As the climate crisis continues to impact rice production, heirloom rice could save the day, as the highlands farmers of Sarawak show.
AT LONG Semadoh, there is plenty of rice. In fact, there is so much that excess is sometimes fed to livestock.
“Some people from outside our village think it’s outrageous that we feed our heirloom rice to our pigs,” says villager Peter Tadam with a laugh. “But what’s wrong with giving good food — food we plant with our hands — to our livestock?”
(Feature photo: Beras Adan Merah is one of the Long Semadoh heirloom varieties that have been grown for generations | Image: Arieff Zafir)
Like many of his neighbours, Tadam’s family’s rice supply can last up to five years. Over 900 metres above sea level, this village is one of numerous indigenous Lun Bawang settlements in Sarawak that grow traditional or heirloom rice.
Rice is abundant not just in amount but types. A total of at least 30 have been grown in this community for as far back as folks can remember. Today, the community continues to practise their generations-old tradition of farming, seed saving and preserving local crop varieties.
As a consequence, Tadam says, “You’ll never go hungry at Long Semadoh.”
In the face of nation- and state-wide rice shortage and the climate crisis, Long Semadoh’s indigenous approach to their paddy varieties holds promise in managing food security and conserving heirloom rice heritage.
Long Semadoh’s heirloom rice traditions ensure enough rice for people and livestock, and promises a solution to food security for the rest of the country (Pic: Arieff Zafir)
GLOBAL RICE SHORTAGE
IN JULY, the El Niño weather phenomenon caused India—the world’s largest rice exporter—to curtail its white rice exports.
This led to global rice prices rising, impacting Malaysia, which imports more than 30% of its rice. In September, Padiberas Nasional Berhad (BERNAS) — the country’s exclusive permit holder for imported rice — raised prices by 36%, from RM2,350 to RM3,200 per tonne. This caused panic-buying and rice-hoarding nationwide.
This is not the first time that Malaysia faced rice shortage. The last instance was in 2008, also due to severe weather conditions.
But Malaysia continues to produce insufficient rice to feed Malaysians. The recent Auditor-General’s Report revealed that the national rice cultivation programme fell short of its goals. Besides management issues, this was attributed to insufficient supplies of paddy seeds.
Not enough grown
Sarawak is a case in hand. Rice consumption generally hovered around 80—120 kg per capita between 2000 and 2019 but commercial rice production met at best half of that need. This year, commercial rice production only met 34% of the state’s needs.
According to The Borneo Post, the Sarawak government attributed this to factors such as inadequate drainage and irrigation infrastructure, and fierce competition for land from profitable crops such as oil palm.
Concerned about food security, Sarawak wants its domestic rice production to reach 60% self-sufficiency level (SSL) by 2030.
The Sarawak Ministry of Food Industry, Commodity and Regional Development has outlined several initiatives.
Multiple approaches
“This includes the adoption of modern agricultural machinery in rice cultivation, encouraging strong collaboration among all stakeholders, and actively promoting Sarawak’s traditional rice varieties to attract local and international buyers,” officer Darwin Merom Anak Gerusin, told Macaranga.
Heirloom rice could also raise rural farmers’ incomes as it fetches a higher price.
However, there appear to be no measures to mitigate or adapt to the climate crisis, the primary cause of the current rice shortage.
In Malaysia, hotter weather affects rainfall and causes weather extremes such as floods and droughts that are disrupting rice production. Rising sea levels are seeing saltwater intrusion into granaries.
Even in Long Semadoh where rice is abundant, the effects of the changing weather are felt.
Outside Tadam’s house, his neighbour Marlina Sigar is raking a spread of golden grains on a mat.
While the grains are drying beautifully under the scorching sun, Sigar is wrapped from head to toe to shield herself from the intense rays. It has grown noticeably hotter over the years.
Sigar has noticed the way the hotter weather affects her paddy, a Bornean grain called Krayan, “It does grow, but quite slowly. We do have less paddy produced from time to time.”
