“Plastic can be compared to Einstein’s equation ‘E = mc^2’,” an engineering professor told me. “It is something that has improved people’s lives. Yet, if we don’t manage it properly, it can have disastrous consequences – like how Einstein’s equation led to the invention of the atomic bomb. Thankfully, humankind has since learnt how to use Einstein’s equation ethically. It’s not too late to learn how to manage plastics.”

The problem of plastic

Plastic was invented only about 100 years ago. As a material, it offers benefits of being lightweight, malleable, durable, waterproof, cheap and convenient. In fact, it is so convenient that about 40% of plastics globally is thrown away after using only once (i.e. single-use plastics). However, plastic can take hundreds of years to break down, so plastic waste accumulates in our environment.

Whilst persisting in the environment, it can cause harm to animals: plastic rings restrict the growth of turtles, suffocate marine animals, and cause starvation in birds and deer. Global awareness of plastic pollution has increased sharply in the past few years, with films like ‘A Plastic Ocean’[1] and the National Geographic’s ‘Planet of Plastic?’ campaign[2] raising awareness about the dangers that plastic can cause to wildlife.

So, what to do with all the plastic waste? Burning is not a viable solution either. If burned at temperatures that are not high enough, plastic releases poisonous dioxins that can cause cancer and birth defects. In one Indonesia village, the levels of dioxins were so high that it is comparable a site contaminated by Agent Orange in Vietnam[3].

Another issue is that 90% of the plastic that is sent for recycling does not get recycled. This is because of high rates of contamination and the complexity of plastic as a material: there are more than 7 sub-types of plastic, into which plastic needs to be separated for efficient recycling. This has led to the situation today of various countries (sumbollically?) rejecting imports of plastic waste.[4]^,[5],[6]

Rural perceptions of plastic: examples from northern Laos

While walking around a village, my research assistant and I stopped to chat with a lady. She asked what we were doing, and we took the opportunity to show her the posters that we had prepared about the dangers of plastics (i.e. harm to wildlife, toxic when burned). She asked, “So what can be done about it?” We explained that this is a global problem and everyone around the world is still looking for solutions, but the best way to tackle the problem now is to reduce the use of plastic, especially single-use plastic. And she commented, “No wonder the farang (foreigners) always don’t take plastic bags” (when buying things). Although my research assistants had fed back to me that more environmental education is needed, that was a moment when it really struck me that awareness of the harms of plastic is low in the rural areas. Villagers viewed “no plastic bags” as a behavioural feature of foreigners; the rationale is less apparent.

Fast forward a few months later, at a friend’s village farther north. It was the time of the year when family members gather. I joined a picnic by a stream – definitely feeling very privileged and humbled to be part of the family gathering! They wanted to start a fire to grill fish for the picnic. However, it had rained a few days ago, so the bamboo shavings that are normally good for starting fires were moist. My friend’s daughter came to me – as the least skilled person there, I was just sitting on banana leaves (our mats) and holding on to a stack of plastic cups for the beer later – got a plastic cup from me, walked back and passed it to the group. They lighted it up with a lighter, and it was perfect fuel to get the fire going.

That night, there was a small funfair. One of the prizes was concentrated orange juice – delicious for the children! – in single-use plastic cups. A relative came to me and asks if I had any empty plastic cups. In my limited Lao, I understood that she is collecting those so that she could pass them to her children to burn as fire-starters. Eventually, I think I ended up drinking one cup of orange juice and passed the cup to her. There was no solid waste management system in this rural part of Laos, so where else could this cup go? If not burned, then likely on the ground, washed down a stream when it rains, etc., etc. ……

When discussing this with my Lao language teacher, she explained why plastic is used as fire-starters: “It burns well, and if you don’t burn it, it will just pile up anyway. So why not use it as fire-starters? It helps to the fire to burn and you can get rid of it at the same time.”

I remember sitting around a fire on cold morning in another village. I was enjoying the conversation (whatever I could manage in my limited Lao) with two ladies whom I hadn’t spoken to personally before. I was also enjoying eating my grilled rice pancake, a real delicacy. One of the women casually threw a small candy wrapper into the fire. It combusted quickly and was gone within a few seconds. I cringed inside, debating whether or not to hold my breath. But, it was certainly not my place to berate her. Doing so would be highly insensitive.

Streams of single-use plastic make their way to the countryside everyday, typically as food packaging. Yet, what does not get delivered is an associated waste management system.

Can rural tourism lend a hand?

At the Sustainable Tourism Expo in Vientiane, Laos, on 27-28 September 2019, a specific symposium was dedicated to the theme of plastics and tourism. Representatives from Laos, Indonesia (Bali) and Vietnam were invited to share their countries’ solutions. In Bali, environmental sustainability goes hand-in-hand with the Balinese religious worldview. A ban on single-use plastics was introduced in end-2018[7]. In Luang Prabang, Laos, water refill stations have been introduced[8] to reduce tourists’ dependence on plastic bottles. The relevant department also engages cafes and restaurants to do away with plastic straws, and works with guesthouses and hotels to reduce plastic waste.

A symposium on plastic in the tourism industry at the Sustainable Tourism Expo in Vientiane, Lao PDR, in September 2019

Ms Phonemaly Inthaphone from the Ministry of Information, Culture & Tourism, Lao PDR, shares about efforts to reduce the use of plastic in Luang Prabang

What else can be done? Look at the packages that tour companies offer, and you’ll see a ‘Trek through an ethnic village’ or ‘Homestay at a rural village’ as a possible itinerary. Tourists who sign up for such tour packages will go through rural villages.

