In a village bordering Gunung Halimun-Salak National Park on Java's steep slopes, Mirna Maharani presses leaves and stems onto fabric, watching plant species once dismissed as weeds transform into bold patterns of color and purpose. The 30-year-old mother of two is part of the Ambu Halimun collective—a name meaning "mothers of Halimun" in the local dialect—a women-led printing group that has quietly become one of Indonesia's most creative conservation experiments.
The story began in 2020, during the pandemic's grip, when primatologist Rahayu Oktaviani and her team at the Kiara Foundation asked a simple but radical question: What if the women living at the forest's edge could profit from protecting it, rather than exploiting it? The answer came through textile art. Using boiling, pressing, and printing techniques, Ambu Halimun's members transform distinctive local plants into eco-friendly fabrics carrying forest motifs and the silhouette of the Javan silvery gibbon—one of the world's most endangered primates. Each bolt of fabric tells a story about the forest that surrounds them.
What makes the initiative resonate is how it reframes conservation entirely. Rahayu deliberately worked with anthropologists to study the community's cultural relationship with the forest, ensuring the project reflected local norms rather than imposing external ideas. "The forest isn't something that is separate to them," Rahayu explained. "That's why we're building a sense of ownership." By creating economic opportunity—and professional development—the collective gives women a tangible stake in the forest's survival. For Mirna and her peers, conservation is no longer a distant legal requirement but something woven into their daily work and identity.
The stakes could hardly be higher. The latest IUCN assessment estimates that fewer than 4,500 Javan silvery gibbons remain in the wild. Remarkably, half of the world's surviving population lives in the very national park adjacent to Citalahab. A 2017 population model warned that continued habitat loss and hunting could drive the species toward extinction within a century unless threats from deforestation and the wildlife trade are drastically reduced. The gibbons face a shrinking world, and the women of Ambu Halimun are helping hold the line.
The approach is gaining recognition. Last year, Rahayu received the prestigious Whitley Award in recognition of her organization's grassroots conservation work—an honor that underscores how community-centered solutions are reshaping what conservation can look like. Across Indonesia, similar initiatives are flourishing: in Sumatra, women weavers now use natural forest dyes; in western Borneo, an orangutan charity established a women's firefighting unit to prevent wildfires. Each model proves the same truth—that conservation succeeds not through enforcement alone, but through creating dignity and opportunity within communities that have the most to gain or lose.
What strikes people in Citalahab most is the shift in perspective. Previously, locals knew only that the gibbon was legally protected. Now, through their textile work, they're learning about the animal's ecological role and the forest's intricate web of life. Species overlooked for generations have acquired new value as sources of color, pattern, and meaning. In Mirna's words: "Now, we are preserving them." It's a quiet revolution, one printed fabric at a time.