Coastal Nation and Fragments of an Equatorial Paradise

To experience Indonesia from another perspective, perhaps a journey does not always have to begin in a city. There are paths that lead much farther: along coastlines, across open seas, and into villages whose lives unfold alongside tides, mangroves, and coral reefs. From Sabang to Merauke, water carries stories of its own. Rivers transport life toward the sea, mangrove forests stand between land and tidal waters, while coral reefs and seagrass meadows shelter ecosystems that remain largely invisible from the surface. Fish find their breeding grounds, crabs seek refuge, and coastal communities depend on ecological systems that quietly sustain their livelihoods.

From a distance, these places may appear to be fragments of paradise. Yet the closer the journey takes us, the clearer it becomes that coastal landscapes are far more than scenery to be admired. They are living spaces. In one village, the sea is the front yard. Elsewhere, mangroves function as a natural barrier against waves. In another community, customary regulations determine when marine resources may be harvested and when people must learn to wait.

Consequently, when coastlines change, it is not merely scenery that is at risk. What is gradually eroded includes aquaculture ponds that sustain families, traditional fishing grounds, forests that buffer wave energy, and generations of knowledge about how human societies should coexist with nature. These changes are becoming increasingly tangible. Reports from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change indicate that global mean sea level has risen by approximately 20 centimetres since the beginning of the twentieth century, with the rate of increase accelerating. For an archipelagic nation such as Indonesia, these changes can manifest in immediate and tangible ways: tidal flooding entering settlements, coastal erosion consuming land, and mounting pressures on coastal ecosystems.

Yet travelling through Indonesia's coastal regions also reveals another narrative. In several places, communities are not waiting for environmental change to become ecological degradation. They are conserving, establishing rules, planting, monitoring, and passing down ways of life that keep nature integrated into everyday existence.

The journey takes us to Kapatcol Village in West Misool, Raja Ampat. Reaching this area means that the sea itself becomes part of the journey. Clusters of islands, waters stretching between settlements, and coastal landscapes have made Raja Ampat one of the most celebrated representations of eastern Indonesia's natural beauty. But here, beauty is not simply something that arrives with visitors to be observed. For the people of Kapatcol, the sea is where life takes place.

Here, the customary practice known as sasi plays an important role in regulating the community's relationship with marine resources. Around 2010, Mama Betsina Hay and Mama Almina Kacili initiated the Waifuna women's group. The name Waifuna means “blessing from Almighty God.” From within a small village, the group became involved in protecting marine resources through customary regulations that have long been practiced across the island communities of Maluku and Papua.

At its core, sasi conveys a deceptively simple principle: not everything available in nature must be harvested immediately. When an area enters a sasi period, marine resources such as sea cucumbers and lobsters cannot be harvested for an agreed period of time. The sea is given an opportunity to recover. Communities wait until the designated period has ended and the area is officially reopened.
During the journey to Kapatcol, sasi makes the sea seem to possess its own ecological calendar. There is a time to harvest, but there is also a time to stop.

Research by Boli, Yulianda, Damar, Soedharma, and Kinseng, published in the Jurnal Manajemen Hutan Tropika in 2014, demonstrated that sasi practices in Raja Ampat contribute to marine resource conservation. The system can reduce resource exploitation, support the recovery of resource stocks, increase the production of target species, and generate economic benefits for local communities. Research by Lestari and Satria on sasi management in Misool further indicates that local communities participate across multiple stages of resource governance, including utilization, rule-making, monitoring, enforcement and sanctioning, as well as monitoring and evaluation.

The study also documented a women's sasi practice, highlighting the role of women in marine resource governance. In Kapatcol, this spirit continues through Waifuna. The women do more than ensure that marine resources remain available. They help preserve the knowledge and customary rules that teach communities when to harvest and when to allow nature the opportunity to recover. The journey, however, has not always been successful. Their initial initiative failed to produce a harvest, forcing the group to identify another location where the sasi practice could continue. That failure became part of the learning process itself.

“Women must also be at the forefront of environmental conservation. Equally important is instilling the principles of environmental stewardship within the family,” said Almina Kacili, Chair of the Waifuna Women's Group.

In March 2022, after the marine area had been closed for approximately one year, the community entered a new period of buka sasi, or the reopening of the protected area. Sea cucumbers and lobsters were harvested collectively. The proceeds were not used solely for individual benefit, but also supported group activities, children's education, healthcare, religious activities, and other social needs within the village. In Kapatcol, customary practice ultimately becomes part of the journey itself. It is not simply something presented to visitors upon arrival, but a living system of governance that remains embedded in everyday life.

Here, the sea does not need to be fenced off in order to be protected. It simply needs to be given time.

From Raja Ampat, the journey turns toward the northern coast of Java. In Mayangan, Subang, West Java, the relationship between communities and the sea takes a different form. If Kapatcol teaches us the value of waiting, Mayangan demonstrates what happens when the sea gradually advances toward the land.

Coastal erosion and tidal flooding have transformed the landscape. Rice fields and aquaculture ponds that had sustained livelihoods for generations have been affected. More than 300 households have reportedly experienced the consequences, while some residents who lost their ponds have shifted their livelihoods toward fishing. Amid these changes, the youth group Siaga Pesisir Utara, or SIPUT, has been involved in rebuilding the mangrove greenbelt around Ciasem Bay since 2016.