There is a Lao proverb: ‘Create virtue while you are here. They will miss you when you are gone.’[9] Can the tour companies work with these villages to reduce their plastic usage, help bring plastic waste back to the city’s landfill, or find a rural-scale solution?[10] More importantly, can tour companies and tourists help to increase awareness about the dangers of plastics among the rural villages?

A Lao proverb

A Lao song for Lao children

My friend and I adapted the lyrics of a Lao children’s song into a song about plastic[11]:

ຂີເຫຍື້ອ ຂີເຫຍື້ອ ພາລາສຕິກ

ອັນຕະລາຍຕໍ່ສິ່ງແວດລອ້ມ

ເຮົາມັກທຳມະຊາດທີ່ດີ

ເຮົາມັກທຳມະຊາດທີ່ສະອາດ

ເຮົາຕອ້ງໃຊ້ພາລາສຕິກຫຼຸດລົງ

ເຮົາຕອ້ງໃຊ້ພາລາສຕິກຫຼຸດລົງ

(Loose translation:

Plastic trash

Is hazardous for the environment

We like good nature

We like clean nature

We should use less plastic

We should use less plastic)

Here is a recording of the song[12]:

We’re happy for environmental groups and tourists to use this song as environmental education material in rural villages. Please spread the word!

P.S.: We may also develop a song about why the plastic use should be reduced, 😉

[1] http://aplasticocean.movie/

[2] https://www.nationalgeographicpartners.com/press/2018/05/planet-or-plastic/

[3] https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/14/world/asia/indonesia-tofu-dioxin-plastic.html

[4] https://www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/malaysia-returns-150-container-loads-of-plastic-trash-to-countries-of-origin

[5] https://www.bangkokpost.com/thailand/general/1846429/waste-plastic-imports-to-be-banned

[6] https://www.bloomberg.com/graphics/2020-world-plastic-waste/

[7] https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/bali-fights-back-tons-floating-plastic-threaten-spoil-once-pristine-n1045746

[8] https://tourismluangprabang.org/travel-guide/water-refill-station/

[9] From book titled ‘Proverbs of Laos: The Wisdom of our Ancestors’, produced by the young people at the Children’s Cultural Center and the Orphanage School of Luang Prabang and published by Big Brother Mouse.

[10] For example, the outdoor adventure company in Gopeng, Perak, Malaysia, has invested in a small-scale incinerator to reduce plastic waste that is accumulating in the area. See: https://nomadadventure.com/phoenix-initiative/

[11] In July 2019, we taught this song to the children in one village as an accompaniment to a clean-up activity. When we went back in January 2020, we decided to do another clean-up activity with this song. We were VERY surprised (and proud!) that the children remembered the song!

[12] Audio recording is extracted from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIbKCZQIAXE

On 14 November 2019, I had the opportunity to give a 3-minute presentation about my National Geographic Society-funded work alongside 25 other wonderful, outstanding Explorers in Singapore. The following is the script of my presentation:

====

Powerful yet kind, Naga the snake was well-respected by the creatures of the world.

One day, Naga suddenly fell ill. This unknown illness persisted for days, then weeks. The creatures started to worry.  And then the blame-game started.

Pointing their fingers to Naga’s neighbours, outspoken creatures from afar said: “It’s your fault! You could not maintain a healthy environment for Naga! You must be doing something to harm Naga. Put a stop to it, now!”

Naga’s neighbours responded, “But we are just living our own lives. How can we possibly be harming Naga?”

And the outspoken creatures threatened: “Then, move out of your homes!”

Those of you familiar with Buddhist or Hindu mythology will know that “Naga” refers to rivers or water courses.

And you might also have recognised that this tension between the “outspoken creatures” and “neighbours” over “Naga” is quite common in the field of watershed management, or, managing the lands from which water flows.

In many cases, such as in the mountains of mainland Southeast Asia, people live in the watershed. We need to balance human development with environmental protection.

My project looks at watershed management at the iconic Kuang Si Waterfall, in northern Laos. Laos is a country rich in nature and steeped in culture, yet also faced with rapid development changes in the next few years.

My case study sites are two villages with ethnic minorities.

We use a participatory research approach to find what traditional or local practices are beneficial for the watershed.

Here we are with villagers, comparing soil properties between land uses.

Our findings can then be shared with important stakeholders.

Back to our story of Naga, there are a few possible endings.

One: Naga’s neighbours are forced to move.

Two: they put up a bloody fight against the outspoken creatures.

And three, the most ideal: both parties join forces to find a cure for Naga, the neighbours contributing their local knowledge while the outspoken creatures provide external resources.

Please join me in making watershed management more collaborative.

Thank you.

====

Tourism is the main economic activity of Luangprabang province. Luang Prabang city itself is a UNESCO World Heritage Site[i] and attracts close to 10% of the total foreign visitorship to Laos[ii]. As such, it is useful for local Lao residents to speak the languages that tourists use: English, Korean and, increasingly, Chinese. This helps them get employment in tourism-related jobs, such as tour guiding, receptionists at tour companies, or service staff at hotels, guesthouses and restaurants.

Educational institutions offering Chinese or Korean languages to Lao students may be quite niche in Luangprabang. For example, a primary school offers Chinese language classes for interested students only during the summer vacation. Vacancies to study Chinese at the Confucius Institute of Souphanouvong University are also limited. This is probably because the Chinese are a relatively new, albeit increasingly huge, tourism demographic in Laos. English, being an international language, has so far served the Lao population well in communicating with Korean, European and other tourists.

