The story behind the ‘Moko’ drums, sacred musical instruments from the Alor-Pantar archipelago

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.




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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Unclear historical references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.

The Conversation

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

No land, no future: The dilemma facing rural youth in Indonesia

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.

The Conversation

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

Gandang Ahung of the Dayak people: More than a gong ensemble, a way of life at risk

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.

The Conversation

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

Lack of justice in Indonesia’s climate plan may backfire, harming people and environment

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Wira A. Swadana, Climate Action Senior Lead, World Resources Institute

Indonesia has developed several climate documents as pathways to curb climate change and adapt to its impacts. These impacts influence many elements of life, including displacement, the spread of infectious diseases, and even fatalities.

Some of these documents include Enhanced Nationally Determined Contributions, Long-Term Strategy for Low Carbon and Climate Resilience 2050 (LTS-LCCR), and Low Carbon Development Indonesia (LCDI).

As a scholar in social development and environmental policy, I conducted a descriptive analysis of more than five Indonesia’s climate documents to learn how the concept of a just transition is being integrated into Indonesia’s climate policies. My analisis reveals that the current narrative in those documents is limited to the outcomes of climate-related approaches.

I found that these climate documents have failed to adequately address the social and environmental aspects that are fundamental to a ‘just transition’ — a global effort to combat climate change and shift towards a sustainable economy while improving the condition of people and the environment.

Indonesia’s climate action is important because the country is home to vast tropical forests and extensive peatlands, which act as important carbon sinks. Yet, it remains one of the world’s largest emitters.

Indonesia’s just transition is essential as it supports global efforts to mitigate climate change while ensuring that the shift is more sustainable and inclusive. Neglecting these factors in the transition can risk equity, justice, and inclusion for affected communities and ecosystems in Indonesia’s climate actions.

The risks it posed

So far, Indonesia’s just transition narrative concentrates mainly on the energy sector. For instance, the government’s white paper on just transition, released in September last year, centres solely on the energy aspect.

Additionally, the use of the word just in the Just Energy Transition Partnership (JETP) — an international partnership aiming at speeding Indonesia’s renewable energy development and coal phase-out — has helped popularise the notion.

A just transition should include broader efforts to limit and adapt to climate change, given these changes directly impact communities. Despite its increasing recognition in the energy sector, just transition remains a long way from being completely integrated into Indonesia’s climate initiatives.

In the forestry sector, Indonesia’s strategy to apply Sustainable Forest Management (SFM) practices, which includes selective logging practices to minimise damage, may lead to the prohibition of traditional slash-and-burn farming in some areas. This threatens local communities that have long practised controlled burning as a sustainable land management method.

Similarly, under FOLU Net Sink 2030 — Indonesia’s plan to reduce emissions from forestry and land-use — the government has introduced community forestry initiatives to improve livelihood. However, the strategy does not yet address the potential consequences for people who rely on forests for their livelihoods and cultural heritage, which could be jeopardised by by SFM practices.

Moreover, Indonesia’s climate resilience strategies for coastal communities overlook the socio-cultural importance of fishing as a key source of income. For example, the government plans to provide business development training to assist fishing families in diversifying their income in response to extreme weather conditions. However, without acknowledging the deep cultural and economic ties these communities have to fishing, such initiatives risk being ineffective.

The cost we bear

The lack of justice in Indonesia’s transition agenda has backfired, with negative consequences for both people and the environment.

For example, the energy shift demands Indonesia to exploit more of its abundant nickel resources for EV batteries, particularly in central and eastern Indonesia. To assist nickel mining and processing, the government has implemented several policies.

While the nickel boom has helped resource-rich provinces like North Maluku and Central Sulawesi boost their economic growth, it has also had serious impacts. Indonesia’s greenhouse gas emissions climbed by 20% between 2022 and 2023, owing to the dependency on coal for nickel processing facilities.

Beyond emissions, nickel mining has also led to deforestation and pollution, affecting local communities who rely on natural resources for their livelihoods and cultural preservation, while also harming biodiversity in mining areas.

The expense of the nickel rush demonstrates how an unjust energy transition can exacerbate challenges faced by vulnerable communities and further degrade the environment.

Next steps

To integrate just transition principles effectively, Indonesia must first redefine the term ‘just transition’ within its own context. Currently, the term has not been properly incorporated into any of Indonesia’s climate-related documents.

A clear and context-specific definition will allow Indonesia to pursue a transition that is both equitable and inclusive.

