For Indigenous communities, the arbitrary label of “Protected Forest” is not a guarantee of conservation, but rather a tool of exclusion.
I remember my confused delight when I first came across a signboard on the side of a logging road in remote Sarawak announcing the dense jungle ahead as a “Protected Forest.” I had visited the area in Upper Baram several times as part of an investigation on logging encroachment into Indigenous community areas. I knew the village to which we were en-route was within a logging concession operated by timber giant Samling. Was this a new development? Was the government finally listening to communities who had been demanding their land back for decades? Here was the proof, Samling! It’s a protected forest – keep out!
I read on as the sign listed prohibited activities: “No cutting, no taking timber.” This is great! “No building houses, no fires.” Hmm, but there’s a village nearby… “No entry. RM50,000 fine or one year in jail.” What? Then I realized the map of the “Protected Forest” lined up with my memory of one of the largest logging concessions in the region. It hit me – the government was protecting the logging concession from the villagers, not the other way around. The term “Protected Forest” is obviously meant to sound like an area safeguarded from destruction – but as I would discover, in Sarawak government terms, it’s usually the opposite.
Unlike Totally Protected Areas (TPAs) like national parks or wildlife sanctuaries, which also limit Indigenous access but at least claim to prevent logging and protect biodiversity, “Protected Forests” under the Sarawak government’s classification fall within what’s known as “Permanent Forest Estates (PFEs).” These forests are not off-limits to logging – in fact, they are specifically set aside for “sustainable forest management,” a term that means industrial logging and timber plantations. A “Protected Forest” designation is a double blow for Indigenous communities – dividing up their land piecemeal for extractive industries, and prohibiting them from carrying out their daily lives on their ancestral territories by outlawing activities essential for survival.
The Great Sarawakian Land Grab
Since Sarawak joined the Malaysian Federation in 1963, the state government has claimed ownership over all land, making it nearly impossible for Indigenous communities to obtain formal land titles. This legal framework has allowed the state to divide up vast tracts of forest without the consent of communities who have lived there for generations – sometimes hundreds of years – handing them over to logging and plantation owners. These concessions are effectively long-term licenses that grant companies the right to extract timber or clear forests for monoculture plantations, with little regard for Indigenous customary land rights. Once an area like this is designated “Permanent Forest Estate,” it remains under government control, ensuring that communities have no legal standing to reclaim their ancestral lands.
For decades, the Sarawak government has systematically leased out these lands to companies with reputations for environmental destruction and human rights abuses. In recent years, in large part due to international pressure, they have rebranded their strategy under the guise of “sustainable forest management,” a term that in practice often translates to logging, followed by conversion into plantations. For Indigenous communities, the arbitrary label of “Protected Forest” given to these lands is not a guarantee of conservation, but rather a tool of exclusion. The signboard I saw lays it out plainly: communities can be fined or imprisoned simply for accessing their ancestral lands, while logging companies face no such consequences for destroying critical community sites.
The science is also plain: no amount of logging in our world’s remaining rainforests can possibly be considered “sustainable.” Borneo is home to the oldest tropical rainforests on earth. No matter how many different ways the Sarawak government chooses to brand their commitments to conservation and “forest preservation” its continued support for timber and plantation companies serves as a blatant contradiction.
The Truth About Sarawak’s Forests
The Sarawak Forest Department’s own statements reveal how misleading the government’s conservation claims are. In one document, they assert: “Sarawak has 62% of its landmass, or approximately 7.65 million hectares, under forest cover.” A casual reader might assume this means 62% of Sarawak remains pristine forest. But later they clarify: “Continuous efforts are being made to gazette more areas to achieve our target of 6 million hectares of Permanent Forest Estates.” What this actually means is that only a fraction of that “forest cover” is protected in any real sense – in fact, they hope to ensure that nearly 80% of those forests will be converted to “Protected Forests” – open to logging, plantations, and so-called “sustainable” forest management.
To make matters worse, vast palm oil plantations like this one – man-made monoculture as far as the eye can see – count under Sarawak’s definition of a “forest.” Meanwhile, satellite imagery proves that less than 10% of its landmass is actually covered by primary, intact forest. How much more misleading can it get?
Indigenous Communities Need Their Land Back
It’s clear that the Sarawak government isn’t serious about conservation. If it were, the first step would be recognizing Indigenous land rights. Ironically, the Sarawak Forest Department (FDS), the body responsible for the piecemeal sale of the state’s forests to logging companies and oil palm plantations, describes itself as “The Guardian of Sarawak’s Forests”. Not only has FDS consistently placed resource extraction and profit over repeated global calls to protect Sarawak’s last remaining forests, it has also ignored and failed to protect Sarawak’s true forest guardians – the Indigenous communities who have resided there for generations.
Research has consistently shown that forests managed by Indigenous peoples with secure land tenure have better biodiversity and long-term forest health outcomes than those controlled by governments or corporations. In Sarawak, where the government makes it nearly impossible for communities to obtain legal land titles, decades-long fights rage on as generation after generation try to protect what forests they have left. Under Sarawak’s Land Code, native customary rights claims are subject to deeply restrictive conditions – in many cases, communities must provide proof of continuous occupation dating back before 1958, an unreasonable demand given forced displacements, oral history traditions, and the government’s refusal to accept Indigenous maps as legitimate evidence. Even when communities win legal battles affirming their (limited) land rights, the government can delay enforcement or appeal decisions, exerting near total control over land status.
The global Land Back movement underscores a fundamental truth that Sarawak would do well to hear: conservation cannot succeed without Indigenous land rights. If the Sarawak Forest Department is serious about ensuring that forests remain standing for future generations of Sarawakians, then “Protected Forests” need to be handed back to the people who have safeguarded them for centuries – those with the greatest stake in their long-term survival. Until that happens, Sarawak’s conservation claims will remain little more than an elaborate deception, designed to serve industry rather than the environment or the people who call these forests home.