From The Pluriverse
An Indigenous Weaver's Struggle Against the Erasure of Her Clothing Tradition
Uli, a weaver from North Sumatra, Indonesia, gives insights into her people's clothing tradition
by Sandra Niessen
Photos & Film by MJA Nashir
The textile tradition of the Batak people of North Sumatra has features of the oldest weaving traditions in the Indonesian archipelago. Sadly, since colonial times the vibrancy and quality of the woven work of the Batak has been in steady decline. Weavers face a tough choice: if they continue to weave (often the only source of income available to women in the villages) they face a lifetime of hard work and minimal income. Neither the global nor the local economy supports handicraft. The Indonesian government has shown itself loyal to a colonial strategy of encouraging craft as a stepping-off point for industrial development and expansion and now also tourism. The needs of weavers and the requirements of a craft of integrity are not recognized, only the imperative of production expansion. The Batak weaving tradition, once based on what the local environment offered, has gradually become fossil-fuel based. Dyes and yarns are now largely synthetic; trees and other plants needed to make the components of the loom are difficult to find because physical environments have become degraded. PVC piping is now commonly used to replace wooden loom parts.
Uli Panggabean is a Batak weaver who is sorting through her relationship to clothes. A skilled weaver, she tries to earn a living by making the traditional clothing of her ethnic group. As she weaves away hours every day throwing weft between warp, she ponders her clothing tradition and posts her thoughts on Facebook.
In short, her clothing memories start in highschool, when she lived in the village school. She learned rules of dressing and decorum that were taught by the European missionaries who had had a strong presence there since the 19th century. When she later moved to a large urban centre, she loved the sartorial freedom that was available to her there, and she got caught up in the world of fashion.
“We no longer see our bodies as beautiful in accordance with the intent of the Almighty, but because of fashion and imported beliefs we see our bodies as being full of problems and so we follow the opinions of clothing designers.”
Now she is older and has returned to her village. She has become critical of fashion, which she sees as “making us all dependent.” “We no longer see our bodies as beautiful in accordance with the intent of the Almighty, but because of fashion and imported beliefs we see our bodies as being full of problems and so we follow the opinions of clothing designers.” She knows this from personal experience.
Uli’s frustration with the world of clothing runs deep. She is wedged in among a variety of forces. One is mechanisation. She learned how to weave as a child, in the tradition of her ethnic group, and today she makes the traditional clothing of her ethnic group: oblong pieces of cloth that are hung over the shoulder or wrapped around the waist. However, in the neighbouring town there are mechanical looms, brought in during the colonial era, which produce variants of her laborious and time-consuming hand loomed work much faster and at one fifth the price. Competing with a mechanical loom is impossible. Hand weavers lose out. Uli barely scrapes by.
But that isn’t all. The Fashion system, she observes, has been “colonising” them for a long time. “We live according to fashion trends. Fashion styles become outdated. Fashion purveyors determine which styles are viable and which should be thrown out.” This is devastating to weavers like her. Fashion “makes many people, especially Batak people like me, reluctant to wear [our traditional clothing].” She sees her market being eroded by the Fashion system.
“We say that wearing our [traditional clothing] is complicated. … But in the end wearing a sarung isn’t as complicated as wearing a dress with buttons, which is often very tight. If you buy a dress in the style and size worn by the masses, it often feels like you are wearing someone else’s clothes.”
Even in her world of traditional textiles, there are competing fashions. Hip wrappers such as those worn in neighbouring ethnic groups (Minangkabau, Javanese, Malay) are all considered to be more fashionable than the ones made by her own ethnic group. Uli remembered that her mother taught her how to wrap her hip wrapper in the Batak way. “We say that wearing our [traditional clothing] is complicated. … But in the end wearing a sarung isn’t as complicated as wearing a dress with buttons, which is often very tight. If you buy a dress in the style and size worn by the masses, it often feels like you are wearing someone else’s clothes.” At some point Uli was struck by the absurdity of it all. “Why would we sell our own weavings, which are more beautiful and better made, for a low price, only to buy factory clothing which is expensive?” She compared this kind of irrational behaviour to selling her Indonesian chickens to purchase Australian eggs, only because the Australian eggs were imports, therefore having the allure of being better.
Now Uli has chosen to wear the fruits of her own loom to Church on Sundays instead of a purchased dress. She noted the progression in her thinking: “… after I started to weave, and read many perspectives about weaving and about heritage textiles of Nusantara, I discovered that the right way to dress was the way our ancestors dressed. They spun and wove textiles for all occasions; the patterns and fibres were strong and able to handle nature’s elements; they were so durable that they could be passed on to the next generation. These are the clothes that make sense for these tough economic times. Moreover, clothing that is not cut and sewn highlights the good features of every person.”
Uli used the word 'tangkup' to describe the pleasing combination of wearer and clothing. The emphasis is not on the material item but rather the synergy of wearer and clothing. A Javanese friend once explained to me that when some people wear clothes, regardless of the quality of the clothes, they look nice, while others don’t look nice regardless of the beauty of their clothing.
It strikes me that as we, in the North, search for ways to make our clothing systems relevant once more, and less harmful to all living beings and our physical environments, we might gain from Uli’s insights, quandaries and challenges. The word ‘tangkup’ implies an overhaul of the Fashion industry!
Postscript
I show Uli my blog (this article was first published on Sandra’s blog), what I have made of her Facebook post, to request her permission to publish it online. She is concerned that her criticism of the West is harsh, and she asks me to receive her words in the spirit of friendship.
I reassure Uli that her words are not too radical and that we at Fashion Act Now are intent on reforming the Fashion industry. Moreover, the fashion industry is multinational and not perceived as being owned by a single country. It operates throughout the world.
I point out how important it is that we, in the West, become more aware of the harm caused by the Fashion industry in other parts of the world. The industry does not care about its impact on other systems of dress.
Uli immediately understands my perspective. “The problem is that up until now, in the Batak area, the West has been the model of what clothing should be. Even if the clothing is produced in China or Korea. And then there are also the problems of waste, consumerism, and addiction to shopping,” she points out.
“Yes, we are all victims of Fashion,” I say in response. “What is regionally distinctive in Western countries is also erased by this huge industry. These are sacrifice zones of Fashion..”
The penny drops. “This means that we all suffer from the industry,” Uli responds.
“Yes, in this age, we are all victims of all kinds of large industries: fossil fuels, palm oil, fishing, fashion, electronics, everything. Already so many wild animals have disappeared. The number of bees is declining drastically, and so on.”
“In Indonesia there is the view that if we don’t embrace development, we will be ‘without clothes’ forever,” says Uli. Being ‘without clothes’ in her part of the world means ‘only having recourse to traditional dress’. This perspective saddens her.
I concur. “This is colonial thinking,” I say.
“It is the kind of thinking that justifies all exploitation, including of nature,“ says Uli.
“It is the kind of thinking that justifies all exploitation, including of nature“
I confide that I want to help raise the awareness that every culture has its own clothing tradition and that each and every one is valid and deserves to be respected.
“We sacrifice land: rice paddies, forests, farmland and water for the sake of development,” Uli confirms. “‘Development’ for the Batak people is demonstrated by clothing and cars. This is obvious on ritual occasions such as weddings when people feel ashamed if they don’t wear flashy new clothes. My clothes have a minimum of glitter and I only wear the old style of kebaya (blouse). I do this intentionally. I also wear my grandmother’s sarung. I purchase second hand clothing for myself, and new clothing only for my daughter.”
This article was first published on Sandra's Blog Batak Textiles.
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