Environmental Ethics: Rethinking Our Place in a Burning World (3)

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” as Joe Louis (1914–1981), the world heavyweight boxing champion, declared before his bout against Billy Conn in June 1941 at the Polo Grounds in New York, the meaning is straightforward: an opponent may attempt to run and evade, yet ultimately cannot conceal themselves from the blow or the consequence. Today, the phrase is understood as a symbol of the inevitability of responsibility. Whether in sport, politics, or personal life, it serves as a reminder that escape is only ever temporary. 

When a public official is confronted with the demand either to improve their policies or even to resign because those policies have failed, that moment becomes a test of integrity and accountability. True leadership is not measured by the ability to cling to power or to weave elaborate justifications, but by the willingness to face the consequences of one’s decisions. A resignation in such circumstances is not merely a symbolic act; it is an acknowledgement that governance has faltered, that promises have not been fulfilled, and that the public deserves better. Yet, when an official chooses instead to defend themselves with excuses, they attempt to rewrite the narrative, as though words could erase the lived reality of those affected by their failures.

This strategy of denial may buy time, but it cannot erase the collective memory of society. Citizens remember the broken policies, the unmet needs, and the crises that were mishandled. History itself records the gap between rhetoric and reality. In democratic life, accountability is not optional; it is the very foundation of trust between leaders and the people. To resist resignation is to resist responsibility, and to resist responsibility is to undermine the legitimacy of leadership.

Moreover, the act of deflection often reveals a deeper fear: the fear of being judged not only by contemporaries but by posterity. Leaders may attempt to shield themselves with technicalities, statistics, or selective narratives, but the truth has a way of resurfacing. The public sphere is relentless, and the scrutiny of media, civil society, and ordinary citizens ensures that failures cannot be permanently hidden. In the end, the attempt to escape accountability is futile because the moral weight of leadership cannot be shrugged off like an inconvenient garment.

Thus, when a leader insists on excuses rather than acceptance, they may succeed in delaying the inevitable, but they cannot escape it forever. Responsibility will catch up with them, whether through public pressure, institutional processes, or the verdict of history. The lesson is clear: power may allow one to run, but accountability ensures that one cannot hide. 

Back to our main topic.

Environmental ethics rests upon several fundamental considerations that shape the way we understand our moral relationship with the natural world. At its core lies the question of whether nature possesses intrinsic value, meaning that it is worthy of moral respect not because of its usefulness to us, but because it has value in and of itself. This idea challenges the long-standing anthropocentric view that regards the environment merely as a resource for human benefit. When we accept that non-human entities—animals, plants, ecosystems, and even geological formations—have their own inherent worth, we begin to adopt a more humble and responsible position within the wider ecological community.

Equally fundamental is the question of moral responsibility across time. Environmental ethics obliges us to think beyond the narrow boundaries of the present moment and to recognise our duties towards future generations who will inherit the consequences of our actions. This temporal dimension demands that we consider sustainability not simply as a technical goal but as a moral imperative rooted in justice and fairness. What we take from the Earth today, and what we choose to preserve, will profoundly shape the lives and opportunities of those who come after us.

Another essential element is the recognition of ecological interconnectedness. Environmental ethics emphasises that humans are not separate from nature but are deeply embedded within it, relying on complex ecosystems for survival and well-being. Understanding this interconnectedness encourages us to move away from an attitude of domination and control, replacing it with one of stewardship, care, and reciprocity. Such an ethical stance urges us to protect biodiversity, maintain ecological balance, and minimise harm to the intricate systems that sustain life.

Finally, environmental ethics demands an examination of justice—both human and ecological. The burdens of environmental degradation are often borne disproportionately by vulnerable communities, while the benefits of exploitation are frequently concentrated among the powerful. Ethical reflection, therefore, requires us to confront the social inequalities tied to environmental harm, ensuring that environmental responsibility includes fairness, inclusivity, and respect for the rights of all beings affected by ecological decisions.