Hence, within Luang Prabang city, several educational centres have been set up on the premise of offering better-quality English education to the local Lao youths. They also invite tourists or long-term visitors who are fluent in English to volunteer to teach English to the students, as this provides their students more opportunities to listen to English spoken by foreigners. English language centres include: ARDA Language Centre[iii], Sunrise Classroom[iv], Big Brother Mouse and Big Sister Mouse[v].

However, while there are ample opportunities for learning English in the city, opportunities are limited in rural villages. Lao children do not learn English until they reach secondary school (though they do have an enriching curriculum or Lao language, mathematics, the sciences, etc.). When Lao children start to learn English in secondary school (which is several kilometres away for some villages), English classes are typically about one hour a week. For Thapene village and the villages near to Kuang Si waterfall, an iconic tourist destination for tourists visiting Luang Prabang, this puts youths at a disadvantage as they are unable to communicate with the tourists passing through their village. Moreover, they will also find it difficult to find jobs at the tourism sites (e.g. The Living Land Company[vi], Luang Prabang Elephant Camp[vii], Laos Buffalo Dairy[viii], Kuang Si Rafting[ix], Butterfly Park[x]) set up along the road to Kuang Si waterfall.

The road from Luang Prabang city to Kaung Si Waterfall is lined with various tourism sites

In 2018, Mr Sai stepped in to fill this gap. Originally from Chomphet district, he moved to Thapene village after 6 years working for Luang Prabang’s Traditional Arts & Ethnology Centre (TAEC)[xi] to live with his wife and children. Having a college certificate in English, he started teaching his children English in addition to coaching them on their primary school subjects. Word spread around the village, and his children’s friends started to join his classes. His work experience at the TAEC also gave him the idea of setting up Fasay Garden[xii], a homestay experience where tourists can experience local culture, Lao food, and volunteer to help him with the English classes. Today, he offers classes to children from his village and neighbouring villages (as far as 8km away)  at almost no fees. Children who attend his classes range from 6 to 16 years old. Because some of his students help their parents with family-run businesses servicing the tourism industry (e.g. restaurants, gift shops), his classes are early in the morning (~7-9am) or in the early-evening (~5-7pm) – before and after work hours. Concurrently, Mr Sai uses his family’s land for an organic garden to teach his students about traditional local games as well as planting fruits, herbs and vegetables. The latter is a useful self-subsistent skill that should be retained despite many families’ transition from agriculture to tourism-related jobs in the past 10-20 years.

Here is a video of Mr Sai introducing what he does in Thapene village:

As is typical of rural-urban migrations, most people from the countryside would want to settle in the city for better-paying jobs and the conveniences of city life. Mr Sai’s story is unique in that he has, instead, moved back to the countryside with the serendipitous mission of giving rural children a leg-up through English language tutoring. This is whilst keeping them connected to traditional games and gardening (important for environmental know-how) amidst the backdrop of their villages transiting towards a more tourism-dependent economy.

Mr Sai, Fasay, his 6-year old daughter and me (picture taken on 5 July 2019)

===========

[i] http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/479

[ii] In 2018, Luangprabang province received 576,610 foreign visitors, out of the total 6, 553,315 foreigners who visited Laos. Source: Tourism Research Division, Tourism Development Department, Ministry of Information, Culture and Tourism, ‘Statistical Report on Tourism in Laos, 2018’, available at: http://tourismlaos.org/files/files/Statistical%20Report%20on%20Tourism%20in%20Laos/ACKNOWLEDGEMENT%2020184-update.pdf (accessed 30 July 2019)

[iii] http://www.ardalaos.com/

[iv] https://www.facebook.com/sunrise.classroom

[v] http://www.bigbrothermouse.com/volunteer.html

[vi] http://www.livinglandlao.org/

[vii] http://www.luangprabangelephantcamp.com/

[viii] http://www.laosbuffalodairy.com/

[ix] https://www.facebook.com/Luang-Prabang-Kuang-Si-Rafting-%E8%A7%82%E6%BA%AA%E6%BC%82%E6%B5%81-%E0%BA%A5%E0%BB%88%E0%BA%AD%E0%BA%87%E0%BB%80%E0%BA%AE%E0%BA%B7%E0%BA%AD%E0%BA%AB%E0%BB%89%E0%BA%A7%E0%BA%8D%E0%BA%8A%E0%BA%B5-379812915906080/

[x] http://tourismluangprabang.org/things-to-do/nature/kuang-si-butterfly-park/

[xi] https://www.taeclaos.org/

[xii] https://fasayhome.wordpress.com/

When my husband and I first visited the Lao PDR briefly in December 2016, we learnt about China’s growing influence in the country. In Luangprabang province, my Lao friend told us that there were plans for a railroad from China going through Luangprabang, to be completed in the early part of the 2020s. We frowned at the idea of more Chinese people coming into Laos, perhaps reflecting the then-widespread suspicion over China’s growing influence.

Fast forward 2.5 years later, and I am in Luangprabang doing my fieldwork. During my first weekend here, I heard a few stories from a tour guide about how Chinese businessmen literally buy Lao women as their wives – some who are less willing than others. Hence, as a Singaporean of Chinese ethnicity, I found it more comfortable to identify myself as a Singaporean who happens to speak Chinese, rather than as a Chinese person from Singapore. I grew up in multi-racial, English-speaking Singapore, and while I’ve had my dose of education and exposure about Chinese culture, I am biophysically Southeast Asian (for example, I abhor cold weather). Having studied the struggles of nation-building in post-colonial Southeast Asia, I am also frequently irked by those of my parents’ generation who identify more with the Chinese diaspora community than with fellow Southeast Asians. What is Chineseness, anyway[i]?

