Category: Academic Reportage

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Farhan Mutaqin, PhD Researcher, University of Edinburgh

The United States has recently called out Indonesia’s national digital payment system QRIS (Quick Response Code Indonesian Standard) for being unfair. The Office of the US Trade Representative (USTR) assessed QRIS as a trade barrier in its the National Trade Estimate Report 2025. The report – which includes broader trade concerns – underpins the Trump administration’s plan to impose 32% tariff duty for Indonesian products as of July 2025.

QRIS synchronises Indonesia’s electronic money payments, digital wallets, and mobile banking into one national standard system. By scanning a QR code, payment takes only a matter of seconds, allowing a swift cashless transaction compared to using cards.

USTR report criticises how QRIS implementation limits access for international stakeholders — particularly US companies — and creates an imbalance in Indonesia’s digital payments market.

The report also cites Indonesia’s National Payment Gateway (GPN) as less transparent and limits foreign ownership. The card, which is for domestic use only, eases administrative financial burdens, encourages cashless payment and facilitate social disbursement of social assistance.

Putting the trade assessment aside, QRIS helps small businesses and low-income groups in Indonesia to access modern payment facilities, closing the gap that Visa and Mastercard cannot provide. Throughout 2024, more than 30 million small businesses and merchants across Indonesia have made transactions via QRIS.

Here are what readers need to know about QRIS and what may come for Indonesia after its labelling as a trade barrier.

How significant is QRIS?

QRIS transaction value and popularity have skyrocketed since the central bank, Bank Indonesia, introduced it to the market in August 2019, months away before COVID-19 entered Indonesia. Throughout 2024 QRIS has recorded 2.2 billion transactions with a total value of Rp 242 trillion (around US$14.9 billion). This figure increased by 188% compared to the previous year.

In the first quarter of 2025, Bank Indonesia’s latest report noted that QRIS transactions surged to 2.6 billion with a transaction value reaching Rp 262 trillion (US$16 billion).

So, why does QRIS have such a huge reputation?

Massive digital adoption and user convenience factors triggered its growth, contributing to financial inclusion and supporting the growth and productivity of the Indonesian economy.

According to 2024 survey, the main reasons Indonesians use QRIS are its simplicity (49%) and transaction speed (42%). Promotion factors (33%) and the habit of not carrying cash (28%) also add to its appeal.

Wide outlet coverage (23%) and perceived security (22%) are also factors causing QRIS to be increasingly in demand. This practicality and growing digital habits in Indonesia are the main drivers of QRIS adoption.

From the merchant’s perspective, QRIS has advantages over card payments. The card system requires expensive EDC machines that cost Rp 3–5 million (US$180-310) per device.

Meanwhile, the merchant can receive payments via QRIS with just a single printed QR code, without needing extra equipment. QRIS transaction fees are also much lower at around 0.3% of transactions (even 0% for micro merchants), compared to 2–3% on cards.

QRIS is also compatible with all Indonesian and most of ASEAN countries e-wallets.

According to the Indonesian Payment System Association QRIS has become “the king of digital payment” channels for local transactions. Meanwhile, Visa–Mastercard’s position remains dominant for cross-border payments.

Risk of QRIS blocking

The USTR claims developed without input from international stakeholders may serve as an empty accusation.

Bank Indonesia designed QRIS to meet domestic needs while aligning with international standards like EMVCo standards carried by Europay, Mastercard, and Visa (EMV). The three global payment giants are also members of Indonesian Payment System Association and were involved in QRIS drafting process, accompanying the government and the central bank. Given how strictly regulated digital payment systems are, it’s hard to believe the US lacks information about QRIS.

However, the label of “trade barriers” has already been attached by the US and could ruin Indonesia’s negotiation process with other countries.

First, this issue could potentially hamper QRIS adoption in other countries. While Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand have already facilitated QRIS into their national payment systems, further expansion into India and South Korea could be hampered by concerns about creating friction with Washington.

Second, the classification of QRIS as a trade barrier could also hinder the expansion of Indonesian small businesses into overseas markets. In fact, this standard was designed so that micro and small business actors can speed up the transaction process, including cross-border transactions with foreign buyers.