Her fellow farmer, Saban Riong, is also worried about rain when the weather gets extreme. Heavy rains can suddenly flood the paddies and disrupt the planting. “So you can’t really plant when it rains,” she says.
Flooding can also push the seedlings to one corner of the field. These seedlings end up competing for sunlight – which in turn reduces their yield. “And you can’t shift them back. They can die easily if you keep moving them.”
But most farmers in Long Semadoh say they are largely unaffected by shifting weather patterns. Research has also shown that some upland varieties in Sabah can be tolerant to drought. Still, they are aware of the dangers extreme weather can pose to their traditional rice heritage.
VARIETY IS THE RICE OF LIFE
THE LUN BAWANG are proud of their heirloom rice traditions, which see both seeds and farming knowhow passed down through generations.
“Upon harvest,” Riong shares, “We choose the best seeds, and after that we dry them, and after that we keep them for the next year’s planting. It’s been like that since before.”
Only the best grains are selected. This is based on the length of the mother paddy plant and the plants bearing the most grains.
The number of seeds saved differs. Riong says, “I collect as many as I like. If I want to plant the size of a football field, I keep about 4—5 gantang (about 13.6kg) worth.”
Long Semadoh’s 30-odd rice varieties have varying colours, aromas, textures and grain sizes. Each planting season sees different grains planted at any one time, depending on farmers’ taste preference.
Some of their famous heirloom varieties include Adan, a fragrant white rice with soft texture, and Sia’, a red rice.
Niche market
But traditional rice varieties make up only about 10% of Malaysia’s overall rice production.
Compared to modern commercial varieties, traditional rice produce only one-third the yield, partially because they take longer to mature and are harvested only once a year.
Therefore, heirloom rice is mostly grown for personal and community consumption.
However, there are two traits of heirloom rice that make them stand head and shoulders above commercial rice: their resilience and diversity. These traits are the result of having been grown over many generations in various environments, and the communities have kept many of the varieties.
CRITICAL FOR RESEARCH
NO GOVERNMENT agency appreciates this more than the Malaysian Agriculture Research and Development Institute (MARDI). This is the country’s lead research institute for rice, responsible for producing almost 95%, or 53 modern rice varieties planted in Malaysia.
Across the South China Sea in Penang, MARDI runs a rice gene bank that houses over 13,300 rice accessions (roughly, genetic materials). These are critical because they hold the key to resilience.
Only by collecting and storing so many varieties can researchers properly “evaluate which one can withstand extreme weather conditions — heat, drought and submergence in water,” says research officer Muhammad Shafie bin Md Sah.
While conventionally, rice research aimed to increase productivity, adaptations to the impacts of the climate crisis are now key.
Shafie himself is currently researching the durability of traditional rice varieties in the face of water salinity, or saltwater. Malaysia has many paddy fields by the coast; sea level rise leading to saltwater intrusion are big threats.
Wild things
There are many clues to tolerance in Malaysia’s roughly 8,000 varieties of traditional rice, says Shafie. In fact, examining the entire range of rices in Malaysia helps in understanding climate change resistance.
He points to a display of wild paddy, which is not domesticated.
“For example, the Poaceae family: it looks like lalang, you wouldn’t guess it’s paddy. It will fruit but .. it’s hard to even get a fistful of rice. But [it] has special characteristics — it’s quite resistant; it will grow even with no water, by the street. It’s a characteristic we try to include in our modern variety.”
World wide search
In addition, “we’ve used traditional varieties from outside, for example, the FR13A,” says Shafie. This is a flood tolerant Indian rice, whose gene was derived from the indigenous Dhalputtia heirloom variety. Indian researchers have also identified traditional rice varieties that consume less water, as well as tolerate droughts, pests and disease.
MARDI is working to identify more of these traits, including in the Sarawakian heirloom rices. They are currently growing 80-odd traditional varieties that have been selected. Successfully grown rice with the desired traits can then be used to produce new, more resilient varieties of rice for mass cultivation by seed producers.