So, when we travelled from Luang Prabang city to cross the Lao-Chinese border at Boten (in Laos) and Mohan (in China), I was quite guarded when interacting with fellow Chinese travellers on the bus, although many were, simply, Chinese construction workers going home for a visit. As we approached the border, we saw massive construction works as well as a part of the built Special Economic Zone. I think this will serve as the future interchange for the China-Lao railroad. There were lots of banners with Chinese and Lao words proclaiming how the Chinese and Lao people are building a common future together.

A vast expanse of land being cleared at Boten, on the Lao side of the Lao-China border

One Belt, One Road (一带一路) in Laos starts at Boten, where a Special Economic Zone on the Lao side of the China-Lao border is under construction

A completed section of the upcoming Special Economic Zone at Boten, on the Lao side of the Lao-China border

During our next two nights in China, I warmed up to interacting with Chinese people. Being fluent in the language definitely helps to get things done faster – although I still struggled with some Chinese vocabulary! We saw some shops selling rosewood and ironwood from Laos.  According to some Chinese people we spoke to, whereas much of China’s land has been intensively used for urban development or for agriculture, Laos is seen as the ‘untouched hinterland’.

In Mohan (磨憨), the Chinese town at the Lao-China border. The sign at this shop says “Lao Ironwood Chopping Board”

The Langcang River, headwaters of the mighty Mekong River, in Jinghong (景洪), China

Jinghong (景洪), city of the beautiful Xishuangbanna Dai Autonomous Prefecture, China

Yet, I was still happy to return to Laos. Perhaps it was the relaxed feel of the country that enticed me, as compared to what seemed like the monetisation of Chinese life. (Or perhaps I just understand less of the Lao language, so I am ‘shut-off’ from an overload of information?) Compared to the Chinese immigration officer, the Lao immigration officer seemed more trusting of my Southeast Asian passport. ASEAN <3 <3!!!

In our group was one Lao citizen crossing the border into Laos. He seemed out of place at the Chinese immigration checkpoint, but after crossing the Lao checkpoint he looked a lot more relaxed. Yet, he was decked in what looked like newly-bought apparel from China, and he looked quite proud to be bringing his shopping home. While we waited for our bus at the Lao side of the border, he bought something from a Chinese man selling Lao SIM cards, and they conversed in the Lao language. Seeing them communicate was quite touching: one of the reasons why many Lao people view the Chinese with suspicion is because of the language barrier (learning Chinese is difficult), but here is an example of a Chinese man who, albeit for practical reasons, has mastered the language and is able to communicate with the Lao people.

The Lao side of the immigration checkpoint at the Lao-China border

On the bus, we conversed with some Chinese travellers. Several of them said that they were trying to explore new fortunes in Laos, because they found that living in China has become too competitive and cut-throat. During the lunch stopover at Oudomxay, they stayed in their own group. They somewhat reminded us of old stereotypes about American travellers – how they stay within their package tours and do things that resonate with their own culture. But I think this behaviour is quite human: cautious of interacting with people whose language they do not understand.

2019 is Visit Laos-China Year[ii], and it remains to be seen what impact increasing Chinese tourism will have for Luang Prabang, whose visitors have until now mainly comprise Europeans and South Koreans. Will the nature of tourism change to suit the preferences of Chinese tourists? For example, given that wildlife tourism in Thailand has evolved to suit Chinese tastes[iii], would wildlife tourism in Laos evolve likewise?

And what major changes will the railroad bring, once it is ready to ferry car-loads of Chinese travellers and businessmen through the mountains of northern Laos? There is a nascent concern about this, and it is reassuring to hear that there are forums being organised for SMEs to discuss how they can cope with increasing Chinese influence[iv].

Columns of the upcoming railway through Laos – part of One Belt, One Road

One Belt, One Road: the Nam Ou 1 dam under construction

For me, there is no more opportune time to leverage on my Chineseness. Some Lao people I’ve met already understand a little Chinese, but they have to also balance this with understanding English, Vietnamese, and even Korean – in addition to local ethnic languages such as Khmu and Hmong. Not easy! So I have started offering to practise Chinese with those who are interested. The more bridges we can help build through better communication, the less the risk of mutual misunderstanding and suspicion.

Books for practising Chinese

===========

[i] While some in the Chinese diaspora community hold on tightly to their Chinese cultural practices, I was introduced to ‘Chineseness’ as an identity concept when a group of students from NUS Chinese Studies shared about their research during a teaching workshop in mid-2018. For a more in-depth exploration of the concept, one can refer to publications such as Allen Chun (2017)’s ‘Forget Chineseness: On the Geopolitics of Cultural Identification’ (publisher: State University of New York, USA).

[ii] http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/a/201901/24/WS5c496905a3106c65c34e6538.html

[iii] https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2019/06/global-wildlife-tourism-social-media-causes-animal-suffering/

[iv] Personal communication, meeting with CDE Bern in Vientiane, 25 June 2019.

