out of dung.) But illegal logging and the conversion of rainforest
to palm oil plantations and other agriculture left the majestic
primates critically endangered, in turn making any Homo sapi-
ens presence most unwelcome to the great apes. “They do not
like humans,” says Webb. “They would break off branches and
throw them at us.” In Bukit Baka Bukit Raya National Park,
where Webb later worked, she learned why: The villagers, she
says, “had eaten nearly all the orangutans.”
There, the local Dayak tribes, like many indigenous groups
around the world, historically subsisted on wild game, including
primates, bats, and rodents—three groups of mammals epidemi-
ologists say are prone to harboring diseases capable of attacking
a human host. But these days such eating habits among the Dayak
largely occur only when they’re away from home, says Webb. “It
happens mainly when they’re logging: They go into the forest for
weeks at a time, and they have to eat, so they hunt. It’s dangerous.”
When Webb founded ASRI in 2007, she began with a series
of community meetings in the 44 villages surrounding Gunung
Palung. “You are guardians of this precious rainforest that is
valuable to the whole world,” Webb said to the Borneans. “What
do you need as a thank-you from the world so that you can protect
it?” The same two answers came up again and again. The first
was access to affordable health care, a confirmation of her aha
moment with Tadyn. The second? Training in organic farming.
For locals, the chemical-free approach was a practical matter,
not some groovy plan to save the planet. The Indonesian gov-
ernment had long promoted modern rice farming in the area,
which requires expensive fertilizers and pesticides that left cul-
tivators in debt— another incentive to keep logging. “They had
heard that people in other places knew how to plant without
chemicals,” says Webb, so she promptly hired an organic farmer
from neighboring Java to train them.
Borneans have a tradition of slash-and-burn agriculture. As
crops deplete the soil of nutrients, villagers constantly clear new
plots of land. But the Javanese traditionally grow in one place
year after year by enriching the earth with compost and cover
crops that add nitrogen. Slash-and-burn was sustainable when
populations were smaller and other pressures on the forest fewer,
but in modern times it’s an ecological disaster. “They said, ‘It isn’t
working for us anymore, we know we have to shift,’” Webb recalls.HEADQUARTERS IN SUKADANA, the largest town in the
vicinity of Gunung Palung, Jilli, the organization’s sustainable
agriculture coordinator, walks barefoot past plantings of dragon
fruit, bitter melon, and tomatoes propped up on a makeshift
bamboo trellis. In an open-air shed, a device that resembles a
pint-size rocket ship cobbled together with steel drums trans-
forms coconut husks into a concentrated black liquid that, when
sprayed on plants, helps keep pests at bay. In this demonstra-
tion garden, Jilli coaches the 17 organic farming cooperatives
that have sprung up in the area since ASRI started its training
program in 2008; those plots now supply about 70 percent of
the produce available in local markets.Like many of the farmers, Jilli’s a former logger.
“We try to convince our friends to transition to farm-
ing,” he says through a translator. He sports a T-shirt
reading “Bertani Organik— Sehat, sejahtera” (Or-
ganic Farming— Healthy and wealthy).
Jilli’s garden lies behind ASRI’s sprawling health
clinic, a cluster of airy, white buildings linked by a
covered walkway. Built in 2015, it feels more like a
tranquil jungle lodge than medical offices, but with 20
beds for overnight stays and facilities for childbirth
and minor surgeries, it’s the closest thing to a hospi-
tal in Sukadana. Green and purple scrubs dry on a
clothesline. One building is now an isolation ward.
Hendriandi, ASRI’s reforestation coordinator and
one of the few COVID-19 patients in the region to
date, tends native syzygium seedlings in the nurs-
ery next to Jilli’s garden. The organization pays local
crews, including many former loggers, to plant the
trees. Since 2007, they’ve put more than 200,000
into the ground, including many of the fruiting spe-
cies like durian that orangutans adore.
The three threads of ASRI’s program— health
care, organic farming, and tree planting— interweave
in a single conservation economy. Febriani, ASRI’s
executive director, approaches the cashier window
to demonstrate how it works. Villagers who have
given up logging (as verified by on-the-ground ob-
servation by a team of “forest guardians”) receive
a discount on health services; for the remainder of
the bill, she says, with a wry grin, ASRI accepts aFROM LEFT: A child re-
ceives medical care at
the ASRI clinic. Seed-
lings in the nursery await
planting. The effort’s
agriculture coordina-
tor, Jilli, tends his organic
demonstration garden.At ASRI
78 WINTER 2020 / POPSCI.COM