Advantage or disadvantage?

Both. It brings opportunities and challenges. The impact of USTR claim for Indonesia will depend largely on its negotiating strategy in the coming terms.

For now, the 32%-tariff sanction – affecting products from shoes, textiles, to nickel components – has been suspended until early July 2025. The two countries are continuing negotiations, including technical discussions on QRIS access since the US complaint aired.

But Indonesia can turn the US protest into an opportunity. The threat of tariffs forced the two countries into a two-month negotiation window.

Indonesia could trade off small adjustments to QRIS rules for larger rewards —such as lower tariffs on nickel products or new investment commitments from the US, especially in the fields of technology or the latest financial systems.

At least, Bank Indonesia has stated that “If America is ready, we are ready,” – a nod for possibility to prepare clearer guidelines for both countries. Arranging such documents will benefit all parties, including foreign and local business.

At last, Indonesia needs to share the success story of QRIS more widely. Currently, QRIS has served 56 million users, supports payments at more than 33 million outlets, and is seamlessly connected to several countries such as Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand. This shows that the payment system is open, beneficial, and contributes to financial integration across countries and regions.

QRIS’s rapid growth, along with how the US feels threatened by it, shows huge potential for Indonesia’s digital finance. This can actually contribute to its bargaining position in the international arena in this digital era.

This article was originally published in Indonesian, translated into English with the help of machine translator and further edited by human editors.

Para penulis tidak bekerja, menjadi konsultan, memiliki saham atau menerima dana dari perusahaan atau organisasi mana pun yang akan mengambil untung dari artikel ini, dan telah mengungkapkan bahwa ia tidak memiliki afiliasi di luar afiliasi akademis yang telah disebut di atas.

– ref. US labels QRIS a trade barrier – what’s next for Indonesia’s digital payment system? – https://theconversation.com/us-labels-qris-a-trade-barrier-whats-next-for-indonesias-digital-payment-system-257616

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Ilham Akhsanu Ridlo, Assistant professor, Universitas Airlangga

Higher education institutions and research institutes are no strangers to commercial scientific journal indexers such as Scopus and Web of Science (WoS). These platforms serve as primary benchmarks for academic success and research performance evaluation. Within the scientific community, indexers function as a credibility currency for research’s perceived prestige and reliability.

This requirement has led to the misconception that indexation equates to research quality — while it does not necessarily guarantee high-quality research.

The indexation process merely demonstrates compliance with administrative requirements set by indexers. These include a peer review system, transparent editorial policies, and properly structured metadata or supporting data.

In other words, journal indexation alone cannot serve as the sole metric for research performance. Instead, evaluation systems should prioritise impact-driven indicators.

Journal indexation vs research quality

There are many factors that contribute to research quality, including the compatibility between the research question and the chosen methodology, the integrity and transparency of the research process, and the accessibility of data or supplementary research materials (such as datasets, methods of analysis, and research logs). Peer review processes typically evaluate these aspects.

Take Nature journal, for example. This prestigious publication retracted an article titled A Specific Amyloid-ß Protein Assembly in the Brain Impairs Memory in 2024 after it was proven that the lead researcher had manipulated images. Unfortunately, before the retraction, the article had already been cited 2,375 times and accessed by more than 74,000 readers.

According to the indexer Web of Science, Nature has an impact factor of 50.5 and is classified in journal quartile Q1 (18.51) in the ScimagoJR indexer (Scopus) under the multidisciplinary category.

Despite being widely regarded as a reputable reference, bibliometric indicators — statistical analyses of published books and articles — have inherent limitations.

For instance, the impact factor only measures the average number of citations per article in a journal over the past two years. However, citation distribution is often uneven — while some articles receive many citations, others may receive none. As a result, the impact factor does not necessarily reflect the overall quality of all published articles in a given journal.

The misconception impacts

This misconception about journal quality has negatively affected the academic climate, particularly in developing countries like Indonesia. Many policies prioritise the quantity of publications and citation rates over research quality.

As a result, policymakers in higher education and research direct academics to focus on topics with global appeal to increase their chances of publication in indexed journals recognised by international indexing institutions.