== this article was originally written in April 2011 ==

a colleague commented that the environmental scene in singapore is driven by a group of well-educated young adults, most probably with overseas experience – yuppies, in a sense – and that a  breakthrough in raising the level of environmental consciousness amongst singaporeans could be done if only some ‘auntie’ or ‘uncle’ from the heartlands would be identified to front the environmental cause.

well, as a start, i’d like to recommend my grandfather as one unsung environmental hero. as far as i can remember, my grandfather has always been quite green – he gardens (has green thumbs), knows how to make and repair things (thereby reducing wastage), is compassionate, and is popular (he is well-known in the neighbourhood as he used to take frequent walks around the nieghbourhood)! he sorts the newspaper for the karang guni man, and in recent years he is the recycling representative of our house, sorting the recyclables before they are collected by sembcorp. although he is no longer quite as mobile, he inspired in my brother and me a respect for cycling, as this was how he commuted to work when he was still working. of course, being human, he does possess some flaws.

however, one of the most splendid comments that he made was after my field research in vietnam. shortly after returning from the airport, i shared with him some pictures which i took of the students’ pilot farms in the farmers’ field school, and also some pictures of the rice fields in the village where we spent about eight days collecting some data. my ahgong must have been inspired by the many pictures of greenery, the rice fields, and the rice plants, that he started to recount his childhood days: he had gone back to shantou, china, to visit his uncles and relatives when he was about five, and had such a good unrestrained time playing in the fields. and then he said, “in the past, we used human faeces to fertilise the fields. today in singapore, we don’t do that, the singapore government does not know how to do things.”

now, my granddad is not known to be opposed to the authorities – he has quite a placid character – but perhaps he was lamenting how sterile and uncreative a society we have become, that we have stopped observing the cycles and interconnections in nature, and have thereby extracted human society from the functionings of nature (or vice versa, depending on your philosophy). in today’s society where the availability of resources such as phosphorus is becoming a worry, and where more people such as dr james bernard (winner of the 2011 LKY water prize) are championing using human waste as fertilisers to improve agricultural production, my ahgong’s comment is apt yet supremely insightful. it was a timely comment in the context of today’s environmental problems, yet it originated from a good 82 years of wisdom embedded in my granddad, who is not the most privy to environmental debates mostly conducted in english. that this comment came from my granddad made me feel extremely proud.

My paternal grandfather, Mr Lau Liat Kia. He passed away on 11 May 2013 at 84 years old.

‘Swidden’: an old English term meaning burnt clearing[1]

‘Swidden agriculture’ = ‘shifting cultivation’

A mother and her two children walking back home after working in a swidden field (Photo credit: Chris Flint)

From 21-23 May 2019, I had the privilege of joining a research fieldtrip to evaluate the impacts of land use planning and management by the organisation, The Agro-Biodiversity Initiative (TABI), in three villages in Nam Bak district, Luangprabang province, Laos. This was part of a broader research to compare the impacts of prior land use planning and management projects by CHESH-Lao (Centre for Human Ecology Studies of the Highlands – Laos) and TABI. The fieldtrip was led by Chris Flint, organised by CHESH-Lao with field support from TABI. Land use planning is needed in rural Laos to define village boundaries, so that ownership is made known and disputes with external parties be prevented, and land use zones. An effect of this is that swidden agriculture, which is commonplace in the rural Lao highlands, is contained to rotational cycles within the village boundaries (i.e. rotational shifting cultivation instead of ‘expansion shifting cultivation’ where pristine forest is cleared).

Mr Phonthip, a TABI staff, Chris Flint and the village leader of Kan Theung village discussing land use changes shown by satellite images

Swidden agriculture and the swidden landscape

Swidden agriculture, also known as shifting cultivation or slash-and-burn agriculture, is one of the oldest forms of subsistence agriculture.[2] It involves cutting trees and shrubs on an area of land, burning the biomass using fire, and then sowing seeds (e.g. rice) on the land. Through burning the biomass, organic matter is returned to the topsoil, thereby making the soil more fertile for the seeds sown. After harvesting the rice (typically about 1 year), the land left to lie fallow and farmers move on to the next plot of land to repeat the cycle of slashing, burning and cultivation. Self-sown seeds from the trees and shrubs germinate during the cultivation period and continue to grow during the fallow period, regenerating into bush fallow or forest fallow. Under a rotational shifting cultivation regime, farmers will return to slash, burn and cultivate this plot of land after a period of several years, depending on land availability. This means that, unlike ‘expansion shifting cultivation’, the total amount of land used for swidden agriculture is capped at a maximum. Land use planning and management projects, such as those implemented by TABI and CHESH-Lao, help farmers to clarify the boundaries within which rotational shifting cultivation is to be performed.

Kan Theung village: The topsoil (indicated by the blue line) is enriched after burning

During our visit to three villages in Nam Bak district, the swidden landscapes were more than simply a trio of burnt land, rice cultivation and regenerating fallow. Besides upland rice, the villagers depend on the swidden landscape for the non-timber forest products (NTFPs). For example, in Kan Theung village, the leftover burnt wood / charcoal can be sold to the domestic market as an alternative to firewood. Self-sown broom grass also starts growing, and it can be harvested and sold to the local market for making brooms[3].

A pile of leftover burnt wood that can be sold the domestic markets in Kan Theung vilage. Naturally-regenerated broom grass grows in front of the pile.

