By Syamsul Maarif
Sirampog, Not "Si Rampok"
Sirampog—a name often wrongly associated with the word "si rampok" (the robber), as if it were a land of thieves. But no, Sirampog is a region imbued with religious nuance. One of the largest Islamic boarding schools (pesantren) in Central Java is located here.
The word Sirampog consists of two syllables: siram and pog. Siram means to pour water, and pog means thoroughly or completely. Literally, Sirampog can be interpreted as a place thoroughly doused with water. This matches the reality that Sirampog comprises several villages blessed with natural springs. However, today this has become an anomaly, as many springs—especially in lower-lying villages like Benda, Kaliloka, Manggis, and Buniwah—have dried up.
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Disaster Again?
Lately, Sirampog has been trending in the news—not for religious reasons, but due to a natural disaster: ground movement that has displaced over 300 residents and damaged more than 100 houses. Roads have collapsed by up to ten meters.
Remember: disasters are not merely nature’s wrath. They are often consequences of human negligence. Sirampog, a subdistrict in Brebes Regency, stands as silent testimony to such negligence. Nestled on the southern slopes of Mount Slamet, it has long been blessed with fertile soil and cool air. But now, this once-idyllic place is becoming a danger zone. The ground shifts, homes crack, and livelihoods crumble.
Sirampog is not alone. Across Indonesia, many areas suffer the same fate—pummeled by rain, struck by landslides, and deprived of long-term solutions. But Sirampog teaches us a vital lesson: neglecting forest ecosystems and overexploiting groundwater invites disasters that devastate not only landscapes but also hopes.
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Mendala, a Village that Represents the Pain
Take Mendala Village as an example. One of Sirampog’s villages, Mendala has seen increasingly severe soil cracks over the last decade. In Krajan hamlet, the land fractures are no longer just damage—they are permanent threats to the residents’ safety. When the ground becomes unstable, not only do homes collapse, but public trust in the state's protection also crumbles.
We could blame high rainfall or label this a typical natural disaster. But that would distract us from the root causes. The painful truth is this: forests that once protected these villages have been deforested. Vegetable farms have replaced towering trees. Ironically, this transformation is not driven by large corporations, but by the villagers themselves—trapped in an economy that offers no viable alternatives.
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When Water Is No Longer a Blessing
Another irony lies in water. Despite being fertile and rainy, the area now faces a clean water crisis. The rampant use of deep bore wells—encouraged to support horticulture—has drastically lowered the water table. Once-abundant water is now fiercely contested. Formerly productive fields have turned arid and critical.
This water crisis is not just ecological; it’s moral. How can we allow such vital resources to be depleted uncontrollably? Where are the regulations, the audits, the public education on the long-term dangers of groundwater exploitation?
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Barren Forests and Lost Roots
Forests are life-support systems. They store water, stabilize soil, and regulate microclimates. But in Sirampog, forests have been cleared and replaced with vegetable crops. While promising economically, these crops have shallow roots that cannot retain water during heavy rains. Instead of halting landslides, these farmlands now channel the destructive flow of water and soil.
We must honestly label this as a failure of sustainable development. When farmers are given no economic choice but to cultivate steep slopes, they will do whatever it takes to survive—even if it means cutting down the very forests that have safeguarded them for centuries.
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The State Must Arrive Before Disaster, Not After
Unfortunately, government responses often come too late. Aid arrives only after homes collapse. Budgets are released only after roads give way. But all this could have been prevented with proper planning. Landslide risk mapping should have been done long ago. Early warning systems should be standard tools for every village. Yet to this day, many villages in Sirampog don’t even know what disaster mitigation means.
Spatial planning remains mere paperwork. There is no real monitoring on the ground. Deep wells are drilled without permits. Land conversion goes unchecked. All of this unfolds amid ignorance or systemic neglect.
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Ecological Justice for Sirampog
Ecological justice is not just academic jargon. It means equal rights for people and nature. It demands that we do not exploit one to benefit the other. In Sirampog’s case, ecological justice means ensuring that people have economic options that don’t harm the environment. That they receive education and support to practice sustainable farming. That land and water are treated as shared resources to be protected.
Reforestation programs must be more than just planting saplings. They must be designed with community participation. There must be incentives for farmers who implement agroforestry. There must be strict prohibitions and penalties for illegal deforestation. Most importantly, there must be long-term planning involving all parties—government, citizens, and educational institutions.
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We Can No Longer Wait
Sirampog is a living alarm of ecological crisis. But we can’t wait for an even greater disaster to act. It's time to shift from reaction to prevention. It's time to build community-based protection systems. It's time to see water, soil, and forests not just as commodities, but as vital parts of life that must be preserved together.
This piece is not about blaming anyone. It’s an invitation to reflect. The landslide in Mendala is not just a collapse of earth—it symbolizes the breakdown of a system. A system that prioritizes short-term gain while ignoring sustainability.
If we truly love our villages and our homeland, then we must dare to change—not after disaster strikes, but now. For Sirampog. For the generations to come.
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Rebuilding Hope from the Ruins
Amid the ruins of soil and homes, hope still lingers. Hope that we can learn. That we can redefine our relationship with nature. That we can rebuild Sirampog into a region that is ecologically strong and socially just.
But this can only happen if all parties are willing to sit together, listen to the people, respect nature, and move toward a wiser future. Because in the end, Sirampog is more than a geographic location—it is a reflection of how we treat the Earth we stand upon.