“Haze” is a weasel word for the eye-stinging, throat-rasping smog that periodically engulfs parts of South-East Asia. The resort to euphemism points to why the pollution, which smothered much of the region in 1997, has been a nearly annual torment since the early 1990s: a reluctance to get tough with the country responsible, Indonesia, whose forest fires cause the scourge. Unlike the earthquake, tsunami and volcanic eruption that ravaged Indonesia this week, the fires are man-made.
The haze has returned this year. Air-pollution indices in Singapore and the south of the Malaysian peninsula had reached their highest levels since 2006 until rainfall on October 23rd brought relief. In parts of Sumatra, the neighbouring Indonesian island spewing out the smog, it had been getting hard to breathe.
This was trivial compared with 1997, when huge tracts of Borneo as well as Sumatra smouldered and the haze covered an area more than 3,000km (1,900 miles) wide. It affected six countries and perhaps 70m people and closed airports. That year was one of El Niño conditions and extended drought. Fires set to clear land for plantations spread into forests. Apparently extinguished, many smouldered in underground peat, then inflamed again.
This year much more limited fires have raged, mainly in Riau, a province in central Sumatra of 6m people and about 90,000 sq km—roughly the size of Portugal. But some schools in Malaysia had to shut. In Singapore, where the air quality helps attract expatriates fleeing pollution in Hong Kong, the environment agency advised people with heart and respiratory conditions to avoid outdoor activities.
The timing of the haze’s reappearance was cruel for the Association of South-East Asian Nations (ASEAN), a ten-member regional block whose impotence the smog mocks. The group’s environment ministers had just met to discuss their 2002 agreement on “Transboundary Haze Pollution” and note that their efforts had helped reduce haze. The galling truth is that Indonesia—the prime source of the problem—has not ratified the agreement. A club that works by consensus and abhors sanctions has only moral suasion. And Indonesia is the regional giant.
It would be wrong, however, to think that regional diplomacy is as pusillanimous and Indonesian environmental hooliganism as unchecked as in 1997. ASEAN does, albeit ineffectually, now set some standards of behaviour for its members, as opposed to tiptoeing fastidiously away from their “internal affairs”. And, unlike in 1997, Indonesia has been quick to acknowledge its responsibility for this year’s smog, and to ask for help.
Using fire to clear land has been illegal in Indonesia since 1995. But everywhere corruption and inefficiency undermine implementation of the law. And fire remains for many smallholders and big plantations the cheapest, quickest way of clearing logged land of rejected or overlooked trees and the undergrowth, thereby making it available for other uses—often, these days, to serve the booming palm-oil industry. In Riau, even beside main roads there are bleak, blackened landscapes, shrouded in white smoke, where the peat soil still smoulders under charred tree-stumps. Between them, infant oil palms are already growing.
The haze is an acute and chronic symptom of a disease even more serious for Indonesia and the world: Indonesia’s deforestation. In 1982 more than three-quarters of Riau was forested. Only about a quarter is now. But here too there are signs of hope. Stung by the criticism Indonesia receives as one of the world’s biggest emitters of carbon—a consequence of its destruction of so much carbon-rich forest and peatland—its government is cleaning up its act. It plans to cut carbon emissions by 41% by 2020, so long as it receives the compensation from an inchoate scheme, known as REDD (Reduced Emissions from Deforestation and Degradation), whereby rich countries pay poorer ones to conserve trees.
As a signal of good intent, Indonesia’s president, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, in May announced a two-year moratorium in 2011-12 on commercial deforestation. The reward was a promise of $1 billion in REDD funds from Norway. Many greens are cheering this. Joko Arif of Greenpeace calls it “a really good step”. But he laments that it does not cover existing logging concessions, so felling will continue. He also cautions that much must be done to make the moratorium work—starting with a proper mapping of forests. Otherwise, enforcing the ban will be arbitrary.
Norway’s environment minister, Erik Solheim, was in Jakarta this week to thrash out some thorny disputes, such as one over who will monitor the Norwegian money—an international institution or an Indonesian one? This was not resolved, though the United Nations Development Programme is to be the conduit for an initial $30m for a “preparation phase”.
The colour REDD
That dispute is based on doubts about Indonesia that colour both regional anger over the haze and worries about whether REDD is feasible there. Cynics see the country as irredeemably corrupt. It will continue, they say, to light bonfires that shorten its neighbours’ lives, having its cake of REDD money, even as its chainsaws eat the rainforest. But there is a more optimistic interpretation: it is beginning to assume a role of regional leadership and enjoys its seat on the G20. It badly wants the respectability that comes with a reputation for environmental responsibility.
Moreover, there are two reasons for taking the moratorium seriously. Indonesia’s palm-oil, pulp-and-paper and coal-mining industries are trying furiously to scupper it. And one theory as to why so many fires have been set this year is that those lighting them fear they may not be able to clear land as easily once the moratorium is in force. If you try hard, you can see light through the haze. Just don’t breathe too deeply.