After the land is left to lie fallow after one year of rice cultivation, galangal and cardamom grow as part of the regenerating bush fallow and can be harvested after 4-6 years.[4]

Galangal growing amongst trees in Pha Thong village

Chris Flint taking a picture of the cardamom growing in Pha Thong village

Styrax trees, whose scented benzoin resin is used for making perfumes, also naturally regenerate. The resin can be harvested when the trees are at least ~7 years, up to ~15 years old.[5] In Pha Thong village, we saw styrax forests of almost 15 years old. The productivity of the styrax tree is considered when farmers of Long Chok and Pha Thong villages decide when and where to slash and burn. It is a fascinating way of gaining value from the landscape, and I was reminded of Masanobu Fukuoka’s book ‘The One-Straw Revolution’.[6]

Styrax trees grow on the hilltop next to the previous residential area of Pha Thong village

Pha Thong village: benzoin resin from a Styrax tree

A styrax tree sapling naturally sprouts in a recently-burnt swidden field of Pha Thong village

Despite the usefulness of bush/forest fallow NTFPs, the desire for higher productivity – to meet the needs of a growing population, to afford more modern luxuries, etc. – results in the shortening of the rotational swidden cycle. While a rotational cycle of at least 7 years is recommended for restoring soil fertility, farmers practise a 3-4 year cycle in Kan Theung village because land is limited given their increasing population (of about 180 households). Moreover, after cultivating rice during the first year, they use the same piece of land to grow Job’s tears, a cash crop, in the second year. This further reduces soil fertility.

Besides the shortening and intensification of the swidden cycle, other factors also affect soil fertility. A villager in Kan Theung village pointed out to us a type of weed that is particularly good at enriching the soil when burnt, and it would make sense to let it grow in the swidden landscape. Moreover, the presence of grazing cattle helps to encourage regrowth of the bush fallow. The cattle’s manure also fertilises the soil, while their hoofprints create depressions which retain water in the soil. But such benefits from cattle-raising are no longer available to Kan Theung village: according to the former village leader, the village was compelled to sell off their cattle. This was because their cattle kept entering the unfenced rubber plantation adjacent to the village’s agricultural land. In Pha Thong village, where a rotational cycle of at least 15 years is still practised, villagers have sold off most of their cattle so that they can send their children for higher education.

The weeds growing back here on a swidden field in Kan Theung village are apparently good for re-enriching the soil when they are burnt

Collective or individual swiddening?

A common theme in land use planning and management is whether swiddening should be done collectively as a village, or on individually-owned plots of land. Collective swiddening means that a large land area is slashed and burnt. This was observed in Long Chok village and Pha Thong village, where we saw large expanses of burnt land which could also be detected on satellite imagery.  However, this does not equate to deforestation: it is important to remember that this is part of the rotational cycle of slashing, burning, cultivation and fallow regrowth, and that the land should technically be regarded as agricultural land and not forest land. A benefit of collective swiddening is that the entire the village can relocate their residential area according to where cultivation is taking place. My guess is that there are also other benefits to collective swiddening, such as ecological connectivity when the entirety of land is left to lie fallow. Animals that reside in one fallow forest can also relocate to another fallow forest when it is being cleared. In contrast, there could be higher incidences of human-wildlife conflict in individual swiddening.

Pha Thong village: landscape resulting from collective swiddening

Long Chok village: the landscape of the hill at the back of this picture, as well as other hills beyond, is a result of collective swiddening

However, I think collective swiddening requires strong local-level village leadership. This is because decisions need to be made about when and where to slash-and-burn, how to allocate the burnt land for each household’s agricultural cultivation. The entire village also needs to be mobilised. It remains to be seen if this can be maintained amidst a growing paradigm of individualisation of property rights.

Long Lau village: an individual plot has just been burnt. Picture taken during my trek through Lang Lau village to Kaung Si waterfall on 26 May 2019

Swidden farmers in transition

I understand that some villagers Kan Theung village have expressed that they want to abandon upland rice cultivation in favour of an economy completely dependent on cash crops. Market integration is preferred to subsistence agriculture for a relatively accessible village like Kan Theung village: when there were floods last year, the district imported rice from Vietnam. However, this preference entails some risk, because this puts the villagers’ subsistence at the mercy of the market. For example, the price of cardamom, long perceived as a highly-valued product, dropped from about 400,000kip per kg to about 150,000kip per kg this year. When such a situation happens, it is important that villagers can still feed themselves.

Diversification of income sources also helps to strengthen a household’s resilience to market fluctuations. Viengphet’s family in Kan Theung village sells pure honey for about 70,000kip per 600ml bottle. The beeswax can also be sold to the domestic market for making candles. However, for much less accessible villages like Long Chok village and Pha Thong village, it would be more difficult to diversify income sources. Ensuring that there is basic self-subsistence would be important. Chris Flint shared with me that the village leader of Long Lan village said (paraphrased): “We can try to plant such-and-such cash crops and sell them to the market, but at the end of the day, it is important that we have enough rice to eat.”

Viengphet and his wife sell honey in their village, Kan Theung, as an additional source of income

All this talk about farmers’ vulnerability to market forces made me wonder whether there was some kind of farmers’ union, farmers’ network or farmers’ cooperative operating in this part of Laos. We all know that the farmers are a strong lobby group in Europe! However, when I asked Siphanh and Viengphet, it seemed like such unions do not exist. Arrangements in which companies guarantee a long-term base price for farmers are also very rare. Is there potential for Lao farmers set up establishments or cooperatives for safeguarding their subsistence? Perhaps I will find out during my remaining time in Laos.

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I am grateful to Chris Flint for sharing with me his valuable insights during this trip. I also thank Viengphet and Siphanh for helping me to translate the discussions into English.

