In brief
Wildfires in Indonesia’s Central Kalimantan have scorched almost two million hectares and sent toxic smoke across Southeast Asia. Families in Palangkaraya, like Dianyra Eka Nastiti, live in constant fear as their children suffer breathing problems amid a thick amber haze. Firefighters and local officials are battling the flames with limited water, while patients flood hospitals with coughs and pneumonia. The crisis has highlighted the urgent need for coordinated firefighting, public health measures and climate‑resilient policies.
When the sun hits the smog enveloping Indonesian Borneo, it stains the sky and makes every car, street and house look as if covered in rust. The haze has turned Palangkaraya into a living canvas of orange‑tinged ruins, a picture that would raise a collective sense of apocalyptic dread.
On a quiet night, Dianyra Eka Nastiti, a mother of three, reports the breathless terror that comes with every coughing breath from her infant. “My baby’s chest makes a rattling sound,” she says. “She was hospitalised with bronchopneumonia as an infant and every night I fear she will cough again.” Her words echo the voices of over 62,000 children under five with chronic coughs and respiratory infections, according to Indonesia’s Health Ministry.
Central Kalimantan’s fires have scorched roughly 1.9 million hectares this year – about the size of the U.S. state of New Jersey – releasing micrometer‑sized particles and carbon monoxide that blanket Indonesia and reach as far as Singapore, Malaysia and the Philippines. Satellite data from Nusantara Atlas shows alarming burn rates, with a single September alone accounting for a million hectares.
Firefighters, often battling a near‑constant mist of ash, report that peatland fires are far harder to extinguish than surface fires. “It takes months to put out a blaze in peat,” says firefighter Fauzi Rahman. “We need water that reaches the bottom of the wet peat, and that’s difficult to source.” Yet the orange gloom continues to grow, and residents face an impossible choice: leave their homes and risk the smoke, or stay put and lose basic daily supplies and schooling.
The health impact is devastating. Head of the Palangkaraya Health Office, Riduan, explains: “The sky turns yellow and hazy. People breathe not fresh oxygen but carbon dioxide and pollutants. The brain, especially in children and pregnant women, does not get enough oxygen.” Reports list products from inflammation to increased risk of premature death, as the fine particles penetrate deep into lung tissue and sometimes the bloodstream.
Chinese images capture the devastating scenery: exhausted firefighters wading through charred sand, Charred ground where no trees now survive, and families clutching masks while their children look pale and cough. The picture is stark: a land that once made its namesakes proud, now ghost‑bystincted by black‑charred remains.
The Indonesian government has deployed more than 60,000 personnel in a “land operation” that, according to reports, claims an 80% success rate in extinguishing new fires. However, resources are falling short; firefighting budgets have strained, and water supplies are dwindling due to an intense “Super El Nino”‑driven drought that has kept the skies dry and the peat dry.
Dr Nisa Novita, a forestry expert, likens the situation to a sinking ship: “We need to act urgently, use every tool we have, and prevent further damage before it’s too late.” Meanwhile, residents fight a slow dying battle, with no easy escape from the toxic plume. Many push back: “We are afraid of the health risks, but we have nowhere to go,” says village resident Lola Macitri, who keeps her family inside while her children attend online school.
In the hope of breaking the cycle, the community, the national army, and local police claim coordination efforts are increasing. Yet as of early November, the haze remains, and the nation waits for a rainfall that could finally add water to the ground and silence the fires.