Walking through a mangrove landscape makes one thing immediately apparent: planting is the beginning of restoration, not its conclusion. Newly planted seedlings require continued monitoring. Water channels must be maintained. Dead seedlings need to be replaced. Growth must be assessed over time. Research by Damastuti and de Groot, involving 500 households and 16 key stakeholders across four coastal villages in Central Java, found that the success of mangrove rehabilitation depends not only on the number of seedlings planted, but also on community participation, institutional support, socioeconomic conditions, and locally adapted management strategies.

Subsequent research by Damastuti and colleagues, published in Trees, Forests and People in 2022, also demonstrated that Bedono achieved strong rehabilitation outcomes and mangrove diversity. Long-term maintenance, sustainable financing, community support, the use of diverse mangrove species, and additional protection against wave energy were among the factors contributing to successful restoration. In other words, a forest growing at the edge of the sea does not emerge from a single journey. It is built through repeated visits: returning to monitor, returning to maintain, and returning to plant.

The journey then continues farther east, to Warloka Pesisir Village in West Manggarai. Located within the broader landscape surrounding Komodo, the coastal environment here possesses a different character. Mangroves grow between land and sea, forming part of a landscape that simultaneously supports ecological functions and local livelihoods. On 26 June 2026, residents of Warloka Pesisir Village, together with students from the KKN-PPM UGM Menyapa Komodo programme and participants of the National University of Singapore's HEAT Enrichment Programme, planted approximately 700 Ceriops, locally known as tengar, seedlings. For the local community, the activity was more than an environmental initiative. It was an effort to safeguard something they still possess today.

“Alhamdulillah, so far the condition of the Warloka Pesisir coastline remains safe. There has been no coastal erosion to date because our village already has an established mangrove area. However, this condition must continue to be protected so that the coastline remains secure in the future,” said Mama Syarifah of the Warloka Pesisir Village Mangrove Group.

The selection of Ceriops was also based on ecological considerations. The species was selected with attention to its habitat, substrate characteristics, and local salinity conditions. Such ecological knowledge is essential because seedlings do not exhibit identical survival rates across different environments. Research by Wiharyanto and colleagues, published in Ilmu Kelautan: Indonesian Journal of Marine Sciences in 2025, for example, found considerable differences in survival rates between naturally regenerated mangroves and planted mangroves in Tarakan. Naturally regenerated Avicennia alba recorded a survival rate of approximately 52 percent, while planted Rhizophora mucronata recorded approximately 17 percent. The implication is clear: restoring coastal forests also requires the ability to read and understand ecological conditions. It requires identifying appropriate species, understanding soil and substrate characteristics, and recognizing when natural regeneration may be more effective than intervention. In Warloka, the work did not end when the final seedling was planted. Growth was monitored for five weeks by the KKN-PPM UGM team through designated observation plots, after which maintenance was continued by local mangrove conservation groups.

“Mangroves play an extremely important role in protecting coastal areas from natural hazards such as flooding and erosion. Beyond serving as habitat for diverse forms of life, mangroves constitute the first line of defence for communities whose livelihoods depend on natural resources. By protecting mangroves, we also protect homes, livelihoods, and the food security of local communities,” said Jordan, a participant in the HEAT Enrichment Programme.

Kapatcol, Mayangan, and Warloka occupy different geographical settings. Each offers a distinct landscape, cultural tradition, and travel experience. In Kapatcol, the journey introduces sasi and reveals how customary institutions regulate relationships between communities and the sea. In Mayangan, the journey becomes a reminder that mangrove forests are not simply green scenery along the shoreline, but ecological infrastructure that must be maintained long after planting.

In Warloka, meanwhile, we encounter a community choosing to plant while its coastline remains relatively secure. Research by Damastuti and colleagues, published in Ocean & Coastal Management in 2023, reinforces this perspective. Effective mangrove management requires integrated approaches, long-term maintenance, institutional collaboration, and additional protection against wave energy in areas experiencing erosion.

Perhaps, then, travelling through coastal Indonesia should mean more than arriving, taking photographs, and leaving. There are stories that deserve to be heard. There are traditions that deserve to be understood. And there are forests that deserve to be seen not merely as scenic backdrops, but as living components of the communities and ecosystems they sustain. In places such as Kapatcol, Mayangan, and Warloka, local communities demonstrate that environmental stewardship does not always take the form of grand interventions. Sometimes, it is a customary prohibition against harvesting marine resources. Sometimes, it is the act of walking through a mangrove forest to replace seedlings that have died. And sometimes, it is the decision to plant today so that children will still have a coastline to inherit tomorrow. The equatorial paradise is under pressure.

But it has not disappeared. It remains among the islands, beneath the canopy of mangrove roots, within coastal villages, and in traditions that continue to be passed from one generation to the next.
Perhaps the most meaningful way to understand Indonesia is not simply to witness its beauty, but to move closer, listen to its stories, and understand how the people who inhabit these landscapes choose to protect them. Because every journey leaves something behind. In the coastal nation, what we hope remains is not merely a memory of beautiful seas, but an awareness that such beauty exists because someone, somewhere, is taking care of it.