To accomplish this, the government must engage a wide range of stakeholders in defining and planning the transition to all climate-related initiatives. This encompasses, but is not limited to, all sectors. The goal is to secure broad participation — not only from the public and private sectors, but also from local communities, vulnerable groups including women and Indigenous peoples, as well as other key actors.

A more defined concept and well-structured plan will make it easier to implement, monitor, and evaluate the change. Simultaneously, this inclusive strategy should ensure a fair and equitable distribution of both benefits and burdens. All actors must be able to participate in decision-making and take action prior to and during the transition process.

Indonesia must also have a robust monitoring and evaluation mechanism in place to support its climate actions. The country can learn from Scotland, which has developed a just transition framework with clear outcomes and measurable indicators while ensuring participation and continuous learning from all stakeholders.

Drawing on insights from existing literature and reports will help Indonesia develop a framework that is well-suited to its unique context.

The Conversation

Wira A. Swadana 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. Lack of justice in Indonesia’s climate plan may backfire, harming people and environment – https://theconversation.com/lack-of-justice-in-indonesias-climate-plan-may-backfire-harming-people-and-environment-249246

Beyond Evolution: Alfred Russel Wallace’s critique of the 19th century world

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Marshall, A., Visiting professor, Mahidol University

Alfred Russel Wallace was a British naturalist renowned for co-developing the theory of evolution alongside Charles Darwin – and for mapping out the biodiversity of the Indonesian Archipelago. However, his legacy extends far beyond science.

Wallace’s observations of social exploitation in Wales and the Archipelago compelled him to take a stand against the British establishment in his homeland and its colonial ventures abroad. He also recognised the ecological destruction caused by colonialism, making him one of the world’s first global environmentalists.

In the 19th century, Wallace’s observations were striking. British imperialism was at its zenith, and the Industrial Revolution was fueling a titanic amplification of human impact upon nature.




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Wallace’s observations are probably even more noteworthy today. While European colonialism has largely collapsed, the world is industrialising at breakneck speed, intensifying the environmental damage Wallace warned about.

The Butterfly Effect (a film about Alfred Russel Wallace. Produced & provided by the author with the assistance of AI software).

Witness to poverty: Wales

Wallace was born in 1823, and his early life in Wales exposed him to 19th-century rural struggles.

Historians have noted that Wales was one of the first regions to suffer English colonisation, dating back to medieval times.

By Wallace’s time, industrialisation had reshaped the Welsh landscape, with factories, mines, and railways supplanting its pristine mountains and valleys. While displaced farmers found work in these industries, the jobs were poorly paid, perilous, and often dehumanising. Wallace saw the ongoing struggle of Welsh communities to protect their farming rights and preserve their language.

Young Wallace initially worked as a mapmaker. His employers were usually wealthy landlords who hired him to map their estates to determine how much their tenant farmers owed them in rent or taxes.

At work, he witnessed how British landlords in Wales were becoming ‘more commercially minded’ (in other words, more money-grubbing). They often evicted impoverished tenant farmers to make way for profitable livestock, or mining and railway projects. If they weren’t pushed off the land altogether, the tenants faced rising rents and heavier taxes. Whatever the situation, it was usually the tenant farmers who were distressed.

Wallace was sometimes sent to collect rent and taxes from tenants, many of whom lived in poverty and barely spoke English to understand the circumstances they were in.

Wallace felt anguished for being part of the wretched business.

Eventually, after the private estates in Wales were just about entirely mapped, he decided to leave his career as a mapmaker.

At this point, Wallace became a full-time naturalist, collecting insect specimens and selling them to museums.

This new role led him to travel all across the world – including to the Indonesian Archipelago – where he spent eight years immersing himself in local cultures and languages such as Malay.

Sympathy for the colonised: The Archipelago

Initially, Wallace perceived Dutch colonialism as less exploitative than British practices. For the most part, this was because Wallace was comparing the state-run enterprises that dominated the economy of the Dutch East Indies with the avaricious companies that dominated the economies of British India and British Malaya. This preference for state capitalism versus laissez-faire capitalism even led Wallace to sympathise with the Cultivation System (Cultuurstelsel) imposed by the Dutch government.

Under this system, local farmers grew cash crops for the Dutch East Indies government. In exchange, they received some small payments below the market rate.

Wallace acknowledged that Dutch middlemen and local chiefs sometimes abused the system, but it often provided the growers with a reliable income. As well, the Dutch overlords were often obliged to build infrastructure and schools.