Regrettably, this trend often leads to the neglect of local social and humanities issues, such as environmental sustainability and community-based problems, which are considered less appealing to an international audience.

The pressure to publish in indexed journals also increases the risk of unethical academic practices. Misconduct such as plagiarism, data fabrication, and ‘salami slicing’ — the practice of splitting a single study into multiple smaller papers to inflate publication counts — has become more prevalent. In fact, paper mills—cartels of publishing companies that sell fabricated scientific articles — are a documented issue.

These practices not only damage researchers’ credibility but also undermine the integrity of the academic community as a whole. As publicly funded institutions, universities and research institutes must prioritise disseminating inclusive and impactful knowledge to society.

What are the alternatives?

Research quality appraisal requires a more inclusive and holistic paradigm to counter the negative effects of indexation-based performance evaluation. Several global science initiatives advocate for such changes, including the Declaration on Research Assessment (DORA), launched in 2012, the Leiden Manifesto in 2021, and the Coalition for Advancing Research Assessment (COARA) in 2023.

Reforming academic policies at both institutional and national levels is crucial to fostering a thriving research ecosystem. Relevant ministries must promote evaluation systems that prioritise research impact, while bibliometric indicators should serve as complementary rather than primary assessment tools.

Governments and academic institutions can also offer incentives for research that addresses strategic national issues rather than focusing solely on indexation standards.

Additionally, academic institutions should enhance capacity-building programmes for journal editors and researchers, including training in academic writing and editorial management. This approach can help local journals meet international standards while retaining their unique identity.

Transparency is equally vital. One concrete step is facilitating researchers’ storage of raw data and related materials in the National Scientific Repository (RIN), ensuring public accessibility.

Scientific articles undergoing peer review can also be shared as pre-prints, allowing the public to read and provide feedback. For publicly funded research, adhering to transparency principles demonstrates the researcher’s accountability to the society that finances their work.

While journal indexation improves the accessibility of scientific articles, it should not be the sole performance metric — let alone a measure of research quality. Relying on bibliometric indicators as a ‘shortcut’ for performance appraisal could ultimately reduce the research’s relevance and societal impact in Indonesia.

Kezia Kevina Harmoko contributes in this translation process

Ilham Akhsanu Ridlo tidak bekerja, menjadi konsultan, memiliki saham, atau menerima dana dari perusahaan atau organisasi mana pun yang akan mengambil untung dari artikel ini, dan telah mengungkapkan bahwa ia tidak memiliki afiliasi selain yang telah disebut di atas.

– ref. Journal indexation: The misconception of guaranteed quality – https://theconversation.com/journal-indexation-the-misconception-of-guaranteed-quality-250829

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Francesco Perono Cacciafoco, Associate Professor in Linguistics, Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University

The day was still alive when a group of Abui people danced in a circle around the ‘maasang’ – the central altar of their village – alternating coordinated movements with rhythmic pauses. The drums were played, marking each step with their sounds, believed to connect the world of the gods with the world of humans.

They were performing the ‘lego-lego’ dance, an integral part of ancestral rituals. The dance was directed by the cadenced rhythm produced by the ‘Moko’ drums, distinctive musical instruments that are also prestigious heirlooms and sacred tools, mostly found in the Alor-Pantar archipelago, in East Nusa Tenggara.

Recently, with Shiyue Wu, my Research Assistant at Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University (Suzhou, Jiangsu, China), I developed and published research about the names of the ‘Moko’ drums and bronze gongs from Alor in three representative Papuan languages spoken in the island: Abui (Central Alor), Sawila (Eastern Alor), and Kula (Eastern Alor).

This research aims to increase our knowledge on the ‘Moko’ drums and their significance and sanctity for the cultural identity and heritage of the peoples living in the Alor-Pantar archipelago.

Baca juga:
Finding ‘Kape’: How Language Documentation helps us preserve an endangered language

Unclear historical references

Among the many ancestral traditions and ritual objects attested in Southeastern Indonesia, the ‘Moko’ drums represent a unique blend of symbolic and religious values and practical functions in the social life of the local Papuan communities. Technically, they are bronze kettle-drums, specifically membranophones, instruments that produce their sounds by being hit on their vibrating skins, or membranes.