Environmental ethics takes on an entirely different dimension when placed within the theatrical landscape of Indonesian politics, where nature is often treated not as a moral partner but as an inconvenient backdrop to ambitious development speeches. In such a setting, the idea of intrinsic value becomes almost comical, for forests are routinely valued only after they are converted into profit, plantations, or photo opportunities. Politicians speak passionately about “green prosperity” while signing documents that turn the green into brown, and then swiftly into grey. The ethical question of valuing nature for its own sake rarely survives the weight of budgets, tenders, and ribbon-cutting ceremonies.

The notion of moral responsibility across generations becomes equally fragile in this theatre. Future generations are frequently invoked in grand speeches—usually moments before a hillside is shaved clean for a new mega-project promising “economic transformation.” Here, sustainability is less a moral obligation and more a decorative term deployed to sweeten policies that otherwise taste unmistakably of short-term profit. The long-term consequences are quietly outsourced to those yet unborn, who will one day inherit the floods, landslides, and smog with no memory of ever having voted for them.

Ecological interconnectedness, a principle central to environmental ethics, becomes a punchline when confronted with the bureaucratic belief that nature will politely adjust itself to administrative decisions. Rivers are redirected as if they were misbehaving students; forests are relocated on spreadsheets; wildlife is encouraged to “adapt” to industrial zones. When ecological systems collapse, officials are often shocked—shocked!—that nature refuses to follow political deadlines or press releases. The ethical demand for humility is frequently drowned out by the louder demand for progress reports.

Environmental justice, finally, exposes the most uncomfortable truths. Those who suffer the consequences of environmental harm are rarely those who authorised it. Villagers living downstream of mining operations bear the weight of toxic runoff, while the executives responsible sip bottled water in climate-controlled offices. Communities losing land to palm oil expansion are told it is for the “national interest,” though the nation in question seems suspiciously limited to a handful of boardrooms. In this landscape, environmental ethics does not merely guide moral reflection—it becomes a form of resistance, challenging a political culture that too often treats the environment as a prop, a commodity, or an afterthought.

Discussions of environmental ethics often emphasise the moral responsibility of societies and governments to safeguard ecosystems, prevent degradation, and ensure that human activity does not compromise nature's resilience. Yet ethical principles, however noble, are tested most severely when disaster strikes, forcing leaders to translate values into urgent action.

The floods in Sumatra represent precisely such a moment of ethical reckoning. They are not merely natural occurrences but manifestations of accumulated human choices — from deforestation and poor land management to inadequate urban planning. In this sense, the disaster becomes a mirror reflecting the ethical lapses of environmental stewardship, demanding a response that is both practical and morally accountable.

It is at this juncture that the question of declaring the floods a National Disaster arises. The act of declaration is not only an administrative mechanism but also a moral statement: it acknowledges that the scale of suffering transcends local capacity and requires national solidarity. Thus, the transition from environmental ethics to state policy is seamless, as the ethical imperative to protect life and environment converges with the political responsibility to mobilise resources and coordinate relief.

If the President were to declare the Sumatra floods a National Disaster, the consequences would be both administrative and symbolic. Such a declaration would immediately elevate the crisis from a regional emergency to a matter of national concern, thereby unlocking broader state resources, including military and financial assistance, to support relief and recovery efforts. It would also centralise coordination under the national disaster management authority, ensuring that local governments receive direct support and guidance rather than bearing the burden alone. Beyond logistics, the declaration would carry political weight, signalling to the public and the international community that the government recognises the gravity of the catastrophe and is committed to prioritising the welfare of affected citizens. This status could also facilitate international aid, as foreign governments and organisations often respond more swiftly when a disaster is officially recognised at the national level. At the same time, it would heighten public expectations of accountability, transparency, and effective action, placing pressure on the state to deliver not only immediate relief but also long-term rehabilitation and preventive measures.