The system was criticised as a form of monopolistic serfdom. But Wallace saw it as less brutal than the ‘dog-eat-dog’ economies of Britain’s overseas free-trade colonies.

However, his perspective evolved. In later writings, Wallace rallied against the premise that any nation in the tropics need be colonised. He also realised colonised peoples didn’t gain much from the deal, if ‘deal’ we might call it.

In his 1898 book summarising human achievement in the 19th century, Wallace declared that the worst aspect of the century was the way Europeans mistreated native peoples worldwide.

Wallace noted that colonised lands worldwide were usually gained in dubious manners, and various abusive labour practices maintained their economies. By the turn of the century, Wallace was calling for all colonies to be handed back to indigenous peoples.

At the same time, in his homeland, Wallace also became a leading figure in the land nationalisation movement. In an effort to address rural poverty in Britain, Wallace advocated the nationalisation of all farmlands.

Entrusted to the state, farming rights could then be distributed fairly and democratically among the entire national community of farmers. In this manner, every farming family could grow their own food, either for themselves or to sell, without being impoverished by taxes and rents claimed by the gentry.

Destruction of nature

As a naturalist deeply connected to the environment, Wallace also documented colonial ventures disastrous impact on wildlife. When European ventures established estates in the tropics, the native rainforests were swiftly cleared.

In his own words:

The reckless destruction of forests, which have for ages been the protection and sustenance of the inhabitants, seems to me to be one of the most shortsighted acts of colonial mismanagement—Wallace in The Malay Archipelago.

Wallace also condemned the environmental impact of colonial mining in the Archipelago, especially those targeting gold and tin, which he witnessed in Borneo and the Malay Peninsula:

The rapid degradation of fertile valleys and the poisoning of streams by mining waste serve as stark reminders of the greed of commerce unchecked by reason or compassion—Wallace in The Malay Archipelago.

These observations, penned in the late 19th century, clearly anticipated 21st-century environmental problems and their causes.

Wallace’s foresight was rare at his time, and his warning was even more striking. He believed that nature’s destruction could only be avoided by taking much more equitable approaches to resource use.

Life lessons

Modern historians and scientists hail Wallace as one of the bravest figures of the 19th century. He possessed enough physical courage to cross vast oceans and live for years away from home in remote, untamed forests. This courage allowed Wallace to explore the natural world deeply enough to uncover its hidden forces.

Equally impressive was Wallace’s moral courage. At a time when criticising the British elite or questioning imperialism was far from popular, Wallace did not shy away from challenging the status quo. Many of his books envision a better, fairer world.

Wallace’s moral courage is something we can all learn from today, especially as we realise that scientific knowledge alone is not enough to protect nature from relentless industrialisation.

The Conversation

Marshall, A. 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. Beyond Evolution: Alfred Russel Wallace’s critique of the 19th century world – https://theconversation.com/beyond-evolution-alfred-russel-wallaces-critique-of-the-19th-century-world-243372

Weighing the green cost: How nickel mining in Indonesia impacts forests and local communities

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Michaela Guo Ying Lo, Postdoctoral Researcher in Environment, Conservation, and Development, University of Kent

Indonesia produced nearly four times the amount of nickel in recent years compared to a decade earlier — following the global push for a low-carbon revolution that drives the mining for the mineral essential for electric vehicles, renewable energy technologies, and stainless-steel production.

This boom, however, takes a toll on nickel-rich regions like Sulawesi, threatening a one-of-a-kind biodiversity hotspot, known as ‘Wallacea’.

Our recent study raises questions about the sustainability of nickel mining practices as we highlight its environmental and social impacts in Sulawesi, based on data from 7,721 villages.

Sulawesi’s forests and biodiversity at risk

Our study shows that between 2011 and 2018, villages near nickel mines experienced deforestation at nearly double the rate of non-mining areas. The loss is attributable to land acquisition needed to mine the mineral.

Deforestation will not only worsen global warming but also destroy habitats and threaten wildlife populations. Among the species potentially affected are Sulawesi’s 17 primate species, such as Celebes crested macaque and Peleng tarsier—all of them are endemic to the island. If this trend continues, it could set back efforts to both mitigate greenhouse gas emissions and conserve biodiversity.

A video showcasing the Peleng tarsier, one of 17 endemic primates threatened by nickel-driven deforestation.

