanya dengan 

berusaha menggali budaya Batak. Jesral sangat tertarik pada kerajinan kayu dan ia 

dapat membuat Gorga, ukiran kayu khas Batak.

Jesral anak yatim-piatu; kedua orangtuanya meninggal saat ia masih sangat muda. 

Ia tidak kaya, tetapi Jesral punya sejumlah koleksi pakaian layak pakai yang khusus 

ia kenakan untuk acara adat. Pakaian itu ia beli dengan tabungannya. Pakaiannya 

baru. Ini adalah fotonya di akun Facebook dengan baju yg ia kenakan khusus saat 

melakukan pertunjukan musik Batak di TB Silalahi Centre. Jesral mencintai kain 

tradisional Batak dan berharap suatu hari nanti dapat beristrikan seorang 

perempuan penenun. Ia membayangkan betapa bahagianya pulang ke rumah 

bertemu dengan istri yg sedang menenun. 

Sebuah pernyataan yg luar biasa dari seorang anak muda!


Jesral punya perhatian terhadap banyak hal dan ia punya energi besar. Saya amat 

terkesan bagaimana ia demikian berusaha menemukan tumbuhan seperti Salaon itu 

dan antusiasme-nya untuk berbagi penemuan itu. Saya berkata padanya siapa tahu 

ia juga bisa menemukan Mangkudu/Bangkudu, tanaman yg digunakan orang Batak 

untuk mendapatkan warna merah. Mangkudu/Bangkudu ini biasa dipakai orang di 

daerah Porsea dan sekitarnya. Saya juga bertanya pada Jesral apakah kira-kira 

masih ada penenun yang dapat membuat Jugja, ornamen luar biasa, seperti yang 

ada pada koleksi kain yg dimiliki Jesral. Jesral bilang, penenun kain yg dimilikinya 

sudah meninggal. Apakah ia orang terakhir yg bisa membuat Jugja? Saya kira kita 

akan mendapat jawabannya dari orang-orang seperti Jesral.Jesral bergabung 

dengan Proyek Pulang Kampung III pada hari dan perhentian terakhir kami. Tetapi 

saya merasa ia akan tetap melanjutkan terus proyek ini di dalam hati dan 

aktivitasnya. Budaya Batak tak akan pernah lagi seperti dulu, tetapi dalam orang-

orang seperti Jesral Tambun, budaya luhur ini akan tetap lestari dan, mungkin, 

akan berjaya lagi. Antusiasme dan perkembangan dan upaya penyebarannya ke 

dunia mungkin mewujudkan harapan itu.

"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.

 

Homage to Harian

Today Ojak Silaban posted pictures of Sihol and her children on Facebook. I look at the beautiful children. Sihol’s grandmother would have been proud of them. I remember weaving with her one afternoon when the sound of church bells came wafting over the rice field. Ompu ni Sihol sat up and took notice. Someone had died. It was a child. We walked over and visited the mourners and I saw the deep sadness in Ompu ni Sihol’s face. I do not know how many of her own children she had buried, but only one son had survived. How thrilled she would have been to have had these healthy, smart, great grandchildren!

The ‘Back to the Villages’ expedition with Rangsa ni Tonun had to include Ompu ni Sihol’s village in Harian Boho to pay homage to the woman who had provided ‘The Weaving Song, the theme song of the film. I had taped her in 1980 while she sang and reeled yarn to demonstrate the use of the iraniran, or Batak reel. Thirty years later, Suarasama made a musical arrangement for it and performed it for our film.

On 16 September, 2013, our boat sailed toward Harian Boho and we docked at  the empty marketplace.

See how barren the hills have become. They used to be covered in forest growth.

Se

MJA Nashir took these beautiful photographs of our approach to Harian Boho and our boat at the dock.

It wasn’t market day and the morning market was over, too. The last time Nashir and I had been there was 2010. We knew our way to the coffee-tent, but it was a very hot day and there was almost nobody there. That had been one venue that we had considered for showing the film. There was no need to say anything to each other. We knew it wouldn’t work.

We started to climb the path to Ompu ni Sihol’s village. It was a path that I used to love to walk in the cool, verdant forest. It took me through rice fields first and then along a stream. I had had to wind my way around megaliths and huge tree roots. How I wish I could have given my team that experience, but the modern path is flat and paved and straight. And so hot under the tropical sun! So many of the Batak villages have used heavy equipment to shift the rocks and have poured concrete mortar between them to make flattened stretches that are easily negotiated on foot and by motor vehicle. Modern, maybe, but no longer delicious.

We finally found Ompu ni Sihol’s village, deserted and empty. Her son’s house is still standing and he was there with his very young granddaughter. 

Ompu ni Sihol's son's house. It was once a traditional Batak house but had been cut down to make a modern bungalow. 

Ompu ni Sihol blind son was there with his granddaughter.

He was blind. This wasn’t a good place to show the film, either. I was suffering from the flu and I wasn't much use because I could only think of lying down. We sat together on the front veranda of the house and Nashir saved the day.

MJA Nashir evaluates the situation.

He began to play the soundtrack of Rangsa ni Tonun that starts out with Ompu ni Sihol’s quavering old voice. Her son recognized it immediately, noticeably. We all watched his face. Then Nashir found his digital copy of my tape recording of her from 1980 in his computer and he played it for the old man.

Ompu ni Sihol's son enjoyed listening to his mother's voice. (Photograph by Febrina Pakpahan)

The blind man sat back with a smile. He remembered his mother and the day. He enjoyed it. Playing that soundtrack was the best way to present Rangsa ni Tonun in Ompu ni Sihol’s village.

And then we took our leave. I made sure that I snapped photographs of her house this time. 

Ompu ni Sihol's house in 2013.

Who would believe me that she had lived in such a little, impoverished hut? The lean-to beside her hut is no longer there, but the stones on which she balanced her earthenware pots and dyed her yarn are. I tried to picture the village as it had once been. I found it hard to do. 

Ompu ni Sihol's house in 1980.

Bits and pieces of memory came back. We wandered over to her grave. I remembered the rice fields with the church on the other side. I had forgotten how lush the trees beside the village were. 

 I rejoiced in being able to catch a glimpse of how the Batak villages in Harian Boho must once have been. I could see that now although I cannot remember having seen that thirty years ago. There was still bamboo growing atop the rocks surrounding the village. The stages of decay have been slow and have left traces.

Then we left the desolate village and made our way back under the merciless tropical sun to the boat.