Despite their widespread use and cultural significance among indigenous communities in Alor, Pantar and beyond — like in Timor and among the Austronesian and Papuan groups of Flores —, the history and origins of these musical instruments are still relatively obscure and seem to fade into the mists of time.

The ‘bronze gongs’ from the Alor-Pantar archipelago vary in size and are typically round, flat metal discs played with a mallet. They are equivalent to the ‘Moko’ drums, at the level of musical and social functions.

The indigenous peoples believe that the drums and gongs have no local origins from the islands, but their possible place of production is unknown. We recently confirmed this through fieldwork conversations with our Abui local consultant.

‘Moko’ drums’ unique attributes

Each ‘Moko’ drum (and bronze gong) is characterised by physical (size, shape, and the produced sounds) and aesthetic (iconography and decorations) features, which make it unique. The uniqueness of the drums and gongs is strengthened by the fact that each type of these membranophones has an ‘individual’ name, which indicates a specific category, with its dedicated musical and iconographic attributes.

For example, there are ‘fiyaai futal’ (in Abui), the “candlenut-flower” drum, and ‘bileeqwea / bileeq-wea‘ (in Abui), the “lizard-blood” drum.

All the ethnic groups in Alor, Pantar and surrounding areas use their own local variants for the names of the different drums. This nomenclature reflects specific ritual and trading features of each musical instrument.

Despite this, the native speakers cannot explain the name ‘Moko’ in itself, with its etymological and semantic origins. They agree upon the likely foreign origin of the instruments, but no one can pinpoint a possible location for their production (some say Java, Makassar, India, Vietnam, or even China, but without any conclusive evidence) or the trade routes across which they were likely imported to the islands.

Some local myths and origin stories tell about the unexpected discovery, by local people, of ‘Moko’ drums buried in the ground, adding a veil of mystery to their enigmatic roots. Being treasured items, the drums were actually buried under the ground by locals, to avoid the risk to fall into the hands of colonisers or to be taken away by outsiders.

The term ‘Moko’ is universally attested and used in everyday conversations by the Alor-Pantar speakers, independently of their languages and villages. However, nobody, among the locals, can explain the roots of the name or propose an interpretation for its possible meaning. The ‘Moko’ drums are, therefore, an unsolved puzzle in the context of the material culture and linguistic landscape of the Alor-Pantar archipelago.

It is possible that the name ‘Moko’ was coined ‘internally’, in Alor and Pantar, perhaps in the ‘Alor Malay’ language, which is commonly spoken in the archipelago since the 14th century. The denomination would have, then, spread towards external areas.

However, this hypothesis cannot be proven with incontrovertible evidence, and the direction of the naming process could have also been the opposite, from outside into Alor and Pantar.

Our paper presents systematic lists of the names of drums and gongs, with the original denominations in the three different above-mentioned languages, the related translations, name-by-name, synthetic notes on the possible origins of their nomenclature, a catalogue of the instruments by categories (based on fieldwork and direct observation), and a set of pictures reproducing a small selection of drums according to their cultural significance.

Beyond musical functions

The ‘Moko‘ drums are relatively ancient ritual objects commonly used, in the past, in generally pre-Christian worship ceremonies performed by the indigenous communities. The traditions survived until today, through local folklore and public celebrations.

The drums, as well as the related bronze gongs, still play an important role as a valuable local ‘currency’. Highly regarded as prestigious family possessions, they are used for trade and social practices embedded into traditional customs, like bride-price negotiations.

The path towards a full understanding of the historical dynamics of the production and spread of the ‘Moko’ drums and gongs — as well as their provenance and the etymologies of their names — might still be long. However, this does not diminish their cultural and material significance among the Alor-Pantar peoples.

Despite their obscure origins, ‘Moko’ drums and bronze gongs are meticulously catalogued, described and rated by the local communities in the islands. Periodically, a multi-ethnic council gathers to assess, update and validate the different values and levels of social prestige and rarity of every single instrument.

This safeguarding effort, combined with the collection and systematisation of ‘first hand’ data, which we are currently developing, may considerably help in shedding light on the nature and origins of these enigmatic instruments.