The costs and benefits to local communities

Our research reveals that unsustainable nickel mining practices have increased the pollution and the frequency of mining-related disasters, such as landslides and flash floods. They directly impact local communities that rely on agriculture, fishing, and other natural resource-based livelihoods.

The effects of nickel mining, however, are nuanced. Environmental damage and land acquisition have triggered conflicts.
But while social well-being declined in areas near nickel mines, the impact varied significantly across regions, and was positive in some areas.

This implies that communities across Sulawesi can experience both positive and negative impacts. In villages with high poverty levels, for example, the environmental and health impacts of mining have been particularly severe. In these villages, adverse health effects are more likely to occur due to limited resources and capacity to cope with pollution associated with mining activities.

However, our study also shows that these poorer regions have also gained the greatest benefits from mining, including improved infrastructure and living conditions. Revenue from mining has likely added to investments into public goods, such as improving water systems and transportation networks.

More information is needed to understand what is driving this variation, but it underscores the precarious balance posed by nickel mining. While it provides vital development opportunities, it also threatens vulnerable ecosystems and exposes communities to significant environmental and health risks. Achieving progress without deepening hardship remains a complex challenge for sustainable development in Indonesia and other nickel producing countries.

Towards sustainable nickel mining

Tackling these challenges requires a just and sustainable approach to nickel mining. If the harm continues, it could undermine efforts to conserve Sulawesi’s unique biodiversity. That’s why protecting its ecosystems is critical.

Several recommendations have been proposed by other academics and actors, three of which we emphasise through our mining evaluation:

1. Strengthening environmental and social standards

Governments and mining companies must follow strict environmental and social standards to minimise harm to ecosystems and communities. This includes strict regulations on deforestation and water management, along with protections for workers and affected communities.

For mining companies, frameworks like the OECD Due Diligence Guidelines can ensure that businesses carry out the necessary protocols to identify, prevent, and account for adverse impacts that result from their mining practices. At the same time, state actors should continue to fulfil their obligations to protect and respect the rights of those affected by mining.

2. Ensuring community participation

Local communities must be central to decision-making around mining projects. Inclusive consultation and consent processes can help mitigate harm and ensure that mining operations do not harm those who rely on the environment for their livelihoods.

Involving communities in decision-making helps mining companies build trust and share benefits. As one case study has shown in Sulawesi, engaging local populations in evaluating the nickel production process can lead to corrective actions. Community feedback can ensure that mining projects not only achieve compliance but also align with the aspirations and well-being of affected communities.

3. Establishing robust monitoring and accountability

Regular monitoring and evaluation of mining operations, from start to finish, is crucial — not just for nickel but other mining commodities too. Companies should be held accountable for environmental damage and social harm, while successful practices should be highlighted to serve as models for the industry. Independent oversight by NGOs and local groups can boost transparency, ensure accountability, and promote best practices.

Time is crucial. With the low-carbon transition speeding up, swift action is needed to prevent environmental and social harm worldwide.

By reforming nickel mining practices, Indonesia can play a vital role in building a just, sustainable, low-carbon future, and provide a model for other countries.

This is a chance to balance economic prosperity, environmental protection, and social equity — ensuring the green energy transition’s benefits outweigh its costs.

The Conversation

Michaela Guo Ying Lo received funding from the University of Kent Global Challenges Doctoral Centre.

Jatna is also a member of Indonesian Academy of Sciences (AIPI) and lecturer in University of Indonesia

Matthew Struebig received funding from Natural Environment Research Council UK and Leverhulme Trust UK.

ref. Weighing the green cost: How nickel mining in Indonesia impacts forests and local communities – https://theconversation.com/weighing-the-green-cost-how-nickel-mining-in-indonesia-impacts-forests-and-local-communities-246259

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

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

Shiyue Wu, a member of Francesco Perono Cacciafoco’s research team at Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University (XJTLU), who is currently developing intensive fieldwork in Alor Island to document and preserve endangered languages, discovered and first documented Kape during a Language Documentation fieldwork in August 2024 and therefore actively contributed to this study.


As of 2025, more than 7000 languages are spoken across the world. However, only about half of them are properly documented, leaving the rest at risk of disappearing.

Globalisation has propelled languages such as English and Chinese into the mainstream, and they now dominate global communication.

Parents today prefer their children learn widely-spoken languages. Meanwhile, indigenous languages, such as Copainalá Zoque in Mexico and Northern Ndebele in Zimbabwe, are not even consistently taught in schools.