Any misrepresentations or errors in this article are solely my responsibility.

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[1] Erni, C. 2015. ‘Shifting cultivation, livelihood and food security: New and old challenges for indigenous peoples in Asia’, in Shifting cultivation, livelihood and food security: New and old challenges for indigenous peoples in Asia (ed. Erni, C.). Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs and Asia Indigenous Peoples Pact. Bangkok, Thailand.

[2] Cairns, M.F., 2015. Shifting Cultivation and Environmental Change: Indigenous People, Agriculture and Forest Conservation. Routledge. United Kingdom.

[3] For examples of broom grass and its uses, see: http://www.tabi.la/activity/ntfp/

[4] Cardamom sprouts naturally 2-3 years after burning but it needs to grow for about 3 years before its fruits can be harvested. Satoshi (2004) offers more information about the NTFPs of swidden landscapes in northern Laos (accessible: https://www.jstage.jst.go.jp/article/tak/42/2/42_KJ00000713600/_pdf/-char/ja)

[5] Satoshi (2004) offers more information about the NTFPs of swidden landscapes in northern Laos (accessible: https://www.jstage.jst.go.jp/article/tak/42/2/42_KJ00000713600/_pdf/-char/ja)

[6] In his book, Fukuoka advocated the system of natural farming that he had developed, which involved chemical inputs, no ploughing, nor any prepared fertilisers (see: https://onestrawrevolution.net/). In my opinion, the key to his system is clever observation of nature.

=== a short fictional piece set in Singapore based on a very plausible future===

“Ahma, why did the polar bears go extinct?”, asks Juni, my 6-year old granddaughter.

The year is 2060, and the Earth’s average temperature is now 2 degrees Celsius above the pre-industrial average. The headline announcement about the definite extinction of polar bears on the radio news has evidently caught Juni’s attention as she strolls into our bedroom.  Turning to her, I turn off the radio with some reluctance: there is going to be radio story about a long-term research study finds that most immigrants in Singapore migrated in the past 20 years because they wanted to escape the increasing numbers of unpredictable, extreme weather events in temperate regions. Yet, while equatorial Singapore does not experience typhoons and extreme cold weather events, even the residents of this island-state cannot deny that it is intolerably hot outdoors. More than 85% of the population now live in climate-buffered, centrally-airconditioned shoebox apartments within complexes that have a school, a supermarket, and essential services – simply because it is too warm to go outside.

“Climate change, my dear,” I replied Juni.

“What’s climate change, Ahma?”

I cringed. I should not have replied so carelessly. Now, I have to explain to her about humanity’s greatest folly since the Second World War. I try to explain it simply. “Well, climate change is when the Earth becomes warmer. So all the ice has melted, the polar bears have lost their home, and they all die.”

Looking astonished, she asked, “But why would the Earth become warmer? Did someone turn off the air-conditioning?”

I smile at her innocence, but it looks like I cannot escape going into the uncomfortable facts. “No, my dear. The Earth became warmer because we human beings have been releasing greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. Greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide, which is produced when we burn fossil fuels like coal and gas for energy. Or methane, produced by cows, which we raise for food. These greenhouse gases trap heat it the atmosphere, making the Earth warmer and warmer.”

“But the polar bears looked so cute and cuddly! Why didn’t we stop? And… do you mean that I also caused the polar bears to die?” Disbelief and shock grows on her face.

“Well, not you,” I say, wanting to console her. “You haven’t contributed so much to the release of greenhouse gases. But the older people have.”

“Do you mean all the uncles and aunties killed the polar bears? Even you, Ahma?” The anxiety on her face suddenly turns to anger. I think I probably said the wrong thing.

“In a way, yes.” I sigh. “Everyone is responsible for causing climate change.”

She starts to sob. “But I love you, Ahma! How can you cause climate change?!” More sobbing. “Will more animals lose their homes and die, Ahma? Can we please stop it? Why didn’t you and the uncles and aunties stop it?”

I draw in a sharp breath. How do I explain to her that, according to climate scientists, the planet has officially entered a period of runaway climate change two years ago? Even more so, how do I explain to her that, a generation ago, humanity had a chance to mitigate climate change by reducing their greenhouse gas emissions, but failed? My granddaughter is a smart one, but at this moment, I wish that she could wait until she goes to school, so that her Primary school teacher will be the one delivering the bad news. In any case, since she has asked me, I need to try. “We can’t anymore, my dear. We could have, but we have gone beyond that point. The Earth is just going to get warmer and warmer, and more unpredictable.”

Her eyes widen, as if in sudden realisation. “Human beings are animals too, right? Does that mean that I am going to lose my home?”

“Well, we have technology to protect our apartments from getting too –“

“Ahma, why? Why? If I will have no home, why did Mommy and Daddy want to have me? Don’t they love me?” It is almost a wail.

My stomach feels like it is being punched. Lisha, her mother – my daughter – never wanted to have children, because she did not believe that there was a future for the planet. After she graduated, she became a school teacher and, inevitably, one of those who explains climate change to schoolchildren. Often, she came home emotionally exhausted from their difficult question. How does one continually portray hope to the young and innocent, when the facts just no longer add up? But it seems like society, with its rush to do things in the fashion it always has, does not empathise with the teachers’ plight. And so, when Lisha got married, society also pressured Lisha to have children. Her in-laws, my husband and I, her aunts and uncles – we kept asking her and her husband: “When will we hear good news? Singapore needs to increase its fertility rates, you know! Having grandchildren is the best way to spend our golden years, you know? It’s part of being filial. And a family is not complete without children.” Lisha died of heatstroke during a school trip to China last December, when a heatwave unexpectedly occurred. It is so ironic that Lisha succumbed to something that she often told her students to feel optimistic about. It is like a bitter, sarcastic reminder that I should not have pressured her to act against her beliefs.

