My decade of consultancy work in Southeast Asia gave me opportunities not only to study agricultural systems but also to establish demonstration projects on organic swine raising in Indonesia. Those experiences taught me that livestock production is never merely a technical enterprise. It is shaped by religion, culture, tradition, geography, household practices, and the accumulated wisdom — and sometimes limitations –passed from one generation to another.
Indonesia, with a population of approximately 288 million, is predominantly Muslim, with Muslims comprising about 87.2 percent of the population. Christians account for roughly 10.4 percent, Hindus 1.7 percent, and other recognized beliefs about 0.3 percent. Indonesia’s constitutional framework recognizes and protects freedom of religion and belief. This religious diversity is reflected in the country’s agricultural practices, including the production and consumption of pork.
Given the predominance of Islam, swine production is generally not a major component of the curriculum in public agricultural schools. Pork is haram under Islamic dietary rules, making pork production of limited relevance to the majority of Indonesian students, farmers, and domestic consumers. Nevertheless, local governments and individual educational institutions have considerable room to adapt agricultural education to their communities.
Indonesia’s Merdeka Curriculum provides educational institutions with significant flexibility to develop learning programs according to local conditions. Agricultural and vocational education can therefore be linked to the actual environment, livelihood opportunities, and agricultural enterprises of the communities being served.
This makes swine production particularly relevant in areas with substantial Christian or indigenous populations, including parts of North Sulawesi, North Sumatra, Papua, East Nusa Tenggara, and other eastern regions. Where pork is culturally accepted and economically important, teaching improved swine husbandry can have a strong practical and livelihood rationale.
Laubanban: The “No-Odor, No-Fly” Pig
In Kampung Laubanban, Kota Binjai, North Sumatra, households readily embraced the “no-odor, no-fly” swine-raising technology that I introduced. The system was relatively simple: a one-meter-deep pit was dug and backfilled with rice hulls, which served as a bedding and biological treatment medium. Fermented feeds were provided, while the bedding was regularly sprayed with a locally prepared microbial concoction.
What impressed me most was the community’s willingness to adopt improved management without abandoning cultural practices that were important to them. I respected their traditional belief against ear-notching and tail-docking. To the locals, a pig that had been unnecessarily maimed was considered unsuitable for consumption. Their position reminded me that successful agricultural technology must work with local values rather than simply impose outside practices.
On one occasion, I witnessed how a pig was slaughtered and prepared for cooking. Instead of cutting the throat, a sharp knife was thrust through the upper abdomen toward the heart, killing the animal quickly. The carcass was then placed over a fire to singe the hair. Before scraping the skin, a ritual counting from one to seven was performed: satu, dua, tiga, empat, lima, enam, tujuh.
The liver, lungs, and intestines were subsequently placed in a large vat of water and cooked. Garlic, onions, ginger, lemongrass, generous amounts of chili, and other seasonings were added. I could not help wondering about the contents remaining inside the small and large intestines. Nobody seemed particularly concerned.
When the cooking was finished, I was presented with a steaming bowl of soup containing the organs. I politely declined, explaining that my blood pressure was slightly elevated and that I was avoiding pork. Later, I learned that for several days before slaughter, the pig had been fed mainly boiled cassava. That information somehow made the experience even more memorable!
“This Is What We Learned From Our Parents”
On Nias Island, I once visited the home of a Christian family and was immediately struck by the strong odor inside the house.
“Pak, apa bau di sini?” I asked — “Sir, what is that smell?”
The answer stunned me: “Rumah ini, suami dan istri satu kamar. Anak-anak satu kamar. Babi satu kamar.”
The husband and wife shared one room, the children another, and the pig had its own room.
I asked why they did not simply raise the pig outside the house. The man looked at me with surprise, as though I had asked an entirely unreasonable question. After a moment, he replied:
“Inilah yang kami pelajari dari orang tua kami.”
“This is what we learned from our parents.”
That brief exchange captured one of the central lessons of my work in rural development: people do not necessarily change practices simply because a new technology is available. Practices are embedded in culture, memory, and family tradition.
Samosir: Pigs as Part of a Circular Household System
On another assignment, I visited Samosir Island in Lake Toba, one of Southeast Asia’s great highland lakes and a major tourist destination. A local guide brought me to a traditional house formerly occupied by a village chieftain. The house provided a fascinating glimpse into how architecture, family life, livestock, sanitation, and resource recycling could be integrated.
The elevated house was divided into sections, with the family occupying different portions. At the center was a stove whose fire provided warmth, particularly during cool nights when temperatures could fall to around 15°C. In one part of the floor was an opening through which household waste could fall.
Below the house were pigs.
The pigs consumed the organic waste, effectively becoming part of a household recycling system. They were eventually slaughtered for meat, completing a remarkably simple cycle: household waste became animal feed, and the animals became a source of protein.
I initially assumed that such a practice belonged to the distant past. Yet I discovered that Batak Toba communities continued to raise pigs and native chickens beneath elevated houses. What appeared primitive at first glance could also be understood as an indigenous form of resource recycling—although modern standards of sanitation and animal health would clearly require improvements.
Sumba: When the Forest Provides the Pigs
In Lailara, Sumba, in East Nusa Tenggara, some communities did not even need to raise pigs in the conventional sense. Wild pigs regularly entered their yards in search of organic materials and food scraps. Some babi hutan, or wild pigs, were trapped and eventually slaughtered as a source of protein.
The animals, however, also raided household gardens. This made vegetable production difficult until I introduced container gardening, in which vegetables were grown in elevated containers and protected from roaming animals. For the first time, some families could more reliably produce leafy vegetables, fruiting vegetables, and root crops close to their homes.
One evening, I led a devotional gathering in a house where about 20 Sumbanese had assembled. The house had no conventional ladder, so one had to be resourceful to reach the elevated floor. As I cautiously moved across the bamboo flooring, I became increasingly conscious of its questionable structural integrity.
Seeing my hesitation, the village leader tried to reassure me:
“Jangan khawatir, Profesor. Kalau sampai jatuh menembus lantai, kami akan kasih Anda seekor babi sebagai persembahan untuk menenangkan roh-roh di sana.”
“Don’t worry, Professor. If you fall through the floor, we will give you a pig as an offering to appease the spirits.”
Everyone laughed.
I laughed too — but I also became much more careful about where I placed my feet!
Beyond Technology
My Indonesian experiences convinced me that agricultural development cannot be reduced to introducing a new technology and expecting farmers to adopt it immediately. Technology must enter a social system already shaped by religion, tradition, economics, environment, and family practice.
The future of swine production in Indonesia will therefore not be uniform. In predominantly Muslim communities, it may have little place in public agricultural education. In Christian, indigenous, and other communities where pork is culturally accepted, however, improved swine husbandry can contribute significantly to household nutrition, income generation, organic recycling, and rural enterprise.
The real challenge is not simply to teach people how to raise pigs. It is to understand why they raise pigs the way they do — and then introduce improvements that respect their culture while making production healthier, cleaner, more efficient, and more profitable.
That, to me, is the essence of agricultural development: not replacing indigenous knowledge, but building upon it. | NWI