Indigenous people generally did not use writing for centuries and, therefore, their languages do not have ancient written records. This has contributed to their gradual disappearance.

To prevent the loss of endangered languages, field linguists – or language documentarists – work to ensure that new generations have access to their cultural heritage. Their efforts reveal the vocabulary and structure of these languages and the stories and traditions embedded within them.

My research team and I have spent over 13 years documenting endangered Papuan languages in Southeast and East Indonesia, particularly in the Alor-Pantar Archipelago, near Timor, and the Maluku Islands. One of our significant and very recent discoveries is Kape, a previously undocumented and neglected language spoken by small coastal communities in Central-Northern Alor.

Not only is the discovery important for mapping the linguistic context of the island, but it also highlights the urgency of preserving endangered languages by employing Language Documentation methods.

The discovery of Kape

In August 2024, while working with our Abui consultants, Shiyue Wu, my Research Assistant at Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University, discovered a previously-ignored, presumably undocumented Papuan language from Alor, ‘Kape’.

At the time, she was gathering information about the names and locations of ritual altars known as ‘maasang’ in the Abui area, with assistance from our main consultant and several native speakers. In Central Alor, every village has a ‘maasang’.

During conversations about the variants in altar names across Alor languages and Abui dialects, some speakers mentioned the name of the ‘maasang’ (‘mata’) in Kape—a language previously unrecorded and overlooked in linguistic documentation.

‘Kape’ translates to ‘rope’, symbolising how the language connects its speakers across the island, from the mountains to the sea. Geographically and linguistically, it is associated with Kabola in the east and Abui and Kamang in Central Alor.

At this stage, it is unclear whether Kape is a distinct language or a dialect of Kamang, as the two are mutually intelligible. Much of Kape’s basic lexicon (the collection of words in one language), indeed, shares cognates (related words among languages) with Kamang.

However, Kape is spoken as the primary (native) language by the whole Kape ethnic group of Alor, and the speakers consider themselves an independent linguistic and ethnic community. This could serve as an element for regarding Kape as a language.

Kape also shows connections with Suboo, Tiyei, and Adang, other Papuan languages from Alor Island. The speakers, known as ‘Kafel’ in Abui, are multilingual, fluent, to some extent, in Kape, Kamang, Bahasa Indonesia, Alor Malay, and, sometimes, Abui.

So far, no historical records have been found for Kape, though archival research may reveal more about its origins. Based on its typology and lexical characteristics, Kape appears as ancient as other languages spoken in Alor. Like many Papuan languages, it is critically endangered and requires urgent documentation to preserve its legacy.

Documenting languages: An ongoing challenge

Language Documentation aims to reconstruct the unwritten history of indigenous peoples and to guarantee the future of their cultures and languages. This is accomplished by preserving endangered, scarcely documented or entirely undocumented languages in disadvantaged and remote areas.

External sources, like diaries by missionaries and documentation produced by colonisers, can help reconstruct some historical events. However, they are insufficient for providing reliable linguistic data since the authors were not linguists.

My research team and I document endangered languages, starting with their lexicon and grammar. Eventually, we also explore the ancient traditions and ancestral wisdom of the native speakers we work with.

We have contributed to the documentation of several Papuan languages from Alor Island, especially Abui, Kula, and Sawila. These languages are spoken among small, sometimes dispersed communities of indigenous peoples belonging to different but related ethnic clusters.

They communicate with each other mostly in Bahasa Indonesia and Alor Malay. This is because their local languages are almost never taught in schools and are rarely used outside their groups.

Over time, in addition to documenting their lexicons and grammars, we worked to reconstruct their place-names and landscape names, oral traditions, foundation myths, ancestral legends and the names of plants and trees they use.

We also explored their traditional medical practices and local ethnobotany, along with their musical culture and number systems.

Safeguarding Kape is not just linguistically relevant. Its preservation and documentation are not just about attesting its existence – they also contribute to revitalising the language, keeping it alive, and allowing the local community to rediscover its history, knowledge, and traditions to pass down to the next generations.

This journey has just begun, but my team and I – with the indispensable collaboration from our local consultants and native speakers – are prepared to go all the way towards its completion.