Francesco Perono Cacciafoco received funding from Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University (XJTLU): Research Development Fund (RDF) Grant, “Place Names and Cultural Identity: Toponyms and Their Diachronic Evolution among the Kula People from Alor Island”, Grant Number: RDF-23-01-014, School of Humanities and Social Sciences (HSS), Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University (XJTLU), Suzhou (Jiangsu), China, 2024-2025.

– ref. The story behind the ‘Moko’ drums, sacred musical instruments from the Alor-Pantar archipelago – https://theconversation.com/the-story-behind-the-moko-drums-sacred-musical-instruments-from-the-alor-pantar-archipelago-253225

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Dr Christina Griffin, Research fellow, Crawford School of Public Policy, Australian National University

Every morning, Indah (18 years old) wakes early to catch the company bus from her coastal village in Maros Regency, South Sulawesi. She travels for over one hour to a shrimp manufacturing warehouse in the urban outskirts of Makassar City—the capital of the province.

Despite living in a rural village, she does not have any land to establish herself in farming. She works at a factory, just like many other young women in her village, as there are few options left.

The rural landscape has changed rapidly, driven by expanding urbanisation, mining activities, commodity crops, and infrastructure development—displacing once-fertile agricultural land. As a result, fewer rural young people have access to adequate amounts of farmland to make a viable living from agriculture alone, and lingering informality in the workplace makes stable off-farm employment difficult to find.

Indah’s story is representative of many youth in rural Indonesia, who are seeking new pathways to achieve their livelihood hopes and aspirations.

To understand the changing nature of young people’s livelihoods, aspirations, and hopes, we conducted in-depth fieldwork in four villages spanning different geographies in the Maros Regency. In each village, we heard how young people—including Indah—face similar challenges as they imagine, realise and recalibrate their future aspirations.

Rising rates of tertiary education, but jobs not guaranteed

Over the past few decades, Maros has undergone rapid agrarian and economic changes. The creation of the Bantimurung-Bulusaraung National Park has limited local communities access to candlenut forests.

Additionally, the conversion of rice fields into shrimp ponds during the 1990s shrimp boom led to soil degradation and dependency on unstable commodities.

These changes, along with the expansion of mines, railways, factories, and housing on productive farmland, have pushed rural youth away from land-based livelihoods. Today, they are increasingly drawn to retail and manufacturing jobs in cities or consider migrating to other islands.

This situation means that education is seen as a gateway to “modern” jobs outside agriculture. Finishing senior high school is considered essential to secure a dream job—whether as a civil servant, salaried retail worker, or in mechanical-oriented jobs.

However, educational achievements do not always guarantee the anticipated pathways to a better future. Local job market conditions do not always deliver for educated youth. As a result, many young people seek creative pathways to employment, entrepreneurship, or to “escape” to cities or even abroad.

Our research documented the trajectories that rural youth pursue.

• Gendered factory work

Factory work in Makassar’s industrial zone, such as KIMA, is an increasingly important livelihood for rural young women lacking access to land or the finances needed to study.

These women are collected from the village by a company bus at 6 am. They work in a shrimp processing factory from 8 am until 5 pm, sometimes continuing with overtime shifts until 10 pm. While the availability of this work is reasonably steady, workers lack formal contracts.

A 19-year-old female working in shrimp processing said,

“Actually, I want to work at a convenience store, but only those who have the money to continue through to high school can. If you have lower levels of schooling, you have to go to KIMA.”

• Cyclical migration

Many rural youth choose migration to pursue a better future. Sometimes, they keep one foot in either world, as they cyclically move between rural village life, fishing, plantation work, or urban opportunities.

Young women have found work as domestic helpers in Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, while others commute to factories in Makassar’s industrial zone. Meanwhile, young men secure jobs in oil palm plantations, labouring for land conversions, transportation, or construction work across Sulawesi, Papua, Kalimantan, or Malaysia.

Some migrate closer to home, to towns like Maros and Makassar City, to access schools, universities, labouring jobs, manufacturing work, or opportunities as drivers and mechanics.

One 42-year-old male landowner remarked,

“The unemployment rate here is high, if young people don’t migrate, they will stay unemployed in the village.”