Declaring the Sumatra floods as a National Disaster would not only mobilise resources but also carry certain negative consequences for the state. Domestically, such a declaration could expose the government to criticism regarding its preparedness and capacity to manage crises. It might highlight systemic weaknesses in infrastructure, environmental management, and disaster mitigation, thereby eroding public trust if the response is perceived as inadequate. Financially, the designation could strain the national budget, as funds would need to be diverted from other priorities to cover relief, rehabilitation, and reconstruction. Politically, it could intensify scrutiny from opposition parties, civil society, and the media, who may frame the declaration as evidence of governmental failure rather than responsibility.

Internationally, the declaration would signal vulnerability, potentially affecting perceptions of national stability and governance. While it could invite humanitarian aid and solidarity, it might also raise concerns among investors and trading partners about economic resilience, leading to hesitancy in investment or trade commitments. Moreover, the country could face reputational risks if the disaster response is mismanaged, as international observers often judge not only the scale of the catastrophe but also the effectiveness of state action. On the other hand, the declaration could open the door to international assistance, but this may come with conditions or expectations that challenge national sovereignty, such as external monitoring or policy recommendations. In short, while the move demonstrates transparency and urgency, it also exposes the state to heightened domestic and global scrutiny, financial pressure, and reputational risk.

In the international arena, the ethical dimension of environmental responsibility and the political act of declaring a National Disaster are inseparable. When a government acknowledges a catastrophe as a matter of national urgency, it signals to the world that the state is willing to confront its vulnerabilities openly rather than conceal them. This transparency can strengthen international trust, positioning the country as a responsible actor that values both human life and ecological integrity. Yet it also places the nation under a sharper lens: global observers will scrutinise whether the ethical commitments expressed in environmental discourse are matched by effective disaster management and long-term resilience planning. 

Thus, the declaration becomes more than a domestic administrative step; it is a diplomatic gesture that intertwines environmental ethics with national credibility. If handled with integrity, it can enhance Indonesia’s reputation as a country that not only recognises the moral weight of ecological stewardship but also translates it into decisive action. Conversely, if the response falters, the gap between ethical rhetoric and practical governance may erode confidence both at home and abroad. In this way, the transition from environmental ethics to disaster declaration culminates in a test of international reputation, where moral responsibility and political accountability converge. 

[Part 4]
[Part 2]

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Environmental Ethics: Rethinking Our Place in a Burning World (2)

There was an intriguing moment when President Prabowo visited the flood-affected areas in Sumatra, in late November to early December 2025. When the Regent of Southeast Aceh suddenly declared, “May President Prabowo become president for life!”, Prabowo responded with impeccable calm: a shake of the head and a raised hand—a clear, understated signal of “no, thank you.” Without any theatrics or exaggerated gestures, that simple movement conveyed his message: “I appreciate it, but absolutely not.”

Such a stance deserves genuine appreciation, for in the face of the temptations of power, many leaders might be easily swayed by praise or exaggerated adulation. Yet Prabowo’s decision to decline—quietly and without spectacle—demonstrated that he (at least in that moment) recognised that public office is not about eternal glory, nor about pleasing supporters or cultivating admiration, but rather about concrete duties: aiding victims, managing the state, and honouring the constitution.

And within the context of Indonesian democracy, rejecting the notion of a “president for life” stands as an affirmation that power must remain cyclical—so that accountability endures, leadership can regenerate, and the democratic spirit continues to thrive.

The President's actions always set the tone for the entire government's response during a crisis. Public assessment of President Prabowo's handling of the recent Sumatra floods presents a mixed, but generally politically defended, picture.

On the one hand, his supporters and elements within the government's narrative have highlighted his direct engagement and rapid mobilisation of state resources. The President undertook a timely visit to the affected regions, including Tapanuli Tengah, Aceh, and West Sumatra, demonstrating that the state was indeed present and attentive to the disaster. This swift action and physical presence in the field were heavily promoted by his political allies as proof of responsive leadership and a strong commitment to the people's welfare, with a focus on ensuring the speedy delivery of urgent aid like fuel (BBM) and the immediate restoration of critical infrastructure such as electricity and roads. He also explicitly mobilised the heads of state-owned enterprises, like the Directors of PLN and Pertamina, to accelerate the restoration of services.

