A Voice Fading
Sometimes I wonder what silence really means. Not the quiet of a library or a sleepy afternoon, but the silence of a forest where something has gone missing.Â
For centuries, Sumatra's rainforest had a voice, the roar of its tiger. It cut through mist and morning air, a reminder that the jungle was alive.
Today, that roar is fading. Scientists say fewer than 600 Sumatran tigers remain in the wild. A number on paper, yes, but behind it lies something heavier: an entire spirit of the forest being pushed to the edge.
Speaking for the Voiceless
The tiger cannot speak in meetings or write a policy brief. Its voice is carried in scars, in tracks left by riversides, in a sudden cry when caught in a snare. Most of us will never hear that cry. It doesn't make headlines in the same way politics or sport does. But it is real.
In Riau, in Jambi, villagers sometimes wake to find livestock missing. Fear spreads. A tiger must have crossed nearby. Too often the story ends with a trap, a gunshot, a body carried out of the jungle. People call it "conflict." I call it desperation. The tiger isn't invading our world, we're erasing its own.
Between Coexistence and Crisis
I grew up hearing that in old Minangkabau stories, the tiger was a guardian. A symbol of strength. People once believed harming it would bring misfortune. I try to imagine that kind of reverence today.
But things have changed. Farms stretch further, plantations eat into forest, and companies chase profit at a pace the land cannot recover from. The tiger, once a spirit of awe, becomes just another threat on the edge of someone's field.
And yet, there are moments of hope. Some villages near Kerinci Seblat have started building fences, using solar lights, even calling rangers instead of retaliating. Anti-poaching patrols have dismantled snares by the thousands (Mongabay). These are not grand victories, but small, stubborn acts of coexistence.
Imagining the Future
Fast-forward to 2050.