• Becoming an entrepreneur

Youth also respond to the uncertainty of agriculture and labour force opportunities through the pursuit of entrepreneurial activities.

Becoming an entrepreneur is seen as a pathway to business ownership, financial stability, and a better rural future. These pursuits may involve the opening of small automobile workshops, fashion boutiques, trading petty goods on social media platforms, or tourism ventures, all within the village.

“Even if it’s a small business, if that person is the boss, that’s a successful person,” said a 30-year-old male entrepreneur.

Hopeful future-making

Rural youth in Indonesia do not reject education or hard work, but their social and economic conditions often limit their options. These include access to land and agricultural capital, as well as the ability to secure finances for tertiary education.

Despite these challenges, they continue to shape their lives through hope, recalibrating their aspirations to the realities they face.

Rural youth are not passive and actively pursue their hopes for a better future, whether through migration, local entrepreneurship, education, or for some, farm ownership.

Listening to the hopes of South Sulawesi’s rural youth teaches us an important lesson: development must go beyond infrastructure. We need to understand how youth envision their futures and support their choices—including those who choose to stay in their villages—through fair and inclusive policies.

Indonesia could actively support young people to prosper in rural areas through ongoing investment in rural revitalisation policies, improving access to land, capital, education, job opportunities, and social services in rural areas. Our research shows that youth are still interested in farming. Yet, they require access to an adequate amount of securely tenured farmland and capital to realise this opportunity.

If we are serious about making rural areas viable places to live, greater efforts are needed to sustain rural opportunities for young people. The voices and hopes of rural youth deserve to be heard, not pitied.

Dr Christina Griffin is affiliated with the Australian National University dan University of Melbourne. This research was funded by the Partnership for Australia Indonesia Research (PAIR). We thank the Forest and Society research group at Hasanuddin University for leading the fieldwork

Muhammad Alif K. Sahide, Nurhady Sirimorok, dan Wolfram Dressler tidak bekerja, menjadi konsultan, memiliki saham, atau menerima dana dari perusahaan atau organisasi mana pun yang akan mengambil untung dari artikel ini, dan telah mengungkapkan bahwa ia tidak memiliki afiliasi selain yang telah disebut di atas.

– ref. No land, no future: The dilemma facing rural youth in Indonesia – https://theconversation.com/no-land-no-future-the-dilemma-facing-rural-youth-in-indonesia-254598

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Muhammad Rayhan Sudrajat, Ethnomusicologist & Lecturer, Universitas Katolik Parahyangan

It was first started one morning in 2015. I travelled 109 kilometres from Palangka Raya to a village in the Katingan River basin, Central Kalimantan. When I entered the village, I could feel the sound of the Gandang Ahung, the sacred gong ensemble used in the Tiwah death ceremony, vibrating in my chest. Its frequency filled the entire space, uniting humans, spirits, and nature in a single breath. Some people closed their eyes; even the forest outside seemed to hum along.

Amidst the chanting, the ritual began: participants danced around the field where the Tiwah ceremony was held. Their distinctive hand and foot movements followed the rhythm. Baram, a traditional liquor from Katingan, was then shared among the dancers.

The sound of Gandang Ahung lingered in the air, summoning spirits from the river’s rise and fall to partake in the sacred offering of blood. It opened the path to the upper realm —Lewu Rami je dia Kasene Beti Lewu Tatau Habaras Bulau Rundung Janah dia Bakalesu Uhat — the radiant village beyond time, where souls find rest in Hindu-Kaharingan cosmology.

Gandang Ahung is not only a form of cultural heritage, but an inseparable part of how the Katingan Awa Dayak community understands life, death, and their relationship with nature.

However, this sacred ritual is now threatened due to the rampant deforestation in Kalimantan. Cultural shifts brought by modernisation are also slowly eroding not only the physical environment, but also the soundscape, cosmology, and rituals like Tiwah. If these sounds disappear, so too might the worldview passed down through generations..

Tiwah ceremony: The echo of living tradition

In the Katingan Awa Dayak tradition, Tiwah is regarded as the second-level death ceremony, conducted long after the initial or first-level funeral. The first stage involves the immediate handling of the body, burial, and essential rites to initiate the soul’s journey—considered a temporary phase, as the soul remains in transition.