On the other hand, the public's critique and that of some non-governmental activists focused primarily on the status of the disaster and the official statements regarding its cause. The most significant point of public contention was the President's assessment that the disaster did not need to be escalated to a National Disaster Status, arguing that the situation was already under control with existing regional resources, the well-established Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) of the National Disaster Management Agency (BNPB) and the Armed Forces (TNI) being sufficient. This stance was immediately met with online criticism, where some netizens and social media activists felt that the refusal to elevate the status showed a lack of comprehensive seriousness toward the scale of the tragedy and its deep underlying causes, such as alleged unregulated logging. They argued that declaring a national disaster would unlock more financial resources and a higher level of cross-sectoral coordination necessary for a complex, multi-regional catastrophe.

Therefore, the public assessment is polarised: while his actions of visiting and giving direct orders were seen by many as demonstrating 'State Presence' and 'Quick Response', his decision to keep the disaster status at a regional level generated significant controversy and disappointment among those who felt that the government was prioritising image management and downplaying the environmental root causes rather than allocating the maximum resources for recovery and prevention.

There also exist some discussions concerning the perceived 'image-building' or 'public relations stunts' of politicians that circulate widely on Indonesian social media. One notable figure who has faced significant public criticism regarding his actions in the field is Zulkifli Hasan, the Coordinating Minister for Food. His activities, such as his gesture of carrying a small sack of rice and personally assisting in cleaning up mud at a disaster location, were widely scrutinised by users across various digital platforms, with many suggesting these were carefully staged acts aimed solely at pencitraan, or improving his public image, rather than being genuine governmental policy actions for disaster management.

There is a public assessment of former Minister of Environment and Forestry, Siti Nurbaya Bakar, and the current Minister of Forestry, Raja Juli Antoni. Siti Nurbaya Bakar (Former Minister of Environment and Forestry)'s accountability for the Sumatra disaster is framed by the public and environmental organisations as one of systemic policy failure over her long tenure, rather than specific actions during the crisis.

Siti Nurbaya faced continuous, widespread criticism during her time in office for statements and policies that critics believed prioritised large-scale development over environmental conservation. Her controversial public statement that "massive development... should not stop... in the name of deforestation" made her the face of a government narrative that seemed to justify forest destruction for infrastructure and economic growth.

For environmental groups, her image is tied to the institutionalisation of deforestation and the weakening of ecological protections, which they argue directly created the conditions (loss of water absorption capacity in the uplands) that turned heavy rain into a catastrophic flood in Sumatra.

Moreover, she, along with the current Minister, has been the subject of demands from groups like the Koalisi Kawal Merah Putih (KKMP) to be investigated by the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK) for alleged involvement in a bribery case related to forest area management, which further fuels public suspicion regarding the ethical governance of the nation's forests.

Raja Juli Antoni has faced intense and immediate public backlash for his handling and commentary following the Sumatra disaster. The most severe and widely condemned blunder was his use of the phrase "good momentum" to describe the deadly floods and landslides in Sumatra, arguing that it was a 'good momentum' for policy evaluation. This statement was immediately and widely condemned by netizens, politicians, and public figures as insensitive and lacking empathy towards the hundreds of victims who lost their lives or homes.

His public image was further damaged by a viral photo showing him playing dominoes with a former suspect in an illegal logging case. Critics swiftly labelled this a fatal ethical misstep, arguing that it compromised the integrity of the Minister responsible for cracking down on forest crimes, especially when illegal logging was heavily suspected as the root cause of the floods.

Although he correctly acknowledged the disaster as a sign of fundamental failures in environmental management, the public focus remains on his clumsy communication and the need for concrete action against the powerful forces driving deforestation, rather than his rhetoric. The House of Representatives (DPR) even called for him to be summoned to discuss the massive logs found in the floodwaters.