Besides collecting rice seeds from indigenous farmers, MARDI gathers information about the maturity period, taste, cultural practices and ideal growing environments.
Time not on their side
But they are racing against time to collect seeds. Many varieties have gone extinct.
Says researcher Mohd Ramdzan bin Othman, “When we made trips to collect seeds at Pos Lanchang, Pahang, we were told that there used to be 30 varieties. Now what’s left are 9 to 10 varieties only. The rest have totally disappeared.” And they have no idea what is going on in the more remote areas.
In turn, MARDI’s gene bank has become a valuable asset for the communities who have lost their seeds, owing to land displacement or because they are no longer planting them.
“Most who request [seeds] come from the place of origin of these varieties,” Shafie says. “They have a memory and nostalgia of consuming that type of rice.”
Many requests come from villages in Sarawak that had to relocate owing to development, such as the Bakun dam, which displaced 10,000 people in 1998.
Losing seeds is not an issue in Long Semadoh because seed storage is an important and active part of their rice tradition.
There is no formal system but everyone understands and knows how to store their own seeds.
Some just throw them into gunny sacks. Others, like Tadam’s mother, meticulously wraps them several times over in plastic bags and hang them in a dry and cool place.
Seed exchanges also happen at the nearby Lawas town. “We ask [for seeds from] our peers from Ba’Kelalan, Long Pasia, Krayan,” says Riong, naming neighbouring border towns.
“Now we have each other’s [phone] numbers, we just call each other whenever we need seeds.”
COMMERCIALISING RICE
DURING a break from her seed drying one warm morning, Sigar joins other senior ladies, Riong, Saban Palung and Tadam’s mother, Mina Taie, for a chat about their day.
“This is life in the village. Mau tidak mau, memang tidak ada kerja lain,” says Riong. Whether you like it or not, there’s nothing else to do.
Farmers do everything themselves, from planting and harvesting to milling and selling the rice. They have the autonomy to decide precisely how they wish to cultivate their crops and truly own the entire process, from start to finish.
Because they have excess rice, they sell a portion of it at the nearest local farmer’s market, Pasar Tamu Lawas. It is the farmers’ main means of earning income.
Uncompetitive pricing
But Riong says traders cannot always afford to buy their rice as it is too expensive at RM27 a gantang (3.4 kg). Imported rice sells for RM20 a gantang at the market, and local white rice in supermarkets is legally capped at RM8.84.
Long Semadoh costs are high because even the Pasar Tamu Lawas is a tedious and costly four-hour drive away, with a to-and-fro fuel price tag of RM500.
Tamu vendor Andrias Padan (pictured below) is a regular seller of the village’s Adan rice variety. “The quality is of course good, but Long Semadoh rice comes at a higher price. As sellers, we can’t afford to buy too much of it.”
Still, he adds that generally, “there is still a demand for the heirloom varieties due to its nutritional value. I was surprised. Even hospitals are now recommending the red Bario rice for children.”
Buyers frequently purchase a little of different varieties, mixing them when cooking.
Variety is the rice of life at the local farmer’s market [left]; the rice is high quality as the best seeds are selected each harvest [right] (Pics: Arieff Zafir)
The potential of heirloom rice in uplifting rural economies is recognised by the Sarawak government. And according to the Khazanah Research Institute, Sarawak’s heirloom rice industry holds considerable potential in targeting a distinct, niche market segment for specialty rice.
“[The farmers] love the taste, they take pride in it, and they want to do it (commercialise),” says Sarena Che Omar, deputy director of research.
“As the government, as policymakers, why are we ignoring that? We should respect that. But we should come up with creative ways to ensure that we can alleviate poverty—not make them sacrifice their way [of doing things].”
Hedging against disaster
Developing rice production in Sarawak would address another risk in Malaysia’s food security profile.