The second-level Tiwah, serves as the final ritual to guide the soul to the afterlife, reunite it with ancestors, and restore harmony between humans, spirits, and nature. It includes the exhumation and ceremonial cleansing of the bones, reburial in a family bone house (pambak), and is marked by extensive communal offerings, music, and dance.

There are no “spectators” in the ceremony: all villagers are participants. Children help, the pisur (religious leaders) lead, and the entire community listens not just with their ears but with their full presence. For months, families, neighbors, and religious leaders work together to prepare this procession.

In Tiwah, sound is not merely entertainment. It becomes a language to speak to spirits, to remember the departed, and to reconnect the fragile web of life.

Gandang Ahung, with its echoes and vibrations, plays a central role in the ceremony: It opens the way for the liau (spirits) to reach Lewu Tatau.

Gandang Ahung can be carried anywhere, depending on the needs of the ritual. Interestingly, the instrument never sounds the same from one location to another, corresponding to the space where it is played. This shows how its sound is inseparable from surrounding land, rivers, and trees.

Unlike how music comes through notation, tempo, and technique in the West, sound flows from relationships in the Katingan Awa community. The player, the community, and the spirits shape the sound. The player does not simply follow the beat – he adjusts his strokes to the dancer’s body movements.

The tone is not dictated by a written score but arises from feeling — what is “right” in the moment. Here, in the ritual space, sound becomes a mode of communication, not merely a performance.

Some pisur I spoke with explained that the rhythm of Gandang Ahung is not measured in beats, but guided by breath and intuition. The beats are slow for the Tiwah ceremony to accompany the Manganjan dance, a dance specifically for the Tiwah ceremony.

Fading with forest loss

Deforestation, river pollution, and the displacement of Indigenous communities threaten not only the physical environment and its biodiversity — they also erase the acoustic landscapes embedded in local rituals and cosmology.

When forests are lost, sounds like Gandang Ahung and their profound meanings also slowly fade. The Gandang Ahung is not merely played — it is brought to life in rituals deeply rooted in nature: from the wood used to craft the drums, to the ceremonial space in the village heart, to the spirits believed to inhabit trees, rivers, and lakes.

As forests are cleared for palm oil plantations, the space for these sacred sounds disappears — along with the communities’ ways of understanding life, death, and their bond with nature.

Nurturing sound, nurturing life

Hindu-Kaharingan itself, though recognised by the government, is often dismissed as mere ‘folklore’ or an ‘outdated tradition.’ Practices like Tiwah rarely appear in mainstream media – let alone gain recognition in national academic discourse.

If Indonesia is truly committed to education and cultural preservation, we must start viewing traditions like Gandang Ahung not simply as artefacts, but as living philosophies and practices.

Like classical music theory, these traditions are built on their own systems, ethics, and methodologies. They need to be taught, respected, and lived — not just documented and then forgotten.

Concrete steps include protecting customary forests as soundscapes, integrating local music traditions into school curricula, and involving communities in the documentation of rituals.

The Schools of Living Traditions (SLT) program in the Philippines, run by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA), offer a powerful example. The program has successfully preserved traditional arts and music through non-formal education that involves local cultural experts as teachers. It is recognized by UNESCO as a best practice in safeguarding intangible cultural heritage.

Such measures are vital to ensure that sounds like Gandang Ahung transcend nostalgia and continue to thrive — not just in ceremonies, but in the everyday lives of the Katingan Awa community and Indonesians more broadly.

Muhammad Rayhan Sudrajat tidak bekerja, menjadi konsultan, memiliki saham, atau menerima dana dari perusahaan atau organisasi mana pun yang akan mengambil untung dari artikel ini, dan telah mengungkapkan bahwa ia tidak memiliki afiliasi selain yang telah disebut di atas.

– ref. Gandang Ahung of the Dayak people: More than a gong ensemble, a way of life at risk – https://theconversation.com/gandang-ahung-of-the-dayak-people-more-than-a-gong-ensemble-a-way-of-life-at-risk-256809