The Conversation

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. Finding ‘Kape’: How Language Documentation helps us preserve an endangered language – https://theconversation.com/finding-kape-how-language-documentation-helps-us-preserve-an-endangered-language-247465

Peatlands and mangroves: Southeast Asian countries must protect these major carbon pools to boost climate ambitions

Source: The Conversation – France (in French) – By Sigit Sasmito, Senior Research Officer, James Cook University

Peat swamp in Danau Sentarum National Park, West Kalimantan. (Bramanthya Fathi Makarim/Shutterstock)

Protecting and restoring peatlands and mangroves can strengthen Southeast Asian countries’ efforts to combat climate change, according to new findings from an international team of researchers.

Carbon-dense peatlands and mangroves comprise only 5% of Southeast Asia’s surface. Protecting and restoring them, however, can reduce approximately 770±97 megatonnes of CO2 equivalent (MtCO2e) annually. This is equal to more than half of the carbon emissions from land use in the region.

Conserving offers larger mitigation potential through reduced emissions from ecosystem loss in the region compared to gains from restoration. If optimally implemented, restoration can still play an important role in nature-based carbon sequestration.

Having peatlands and mangroves included in the new climate pledges (Nationally Determined Contributions 3.0) can help countries set higher emissions reduction targets for 2030 and 2035.

More benefits to offer

The study reports extensive climate benefits from conserving and restoring peatlands and mangroves. Therefore, they make effective natural climate solutions for Southeast Asian countries.

Both ecosystems protect organic matter from decay under natural conditions, acting as net carbon sinks. This means that carbon uptake exceeds carbon loss.

Net carbon gains are mainly accumulated in their soils instead of their vegetation. More than 90% of carbon stocks in peatlands and 78% in mangroves are in their soils.

At scale, protecting and restoring both types of wetlands also supports other valuable co-benefits. These include biodiversity preservation, water quality improvement, coastal protection, food security and rural development for millions of coastal people across Southeast Asian countries.

Challenges remain

Despite the benefits, many challenges and risks persist in conserving and restoring peatlands and mangroves.

When peatlands and mangroves are disturbed – commonly due to land use change – they release large quantities of carbon into the atmosphere. This release can later exacerbate climate change.

The new estimates suggest that changes in their land use for the past two decades (2001-2022) had caused the release of approximately 691±97 MtCO2e of excess emissions.

Indonesia accounts for the largest portion of the region’s emissions, accounting for 73%. Malaysia (14%), Myanmar (7%), and Vietnam (2%) follow. The other seven Southeast Asian countries generate the remaining 4% of emissions.

In Southeast Asia, mangroves and peatlands are often treated as unproductive land. Still, they have long been subject to agricultural land expansion planning.

Moreover, unclear or multi-land ownership and lack of long-term participatory monitoring programs are critical challenges for prioritising and implementing restoration on the ground.

Despite these challenges, government and corporate interest in developing conservation and restoration-based carbon projects for peatlands and mangroves is rapidly increasing.

That is why now is a good opportunity to recognise their vital roles — not only for climate change mitigation — but also for people and nature.

Implications for national emissions reduction targets

The new study addresses a critical gap in climate policy for Southeast Asian by providing annual climate change mitigation potentials from peatlands and mangroves.

Climate mitigation potential for national land-use emissions varies widely between countries.

The findings suggest that it could reduce national land-use emissions by up to 88% in Malaysia, 64% in Indonesia, and 60% in Brunei. Other countries include Myanmar at 39%, the Philippines at 26%, Cambodia at 18%, Vietnam at 13%, Thailand at 10%, Laos at 9%, Singapore at 2%, and Timor-Leste at 0.04%.

Our study also shows that mitigation potential from peatlands and mangroves in Indonesia can fulfil country Forestry and Other Land-use (FOLU) Net Sink targets by 2030.

In its 2022 NDCs, Indonesia plans to reduce its annual emissions from FOLU by 2030 between 500-729 MtCO2e, depending on the level of external support. According to the study, this figure is within the same order of mitigation potential as peatlands and mangroves can collectively generate.

However, peatland and mangrove mitigation potentials are insufficient to avoid dangerous levels of climate change in the future.

Decarbonisation remains the most effective means of curbing climate change and its impacts, with peatland and mangrove protection enhancing these efforts.

The Conversation

Susan Elizabeth Page menerima dana dari University of Leicester, UK.