According to Sarena, 60% of the total rice produced is concentrated in Penang, Kedah, Perlis and Perak. “..if you have one drought, or one flooding incident, there goes 60% of our supply. We cannot concentrate too much rice production on just one region.”
Farmers Marlina Sigar (left) and Buas Tagal are self-sustaining, from growing their own rice, to respectively sun-drying and milling the harvests (Pics: Arieff Zafir)
EMPOWERING FARMERS
ULTIMATELY, successfully promoting heirloom rice lies in empowering farmers and equipping them with the necessary tools.
Social enterprises like the Selangor-based Langit Collective are trying to encourage a more sustainable food system in the country.
Its co-founder Chan Zi Xiang explains that they partner with heirloom rice farmers by purchasing directly from them, then repackage and sell their rice in cities in Peninsular Malaysia and the region. “It’s an economic empowerment route that we are trying to go,” says Chan .
However, Tadam is adamant that the community participate more in the supply chain. He only recently found out how much more their rice was being sold in the cities — RM21 per 960g. This is three times more than what they were getting from the Lawas market or Langit Collective.
Supply chain costs
Chan of Langit Collective says that the additional costs they bear come from packaging and transport because Long Semadoh is so remote. What’s more the collective has to manage the whole logistics and supply chain.
“There isn’t anyone so far that we can engage to run the show independently in the village,” he says. “We tried, out of necessity, during the pandemic, but it created a mess as they couldn’t do basic record keeping.” He avers that they are transparent about these costs with the villagers.
Still, Tadam believes his community could handle marketing by being organised and entrepreneurial if given education and training in marketing.
Using networks
“We have relatives who live in the city. We can send them rice. If someone is looking for rice in Kuching or Miri, we can pass it to them, and package it ready, and just keep supplying the rice—and charge for the storage… [and] postage—and profit is divided along the way, and among the community.”
One approach is the geographical indication (GI) certification. This certification signifies a product’s unique geographical origin and its distinctive attributes.
It has already benefited the producers of 98 Malaysian products, including Sarawak pepper, by providing visibility to production locations as tourist destinations and ensuring that producers are protected and fairly compensated.
Notably, three heirloom rice varieties—Bario, Biris, and Bajong—from other Sarawakian villages have secured GI certification. It raises the prospects of certification for Long Semadoh’s rice, notably the popular Adan variety.
Indigenous communities could extend their management of traditional rice downstream. [From left} Saban Palung, Saran Riong, Marlina Sigar, and Mina Taie, and [right] Cathrine Sidan (Pics: Arieff Zafir)
Anni Mitin, vice president of the Malaysian Agroecology Society, agrees that commercialisation must include community and ownership.
“[The communities] have their own system. Let them look at how to manage this,” says Mitin, who is also part of the Community Seeds Reserve Initiative, a digital inventory that connects people to share their seeds.
“Our role is to provide them with accurate information about what quality means and how to manage quality, and perhaps provide them with the right technology. We need to empower them with the right information and capacity building.”
Taking charge
Village cooperatives could not only sell but educate the public on the importance of heirloom rice. “We don’t actually need social enterprises from outside the community if the cooperative is fully empowered,” says Mitin, an indigenous Bidayuh who also comes from a line of farmers.
MARDI’s Shafie echoes this sentiment. “If we empower our farmers, I feel we won’t be in a situation as critical as we are today,” he says. “We really have to focus and accept that our aim is not to profit and .. not to politicise this — it is just for the sake of food security and to feed everybody in this country.”
Meanwhile at Long Semadoh where there is more than enough rice, priorities differ. Sigar gestures to the traditional Krayan grains drying in the sun. They may not be as popular as the Bario varieties, but what matters to her is, “I adore the taste!”
[Edited by SL Wong]
[Infographics by Liani MK include stock illustrations by Canva]
This story was produced with the support of Internews’ Earth Journalism Network.
Update: 7/12/23 @12.53PM the spelling for ‘Poacea’ was corrected.
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