In essence, Siti Nurbaya's public condemnation is for the policy foundation that created the problem, whereas Raja Juli Antoni's is for his tactless statements and questionable associations while managing the immediate crisis.

The public holds Bahlil Lahadalia, the Minister of Energy and Mineral Resources (ESDM) is responsible for the regulation and oversight of the mining industry. Given that much of the environmental damage in the headwaters of Sumatra's rivers is linked to extractive industries, including mining, critics demand accountability for whether his ministry adequately supervised these activities. They question if the ministry failed to anticipate the consequences of mining activities in ecologically sensitive areas, especially in the face of known extreme weather patterns.

These three ministers are held accountable by various public elements not for the immediate disaster response, but for the policy failures and administrative negligence over land-use permits and environmental protection that critics assert turned a severe rainfall event into a large-scale ecological disaster.

Back again to our main topic.

Work on environmental ethics typically examines the moral relationship between human beings and the rest of the natural world. It seeks to expand the moral community beyond just humans, raising questions like: Do animals, plants, and ecosystems have intrinsic value? Should they be valued only for what they offer us, or also for their own sake? Such a work would likely survey different philosophical approaches—from human‑centred (anthropocentric) ethics to more life‑centred or ecosystem‑centred worldviews.

According to Environmental Ethics by Marcus Wright (2022, Bibliotex), in environmental philosophy,  environmental ethics is an established field of practical philosophy, which reconstructs the essential types of argumentation that can be made for protecting natural entities and the sustainable use of natural resources. The main competing paradigms are anthropocentrism, physiocentrism (also called ecocentrism), and theocentrism. Environmental ethics exerts influence across a wide range of disciplines, including environmental law, environmental sociology, ecotheology, ecological economics, ecology, and environmental geography. 

Anthropocentrism, which considers human interests as primary—thereby often seeing nature and non‑human life primarily in instrumental terms, as means for human benefit.  Biocentrism, which attributes intrinsic value to all living beings, not just humans, under this view, all living organisms matter morally simply by virtue of being alive. Ecocentrism (or holistic/ecological ethics), which considers ecosystems—with their interdependent species, nonliving components,  and ecological processes—as morally significant as wholes, not just as a collection of individual beings. 

Marcus Wright seeks to challenge the prevailing human-centred worldview by arguing that nature possesses intrinsic value beyond its utility to humankind. It emphasises that ethical responsibility must extend to ecosystems, species, and future generations, rather than being confined to immediate human interests. Wright explores philosophical traditions that underpin environmental thought, from deep ecology to ecofeminism, and critiques the exploitative tendencies of industrial society. He insists that environmental ethics is not merely an abstract philosophy but a practical framework for guiding policy, technology, and everyday choices. Ultimately, the book conveys that the survival of humanity is inseparable from the flourishing of the natural world, and that genuine justice requires recognising the moral standing of non-human life.

Wright argues that traditional ethics, rooted in human welfare and social contracts, fails to account for the moral significance of non-human entities. He explores how industrial progress and consumer culture have normalised the exploitation of nature, framing it as a resource rather than a community of living systems. Wright introduces key philosophical debates—such as whether value is intrinsic to nature or merely assigned by human perception—and highlights the urgency of rethinking our ethical frameworks in light of ecological crises. Wright establishes environmental ethics as a necessary corrective, urging readers to expand their moral imagination beyond human boundaries. Where conventional ethics has largely confined itself to human relationships, rights, and duties, environmental ethics insists on widening the circle of moral concern to include non-human life and ecological systems. This correction challenges the assumption that nature is merely a backdrop or a warehouse of resources, and instead frames it as a community of beings with intrinsic value. Wright argues that such a shift is essential because it reorients human responsibility away from domination and exploitation towards stewardship, reciprocity, and respect. By doing so, environmental ethics provides a counterbalance to the industrial and consumerist worldview, reminding us that justice and sustainability cannot be achieved without recognising the moral standing of the natural world.

