Fighting a Borderless War , A Personal Testimony of Land Rights, Criminalization, and Resistance in Indonesia (2007-2017)
Three thousands and fifty hectares or 7,537 acres land in Putat Rokan Hilir, Riau, Indonesia belong to PT. Ria Estella. "Billions of US dollars burned up and robbed."
Chapter 1: Hunted by Shadows, Betrayed by My Own Country
Every person carries wounds. But not all wounds are visible. Some are hidden behind smiles, others are buried deep by systems that never take our side. This is my story not fiction, not drama, but a harsh reality from a homeland that was meant to protect me, but instead stripped me bare.
Several years ago, my life changed drastically. It started with a land conflict involving a 3,050-hectare concession legally owned by PT Ria Estella in the Putat area of Rokan Hilir, Riau. This was a legitimate estate, later seized by actors masquerading as farmers who were, in fact, pawns of the land mafia.
At first, I thought it was just a typical land dispute. I was wrong. This wasn’t about property it was about power, conspiracy, and a deadly game. I was surrounded. Lies were spread from all directions. My reputation was destroyed, and even my private life was dragged into the chaos. I was followed, threatened, and nearly killed in an assassination attempt.
In the span of a year, I had to move between more than thirteen apartments in Jakarta just to escape the pursuit of the “invisible hand.” Strange items were sent to my home a silent message of threat. My police reports were dismissed as trivial. None were acted upon.
One by one, officials who tried to help mediate the conflict died under mysterious circumstances. A department head who supported us died suddenly without a clear cause. Other district heads in Rohil met the same fate. All while we were fighting for justice through legal channels.
The threats didn’t stop with me. An environmental officer who rejected a multi-billion rupiah bribe was forced to resign for fear of his life. Law enforcers who initially supported us suddenly went silent. Some were approached by intellectual actors behind the scenes, including a university lecturer who posed as a “hero of the farmers” and is now a figure in Apkasindo. He contacted a prosecutor we had worked with and began spreading false claims that I was insane, abandoned, and had been deserted by my husband who fled overseas. Lies designed to assassinate my character.
Worse yet, the lecturer's wife and others supporting him were from Samosir, forming a small but dangerous network. They orchestrated every move to eliminate me from this fight. There were even signs that they had planned to poison me. I was not targeted simply over land I was targeted because I refused to kneel. I refused to give in.
Indonesia stayed silent. The state was too busy pleasing investors and oligarchs to hear the cries of its own people. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to write like this. But one thing is certain: I will keep speaking out even if mine is the only voice left.
Chapter 2: Letters, Pleas, and Silence from State Authorities
I didn’t give up in the face of threats. After enduring repeated terror and slander, I took the most rational and lawful step I reported everything to law enforcement.
I went to the local police, the district office, the provincial police, even sent formal reports to National Police HQ. I didn’t come empty-handed I brought legal documents, land ownership certificates, recordings, and a full chronology of crimes committed on PT Ria Estella’s land. This wasn’t just a land grab. It was large-scale illegal logging orchestrated by land mafia disguised as farmers.
But I didn’t find justice. I found fear.
On the ground, officers looked away, passed responsibility, or went silent after a while. Some who initially supported us suddenly disappeared. Everything I fought for vanished into a dark corridor with no echo.
I didn’t stop there. I escalated the case to the Ministry of Agriculture, hoping for a breakthrough or at least legal protection for a legitimate investment. But instead of protection, I found fear and hesitation. Ministry officials, who should’ve stood firm for agrarian justice, fidgeted and danced around words. I could see it they were being watched. They were afraid to cross powerful interests.
But who were they afraid of? That question kept repeating. I witnessed firsthand how the land mafia and illegal logging networks held invisible power. They accessed strategic information, manipulated legal narratives, even influenced officials and state apparatus. These were not street thugs. These were polished agents of a deeply entrenched land oligarchy.
Meanwhile, forest destruction continued. Logs from illegal logging were sold without permits, drying up water sources and displacing communities. Ironically, those labeled as polluters or illegal actors were the ones fighting to protect land with lawful permits.
The state was present but not on our side. In every legal process we followed, the mafia stayed one step ahead. They infiltrated institutions, steered media coverage, and even tried to silence us through academic and social channels.
I still remember one meeting with ministry representatives. When I presented all the evidence, the room fell into an eerie silence. No one dared to decide. I wasn’t begging for pity I was demanding justice based on fact. But justice, it seemed, had to queue and the queue was owned by capital.
I left that room with a bitter heart. When ministries fear the mafia, the state has already lost its courage.
Chapter 3: From Silence to Public Spotlight
After wandering through every corridor of the state system, I realized something: justice is hard to find not because the law is absent, but because it is not enforced. Not because the authorities are unaware, but because many are afraid, compromised, or infiltrated.
I could no longer rely solely on formal procedures. So I made a critical decision " take this to the public."
I compiled a comprehensive report permits, illegal logging footage, company registration documents, and records of the threats I had endured. I sent them to various media outlets. Some refused. Some said it was “too sensitive.” But some dared to publish. That was the first crack in the wall of silence.
I reached out to members of Parliament particularly from Commissions II and IV dealing with land and agriculture. Some met with me discreetly. They read my reports carefully. But most admitted they couldn’t do much. There was pressure, there were orders, and there was an invisible force shaping land politics in this country.
One parliamentary staffer even told me, “Don’t interfere with the investments of tycoons and cronies. Our country isn’t entirely free.”
That line stuck with me. I realized this fight wasn’t just over land. It was about sovereignty. Whether Indonesia could still defend its people and laws from the rule of money.
So I filed new reports. I sent them to the National Human Rights Commission, the Ombudsman, even international watchdogs like Human Rights Watch and Global Witness. I knew it was a long and risky path. But if my own country failed to uphold justice, then the world needed to know how land mafia had hijacked democracy.
I also started educating local communities farmers, indigenous leaders, villagers misled by manipulation. I taught them what land rights are, how environmental crimes work, and what constitutional protections they hold. I wasn’t just defending corporate land I was reigniting a sense of dignity.
I knew I was being watched. Some tried to infiltrate my circle. Others returned with compromise offers. But I had crossed the line. What I was fighting for was no longer just land it was principle.
That principle: this nation must not bow to power hidden behind permits but operating against the law.
As this journey continued, I started writing this narrative for the next generation. This isn’t just a case file. It’s a memoir of resistance. Proof that when all institutions are silent, truth must still speak.
