Written by: Agetha Lestari

The Indigenous Peoples Bill is still stuck on the legislative table. While the state is delaying the ratification of the legal umbrella that is supposed to protect indigenous peoples, indigenous women continue to face violence in its most lonely form. The violence is not always present as a blow or wound to the Jek, but rather as a deprivation of living space, agrarian consensus, and development policies that ignore their existence. In this situation, violence against indigenous women takes place due to the absence of real legal protection.

Every late November to early December, the world commemorates 16 Anti-Violence against Women Day. The campaign invites the public to see violence as a structural issue, not just a personal matter. But after those dates have passed, banners are taken down and social media posts change themes. For indigenous women, the violence has not stopped. It continues to live in legal uncertainty, on the land they protect, and in a body that has always been at the forefront of conflict.

Ruthyana Yadafat, KAoem MUda and an indigenous woman from Southwest Papua, knows violence up close when she guards her forest. Every day she enters the forest to ensure that food sources and medicinal plants can still be used by her community. Protecting the forest is not an option, but a responsibility inherited from the ancestors and passed on to future generations. But in areas with limited living spaces, the act of protecting forests is often seen as a threat. Indigenous women’s bodies like Ruthyana are at their most vulnerable when their indigenous lands are in question, while legal protection is not present.

Thousands of kilometres from Southwest Papua, Siska in Muara Bungo, Jambi, has experienced violence in another form. She stands on land that was once a forest, where she learned to know medicinal plants and food sources. Now, the area has turned into open land. “Every tree that disappears is like cutting off memories,” Siska said. The loss of forests forced women in her village to walk further in search of water and food. The burden of living increased, but it was never recorded as a form of violence against women.

Ruthyana and Siska’s story shows that violence against indigenous women cannot be separated from the deprivation of living space. This violence is layered because it targets the body, the economy, identity, and knowledge at the same time. In the framework of the 16 Days of Anti-Violence against Women, their experience should be read as gender-based violence that is structural and lasts throughout the year.

The state actually has a constitutional obligation to protect indigenous peoples and women. The Constitution recognizes the existence of indigenous peoples and guarantees cultural rights as part of human rights. However, this recognition has not had an operational legal footing as long as the Indigenous Peoples Bill has not been passed. This legal vacuum makes indigenous peoples, especially women, continue to be in a vulnerable position when dealing with investment and development projects.

Without the Indigenous Peoples Bill, the protection of women like Ruthyana and Siska depends on overlapping and often non-partisan sectoral policies. Land disputes continue to recur, while indigenous women bear the brunt of the impact. They lose their living space, sense of security, and are often subjected to intimidation when defending their land.

Ironically, indigenous women who protect forests are often positioned as obstacles to development. In fact, the forests they protect are a buffer for common life. They protect water, food, and ecological balance whose benefits are felt far beyond their own communities.

December 22, which is celebrated as Mother’s Day, is supposed to be a reminder that many indigenous women are keeping their lives in an insecure situation. Respect for mothers is not enough to be celebrated with a symbol of sacrifice, but must be realized through real protection of the living spaces they cared for.

As long as the Indigenous Peoples Bill continues to be delayed, women like Ruthyana in Southwest Papua and Siska in Jambi will continue to keep forests in uncertainty. And during that time, violence against indigenous women will continue, often anonymously and without recognition.

Stopping violence means ensuring that indigenous women can protect their forests without fear. Without it, the 16 Days of Non-Violence against Women and Mother’s Day will only become an annual ritual, not a truly living justice.

Author Profile:

Agetha Lestari is a Kaoem Telapak Campaigner and Campaign Staff of the Coalition to Guard the Indigenous Peoples Bill, which focuses on strengthening collective action with Indigenous Youth and Women and local communities through facilitation of discussions and training on issues of protection of indigenous territories, forest monitoring and plantations, as well as strengthening the role of young people in facing socio-ecological challenges.

Disclaimer: This article was written in Indonesia and has been translated by Google Translate. In case of dispute or discrepancy, the original language of the article should prevail.