According to Wright, the advance of industrialisation and the rise of consumer culture have gradually normalised the exploitation of nature by embedding it into everyday life and economic systems. Industrial progress is celebrated as a symbol of human achievement, yet it is built upon the relentless extraction of resources, the transformation of landscapes, and the commodification of living systems. Consumer culture reinforces this pattern by teaching individuals to equate well-being with material acquisition, thereby masking the ecological costs behind the glamour of convenience and abundance. Over time, these practices have become so deeply woven into social norms and economic structures that the exploitation of the environment appears natural, inevitable, and even desirable. Wright insists that this normalisation is precisely what must be challenged, for it blinds society to the moral significance of ecological degradation and perpetuates a worldview in which nature is reduced to a warehouse of goods rather than a community of life.

Wright explains that environmental ethics and animal ethics are closely related but not identical: environmental ethics focuses on the moral value of ecosystems, species, and the natural world as a whole, while animal ethics concentrates on the moral standing and welfare of individual sentient creatures. Animal ethics, as described here, is the philosophical view that animals deserve ethical consideration because of their capacity to suffer, feel, and live meaningful lives, and thus should not be reduced to mere resources for human use.

Wright situates animal ethics as a vital companion to environmental ethics, though the two disciplines diverge in emphasis. Environmental ethics is holistic, concerned with the preservation of biodiversity, ecological systems, and the integrity of nature as a collective entity. Animal ethics, by contrast, is individualistic, centring moral concern on the rights and welfare of sentient beings. Environmental ethics may sometimes justify actions that harm individual animals for the sake of ecosystem balance, but animal ethics insists that each creature’s suffering and well-being must be taken seriously. Wright portrays this tension not as a contradiction but as a necessary dialogue: environmental ethics broadens our moral imagination to include the whole of nature, while animal ethics ensures that individual lives are not overlooked. Together, they form a more complete ethical framework, reminding us that justice must encompass both the flourishing of ecosystems and the dignity of individual animals.

Imagine a grand assembly hall where the rainforest, dressed in emerald robes, takes the podium as the chairperson. Beside it sits a scruffy street cat, representing the voice of individual animals. The rainforest speaks of balance, biodiversity, and the collective survival of ecosystems, while the cat interrupts with sharp wit, reminding everyone that justice is meaningless if the suffering of individuals is ignored. The meeting quickly becomes a parody of human politics: the rainforest proposes sweeping policies to protect rivers and forests, while the cat demands food, shelter, and dignity for every creature. Together, they expose the absurdity of a worldview that celebrates industrial progress yet forgets the moral standing of both ecosystems and sentient beings. The poster’s slogan reads: “No Justice Without Leaves and Whiskers.”

Marcus Wright’s Environmental Ethics portrays the relationship between environmental ethics and animal ethics as one of cause and consequence, rather than simple parallelism. He explains that when we begin to take environmental ethics seriously—acknowledging the intrinsic value of ecosystems and the moral significance of the natural world—it inevitably reshapes how we think about individual animals. Environmental ethics provides the broader framework: it insists that the destruction of habitats, pollution, and ecological imbalance are moral wrongs because they undermine the integrity of nature itself. The consequence of this recognition is that animal ethics emerges as a necessary extension, since the degradation of ecosystems directly harms the lives of sentient creatures who depend upon them. Conversely, Wright argues that animal ethics, by insisting on the dignity and welfare of individual beings, often leads us back to environmental ethics, because protecting animals cannot be achieved without safeguarding the habitats and ecological systems in which they live. Thus, the two are causally intertwined: environmental ethics generates the conditions for animal ethics to be meaningful, while animal ethics reinforces the urgency of environmental ethics by grounding it in the lived suffering and flourishing of individual creatures.

[Part 3]
[Part 1]

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