“Ahma? Ahma? Are you ok?”

I break off my train of thought. I realise that tears have welled up in my eyes. “We all love you, my little granddaughter. Of course we love you. We love you so much. But…” I begin to repeat the points that Lisha used to argue with me several years ago, ”…there isn’t really anything much we can do about the climate, because it’s too late. Children like you will just have to be strong and resilient. How you’re going to learn that, I don’t really know. Your life is going to be difficult.”

My granddaughter hugs me. She obviously senses that I need some comforting.

“But remember: we love you,” I continue. “And from this love, grow stronger to face the difficulties ahead.” I hug her back tightly. I need to be comforted from the guilt that is washing over me. How easily, with just a few words, have I passed on the burden to her, a child. If we really love our grandchildren, we should have mustered the strength to mitigate climate change when there was still an opportunity, before it became too late.

That night, I dream about myself forty years ago, in 2020. But I am very different from the person I used to be: a career-minded conformist who was aware about climate change’s challenges but had neither the courage nor the time to tackle it. In my dream, I have quit my well-paying job. I actively talk to all my former associates about the importance of mitigating climate change. When the Open Electricity Market was introduced, I encourage my peers to choose clean electricity retailers. I tell all my friends to consume less meat and to choose sustainably-sourced paper and wood products. Domestically, I write in regularly to my Member of Parliament to request for higher carbon taxes, and I do undercover reporting to expose Singapore-listed companies that have poor environmental performance. On the global platform, I advise governments about climate change mitigation and am part of a network that puts sustainability and climate change on the agenda of high-level meetings. My friends initially shun me, thinking that I am a radical greenie: “Why do so much when we have housing and basic needs to worry about?” But I persevere, and I educate them, and gradually they also start to see the urgency of mitigating climate change. I do all these because climate scientists are saying that there is only 10 more years before it is too late.

It is an uphill battle but I choose to fight on. I want to have a clean conscience when I say to my future children and grandchildren, “I love you.”

This essay was submitted to the CDL E-generation Challenge 2019

Foremost on my parents’ Netherlands holiday agenda was buying cheese. It seemed quite natural, given that that places in Netherlands, such as Gouda and Edam, actually have types of cheese named after them. Milk and other dairy products are exceedingly delicious too – coming from Singapore where almost all our food is imported, there was an incomparable freshness in the dairy products we tasted during our Dutch holiday in May 2019.

A stall at the traditional cheese market in Gouda

I had assumed that diary was an integral part of Dutch identity, that when I saw advertisement posters in Rotterdam, Utrecht and Amsterdam saying “Ditch Milk”, I thought they must have been advertisements for a certain brand of dairy milk called ‘Ditch’, a brand name which I thought the company probably chose due to its similarity to the word ‘Dutch’. An interesting way to call on draw on national identity to market one’s products! Or perhaps it was a piece of government-led campaign to tease the Dutch into asking themselves what would happen in dairy was no longer part of their culture, therefore reinforcing national identity? However, on closer inspection of the advertisements, I realised that the mastermind of these advertisements was Oatly, a Swedish company that produces oat milk (https://www.oatly.com/nl/the-oatly-way). A very clever piece of marketing in the Netherlands!

Example of advertisement by Oatly in Dutch cities (source: www.oatly.com/nl/ditch-milk)

It takes two hands to clap, and Oatly’s advertising prominence in the large Dutch cities is also in part supported by Dutch receptivity to non-dairy milk. The reasons? One is probably health: a Dutch friend prefers giving her daughter oat milk as she thinks dairy products could cause immune-sensitive responses. The other, and probably more dominant reason, is the environment. Compared to dairy milk and other non-dairy milk, oat milk has one of the lowest environmental impacts. According to Poore and Nemecek (2018) and an April 2019 article in the New York Times (https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/04/30/dining/climate-change-food-eating-habits.html?smtyp=cur&smid=tw-nytclimate&fbclid=IwAR0doAg3nrPIhDSyCQUMOcKVif2zqUD9qvrLkkeSNjUF4DqvoZ_YbxRoR68), producing one litre of oat milk generates 0.9kg of CO₂ emissions, requires 0.8m² of land and uses 48 litres of water. In contrast, milk from cows generates 3.2kg of CO₂ emissions, requires 9m² of land and uses 628 litres of water. Compared to oat milk, that’s more than triple the CO₂ emissions, more than 10 times of land requirement, and 13 times the water usage!

Comparison between different types of milk (source: The New York Times)

While dairy milk has been traditionally integral to Dutch identity for centuries, I salute Dutch progressiveness in re-evaluating their identity in response to environmental needs. Based on my observations from my 8-day trip, I find that they are firm about implementing environmental actions. For example, airports typically want to create all sorts of conveniences for travellers, but the Amsterdam Schipol airport explains clearly to customers that plastic bags are chargeable. Kudos! Dutch society seems very dynamic and their innovativeness, and in today’s age of environmental grief, it is encouraging to see these qualities being applied to address environmental problems.

A shop in the Amsterdam Schipol airport firmly explaining to travellers that plastic bags are chargeable