Dan Friess, David Taylor, Massimo Lupascu, Pierre Taillardat, Sigit Sasmito, dan Wahyu Catur Adinugroho 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. Peatlands and mangroves: Southeast Asian countries must protect these major carbon pools to boost climate ambitions – https://theconversation.com/peatlands-and-mangroves-southeast-asian-countries-must-protect-these-major-carbon-pools-to-boost-climate-ambitions-247570

From Scrooge to science: how dairy might disrupt your sleep and dreams

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Timothy Hearn, Senior Lecturer in Bioinformatics, Anglia Ruskin University

New Africa/Shutterstock

Ebenezer Scrooge tried to wave away the ghost of Jacob Marley by blaming the apparition on “an undigested bit of beef … a crumb of cheese”. Charles Dickens might have been writing fiction, but the idea that late-night dairy can warp dreams has now gained scientific support.

Researchers in Canada surveyed 1,082 university students about their eating habits, sleep patterns and dreams.  Remarkably, 40% reported that certain foods affected their sleep. Of that group, 20% blamed dairy – suggesting that Scrooge’s midnight cheese might have had more of an impact than he realised.

Just 5.5% believed food changed their dreams, but among those respondents dairy again loomed large, second only to sugary desserts as a perceived trigger for bizarre or disturbing dreams.

The researchers asked about everything from nightmare frequency to food allergies and intolerances. A clear pattern emerged: participants who reported lactose intolerance were significantly more likely to have frequent nightmares. And the link was strongest in people who also experienced bloating or cramps.


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Statistical modelling suggested the stomach distress partly explains the bad dreams. In other words, food that keeps the gut churning can also set the imagination spinning.

That gut–brain route makes physiological sense. Abdominal discomfort can jolt sleepers into lighter stages of sleep where vivid or negative dreams are most common. Inflammation and spikes in cortisol (a stress hormone) triggered by digestive upset may further shape the emotional tone of dreams, especially by amplifying anxiety or negativity.

Earlier work backs the idea. A 2015 survey of Canadian undergraduates found that nearly 18% linked what they ate to their dreams, with dairy the top suspect, while a 2022 online study of 436 dream enthusiasts reported that people who ate more sugary snacks remembered more nightmares.

The new study from Canada echoes a wider literature on diet and sleep. Diets rich in fibre, fruit and vegetables are associated with deeper, more refreshing sleep, whereas meals high in saturated fat and sugar predict lighter, more fragmented rest.

A man waking from a bad dream.
Stomach distress partly explains bad dreams.
Lysenko Andrii/Shutterstock

Eating late in the evening has been tied to poorer sleep quality and to an “evening chronotype” (that is, night owls), itself linked to nightmare frequency.

If future work confirms the cheese–nightmare connection, the implications could be practical. Nightmares affect about 4% of adults worldwide and are particularly common in post-traumatic stress disorder.

Drug treatments exist but carry side-effects. Adjusting the timing or composition of evening meals, or choosing low-lactose dairy options, would be a far cheaper, lower-risk intervention.

Gut-friendly diets such as the Mediterranean diet are already being explored for mood disorders; nightmares may be another frontier for nutritional psychiatry.

What the research can’t prove

That said, the new findings come with caveats. The sample was young, mostly healthy psychology students filling out online questionnaires. Food intake, lactose intolerance and nightmare frequency were all self-reported, so “recall biases” (inaccurate memory) or the power of suggestion could inflate the associations.

Only 59 participants believed food influenced their dreams, so small-number effects (unreliable results from too few data) are possible. And a survey can only reveal associations – it can’t prove that cheese causes bad dream.

Cheese keeps cropping up in nightmare stories, and people who struggle to digest dairy report the worst of it. Scientists still have to match meal diaries, gut clues and lab-monitored dreams to prove the link. In the meantime, try eating earlier or choosing low-lactose options. Your stomach – and your dreams – may calm down.

The Conversation

Timothy Hearn does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. From Scrooge to science: how dairy might disrupt your sleep and dreams – https://theconversation.com/from-scrooge-to-science-how-dairy-might-disrupt-your-sleep-and-dreams-260328

Why the l-carnitine sport supplement is controversial

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Julia Haarhuis, PhD student – Food, Microbiomes and Health, Quadram Institute

Miljan Zivkovic/Shutterstock

Sport supplements are hard to get away from if you like to exercise regularly. Even if you’re not interested in them, there’s a good chance your gym will have posters extolling their virtues or your sporty friends will want to talk to you about them.

It can be hard to know what supplements to take as there is a lot of mixed information out there. L-carnitine is among the more controversial supplements. While there is evidence it supports muscle recovery and enhances exercise performance, research has also shown it can contribute to cardiovascular disease.

