05 May 2025
Author:
Dr. Ir. Muhammad Sonny Abfertiawan, S.T., M.T.
Lecturer & Researcher, Expertise Group of Water and Wastewater Engineering
Institut Teknologi Bandung (ITB)
At its core, mining is a paradox: humanity digs deep into the Earth to build the future, yet is often seen as damaging the very systems that sustain life.
In contrast, rivers flow gently and persistently—shaping valleys, sustaining ecosystems, offering life without taking. Where miners drill, rivers heal; where industry extracts, rivers remind us of sustainability
Philosophically, the relationship between mining and rivers often reflects the tension between anthropocentrism—the belief that nature exists for human use—and ecocentrism, which sees nature as having intrinsic value beyond its utility to humanity.
Mining embodies humanity’s Promethean impulse: to control, to reshape, and to extract. Rivers, on the other hand, symbolize a different kind of wisdom—the wisdom of adaptation, flow, and reciprocity.
When we mine thoughtlessly, we risk severing the ancient bond between humans and nature, reducing the Earth to a mere resource rather than a relationship. “Nature is not just raw material—it’s a structured, meaningful system,” said Aristotle (384 BC–322 BC).
The real question is: Can we mine ethically? Can we extract without disrupting the flow?
A sustainable future does not lie in halting extraction altogether, but in reshaping the conditions under which it occurs—with humility, restraint, and respect for systems older and wiser than ourselves. For Heraclitus (535 BC – 475 BC), the ancient Greek philosopher, wisdom lies in understanding the natural flow—not in attempting to dominate it.
A 4,000-kilometer journey from Bandung was undertaken by a research team from the Water and Wastewater Engineering Research Group, Faculty of Civil and Environmental Engineering, Institut Teknologi Bandung, to Obi Island, home to Harita Nickel’s mining site.
To us, Obi Island in North Maluku is not just a point on the Indonesian map. It is a living space—a beautiful landscape embracing tropical forests, the clear flow of the Akelamo River, and a mineral-rich earth harboring nickel—a metal now at the heart of the global energy revolution.
We followed its course—from Lake Karo to where it meets the Maluku Sea. The Akelamo River flows with a spirited energy, its current swift and relentless, meandering across the land like a taut silver thread stretched over the earth.
Though not deep—its clear, rippling surface reveals ancient Pre-Tertiary to Quaternary rocks and minerals, as well as quick darting fish beneath—it stretches wide with generosity, embracing the riverbanks with open arms. It carries a voice: a soft, rushing whisper that echoes through the trees.
On both sides, the landscape unfolds in quiet majesty: tall grasses and trees sway rhythmically in the wind, while hills rise gently in the distance, standing like sentinels over the flowing stream.
Birds glided along the water’s edge, their wings catching the glint of sunlight, while small creatures danced across the surface as if carried by the river’s breath.
The air was fresh, tinged with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. This was not a deep or hidden river—it was a river that is present, moving, and beautiful. It does not boast; what it offers—moments of peace, scenes worth remembering, and a quiet reminder that even the gentlest water can shape a landscape with grace.
Though mining lies not far from its source, though trucks rumble along nearby roads and the land bears signs of human ambition, the river refuses to lose its soul.
It still sings. It still reflects the sky, cradles fish beneath its surface, and draws Ornithoptera aesacus butterflies to its banks. As if nature is offering us a second chance—a moment to pause and ask: What kind of future do we wish to shape here?
Perhaps the most remarkable thing is this: the river is still beautiful.
Because not all mining must end in destruction. There are those who have begun to listen—to the river, to communities, and to the Earth. They speak of Good Mining Practices: of reclamation and revegetation, of controlled runoff and waste management, of community engagement.
They design operations that respect buffer zones, monitor and manage water quality, and work not against the landscape, but with it. It is not perfect—but it is possible. And it is necessary.
The Promethean drive is not without criticism or ethical concerns. The growing spectrum of anthropogenic existential threats to human civilization and survival has prompted calls for a new framework of existential security—one that prioritizes the continuity of humanity (Sears, 2020).
Moreover, more than 1,700 scientists have warned of the potential consequences of unchecked environmental destruction, underscoring the urgent need for responsible stewardship of the Earth (Ripple et al., 2017).
Responsible mining practices are essential for preserving river ecosystems. With careful planning and the implementation of sustainable techniques, a balance between mining operations and healthy river systems can be achieved—one that benefits both industry and the environment.
Sustainability, therefore, is not the absence of change—but the presence of wisdom. It means choosing methods that minimize harm, restore what has been taken or damaged, and ensure that future generations, too, can sit by this river, hear its shimmering murmur, and feel gratitude—not sorrow.
The future of humanity does not have to stand in opposition to nature—it can be an extension of it. Our cities can be powered by clean energy built from responsibly mined materials. Our children can inherit both innovation and untouched forests, along with future forests growing on lands once mined.
A river can still run strong and clean—if we remember that progress without respect is merely another form of destruction. Stoic thinkers and philosophers like Zeno, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius believed in living in harmony with nature and accepting one’s place in the cosmos—a unified, rational, and living order governed by logos, the divine intelligence that structures the universe.
And the Akelamo River keeps flowing—wide, swift, shallow, clear, and beautiful—asking nothing from us except: To learn. To change. To care. To build a future where mining and rivers, machines and mountains, humanity and nature, can exist not in conflict—but in warm conversation, perhaps over a cup of Ternate’s spiced coffee.
A future where the river still sings the song of life, not of loss. And from the Akelamo River, on Obi Island, we have learned that—bringing it home to the city of Bandung, as a story, and as knowledge drawn from the wisdom of the Creator’s natural design.
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