In a new study, my colleagues and I found it may be possible to counter the negative effects of l-cartinine by eating pomegranate with it.

First, it’s important to understand what l-carnitine is. Your body produces a small amount of l-carnitine naturally. This happens in the kidneys, liver and brain.

When l-carnitine was first identified in humans in 1952, it was thought to be a vitamin and it was referred to as vitamin BT. After years of research on this compound, l-carnitine is now considered a quasi-vitamin because for most people the human body can produce enough l-carnitine itself.


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L-carnitine can be bought as a dietary supplement, but the nutrient is also added to energy drinks and some protein powders by manufacturers to try and enhance the value of their products. Manufacturers normally clearly state it on the product if it contains l-carnitine – it’s not something a company will try to hide.

Some foods naturally contain l-carnitine, such as meat and in tiny amounts in dairy products. L-carnitine is not fed to livestock but it is present in muscle tissue. L-carnitine was first found in meat in 1905. It is for this reason that the name carnitine is derived from the Latin word carnis, meaning “of the flesh”.

Jar and scoop filled with powder against yellow background.
L-carnitine is sold in sport supplements.
9dream studio/Shutterstock

The harmful effects of l-carnitine supplements

It is not thought to be intrinsically harmful. Your gut microbes are to blame for the risks associated with l-carnitine.

Less than 20% of l-carnitine supplements can be taken in by the human body. The unabsorbed l-carnitine travels down the gastrointestinal tract and reaches the colon. The colon is home to trillions of microbes, including bacteria, viruses and fungi.

When the remaining 80% of the l-carnitine supplement arrives in the colon, the microbes start absorbing the nutrient and they use it to produce something else: trimethylamine (TMA). TMA is a compound the human body can efficiently absorb, and that is where the potentially harmful effects of l-carnitine supplements arise.

Once the body absorbs TMA, it goes to the liver via the blood stream. The liver converts TMA to trimethylamine N-oxide (TMAO). Research has shown that high levels of TMAO in the blood can contribute to cardiovascular disease.

For example, a research group at the Cleveland Clinic in the US gave human participants a nutrient similar to l-carnitine that is also converted into TMA by gut microbes. The researchers found that the nutrient caused an increased risk of thrombosis (blood clots) in their participants.

L-carnitine itself is a beneficial nutrient. When it is produced by our bodies, which happens in the kidneys, brain and liver, it’s not metabolised by the gut microbiota and isn’t converted to TMAO. Your body can absorb more l-carnitine from meat than from supplements, which makes it less harmful as that means less of it ends up in the colon.

Dietary intervention can reduce harmful effects

In my team’s lab at the Quadram Institute in Norwich, England, we simulated what happens when the l-carnitine supplement reaches the microbes in the colon. We fed a culture of gut microbes with l-carnitine and measured the TMA that the microbes produced.

Then, we fed a culture of gut microbes with l-carnitine together with a pomegranate extract, which is rich in polyphenols. Polyphenols are plant compounds with antioxidant, antimicrobial, and anti-inflammatory properties that may help keep you healthy and protect you against diseases.

The main polyphenols in pomegranate belong to a group called ellagitannins, a type of polyphenol that can reach the colon almost entirely intact, where they can interact with the gut microbiota. When we measured the TMA that the gut microbes produced in the second experiment, we saw much less TMA.

Our experiments in the lab show that a polyphenol-rich pomegranate extract can reduce microbial TMA production and eliminate the potentially harmful effects of l-carnitine supplements.

Our laboratory experiments showed that the pomegranate extract can reduce the production of TMA. Ellagitannins are also abundant in other fruits and nuts, such as raspberries and walnuts. So, if you take l-carnitine supplements, our research suggests that it may be a good idea to include ellagitannin-rich foods in your diet. Eating more fruits and nuts can be good for your health, so including these in your diet will probably be beneficial anyway.

Our group is now moving the science outside of the lab. We are testing in human participants how effective the pomegranate extract is at reducing TMAO production from l-carnitine supplements. This study will tell us whether taking an l-carnitine supplement along with a pomegranate extract may be better than taking the supplement on its own.

The Conversation

Julia Haarhuis works at the Quadram Institute and receives funding from the Wellcome Trust.

ref. Why the l-carnitine sport supplement is controversial – https://theconversation.com/why-the-l-carnitine-sport-supplement-is-controversial-219520