Beneath the amber skies of Indonesian Borneo, the earth itself is burning — ancient carbon locked in peatlands for millennia now erupting into the atmosphere as subterranean fires consume 200,000 hectares and push toxic smog across five nations. Volunteer firefighters, many of them indigenous Dayak and Banjar people, wage an exhausting battle against an invisible enemy while tens of thousands fall ill and two of their own have already died. This crisis is not a sudden disaster but the culmination of decades of industrial land drainage that transformed one of the world's great carbon reservoirs
Volunteers battle Indonesia's peat 'carbon bombs' amid toxic haze crisis
Over 50,000 respiratory infection cases recorded in Indonesia between July-August, including 12,000 children under five; two volunteer firefighters have died; thousands across Southeast Asia experiencing acute health impacts from toxic smog.
Once a fire becomes uncontrolled, the losses are enormous.
Mark
So these aren't just surface fires—they're burning underground. How does that even work?
Mimi
Peat is partially decomposed plant material that's been accumulating for thousands of years in waterlogged conditions. When you drain the peatland for agriculture, the water table drops and the peat dries out. Once it's dry enough, it can catch fire and smoulder for months, even years, burning deep beneath the surface where water can't easily reach it.
Luke
And we know for certain that industrial drainage is the primary cause of this drying? Or is that one expert's interpretation?
Mimi
The reporting attributes that directly to Professor Page, who has three decades of research on Asian peatlands. She's quite clear: plantations drained the peatlands to make them suitable for agriculture. But you're right to push—the source doesn't present competing explanations from, say, plantation operators or government officials defending the drainage.
Mark
What about the volunteers themselves—are they mostly local people, or are they brought in from outside?
Mimi
Many are indigenous Dayak and Banjar people, which is significant because these same communities have historically been blamed for starting fires through traditional farming. Now they're the ones risking their lives to stop them.
Luke
The source says two volunteers have died "recently" and "reportedly" after their health deteriorated. Do we know their names, how many days ago, or is that detail genuinely unavailable?
Mimi
The reporting doesn't provide those specifics. It's a real gap—we know it happened, but we don't have the granular detail that would let us understand the individual cost.
Mark
And the 50,000 respiratory infections—is that confirmed cases or estimates?
Mimi
Indonesia's Health Ministry recorded them, so it's an official count, not an estimate. Though the source doesn't say whether those are confirmed diagnoses or reported cases.
Luke
Fair. One more thing: the source mentions a "Super El Niño" driving drought, but doesn't explain what that is or how certain scientists are that it's the primary driver of these particular fires.
Mimi
Right. It's mentioned as context for why fires are spreading across Indonesia generally, but the reporting doesn't dig into how much of Borneo's fire crisis is attributable to climate versus land-use decisions.
Mark
So the real story is that industrial drainage made the peatlands vulnerable, and then drought lit the match.
Mimi
Exactly. And the volunteers are fighting a fire that wouldn't exist in its current form if the peatlands hadn't been drained in the first place.
Luke
Which raises the question: who's accountable for that drainage? The source doesn't name any companies or officials responsible for the decision to drain these lands.
The Pulse
- Peat fires burning underground across 200,000 hectares of Borneo are releasing millions of tonnes of ancient greenhouse gases in what scientists describe as a 'carbon bomb' detonating in slow motion.
- Toxic smog has crossed international borders, blanketing Singapore, Manila, Kuala Lumpur, and Brunei — with pollution levels reaching nearly 75 times WHO safe limits and over 50,000 respiratory cases recorded in Indonesia alone, including 12,000 children under five.
- Volunteer firefighters, many of them indigenous Dayak and Banjar people, are battling subterranean blazes with hand tools and makeshift irrigation systems, sleeping near fire lines and breathing air laced with carbon monoxide — two have already died.
- Industrial drainage of peatlands for plantations, not indigenous farming practices, is the root cause experts identify — yet indigenous communities continue to bear both the blame and the burden of fighting fires they did not start.
- With drought persisting and no rain in sight, firefighters and communities across the region face months of uncertainty, waiting for relief that may not arrive before the fires consume what little remains.
Beneath the amber skies of Indonesian Borneo, the earth itself is burning — ancient carbon locked in peatlands for millennia now erupting into the atmosphere as subterranean fires consume 200,000 hectares and push toxic smog across five nations. Volunteer firefighters, many of them indigenous Dayak and Banjar people, wage an exhausting battle against an invisible enemy while tens of thousands fall ill and two of their own have already died. This crisis is not a sudden disaster but the culmination of decades of industrial land drainage that transformed one of the world's great carbon reservoirs into a tinderbox — and the fires, scientists warn, are merely the loudest expression of damage that never truly stops.
The sky over Borneo has turned amber and suffocating, thick with smoke rising not from visible flames but from the earth itself. Peat burning underground is releasing carbon locked in the soil for millennia. For more than a month, Dwi Sujatmoko, a 35-year-old volunteer firefighter, has been breathing this air alongside thousands of others fighting a fire that refuses to die.
Since early July, peat fires across Indonesian Borneo have consumed roughly 200,000 hectares. The volunteers — many of them indigenous Dayak and Banjar people — work with hand tools and portable pumps against an enemy that burns beneath the surface, invisible and relentless. Two volunteers have already died. Sujatmoko understands the stakes: once underground fire spreads beyond control, the losses, he says, are enormous.
What makes these fires catastrophic is their location. Borneo sits atop one of the world's largest tropical peatland ecosystems — a vast carbon reservoir where a single hectare of deep peat can hold more than 6,000 tonnes of carbon. When peat burns, that ancient carbon does not seep slowly into the atmosphere. It explodes upward. Scientists call peatlands 'carbon bombs' for exactly this reason.
The toxic cloud has crossed international borders, blanketing Singapore, Manila, Kuala Lumpur, and Brunei. Pollution indices have soared to nearly 75 times WHO recommended levels in some areas. Indonesia's Health Ministry recorded over 50,000 respiratory infection cases between July and August — more than 12,000 of them children under five. People are breathing particulate matter so fine it passes through the lungs into the bloodstream.
Fighting peat fires demands extraordinary endurance. The fuel burns both above and below ground, and firefighters must saturate the earth until it becomes, as Sujatmoko describes it, 'like porridge.' They dig ponds and canals, drive pipes into the ground, and sleep near the fire line to work through the night. Even extinguished fires can reignite from hidden fuel below. Water is scarce. Fatigue is constant. Sujatmoko speaks of missing his family but says duty compels him to stay.
This crisis did not emerge from nowhere. Decades of industrial development transformed Kalimantan into Indonesia's most deforested region. Peatlands were drained for logging and plantations — a process that made them permanently fire-prone and causes continuous carbon emissions even without flames. Authorities have historically blamed indigenous communities and their traditional farming methods, but Tono, a representative of the Dayak Kanayatn people, firmly rejects this narrative. Dayak communities practice careful, multi-generational land stewardship. The architects of this catastrophe are the industrial interests that drained the peatlands — Kalimantan alone lost nearly 160,000 hectares of forest in 2025.
As drought persists and the smog refuses to lift, Sujatmoko and the volunteers face months ahead with no clear end in sight. 'We also hope rain comes soon,' he says. The deeper question is whether the world will reckon with the industrial decisions that made this catastrophe not just possible, but inevitable.
The sky over Borneo has turned the color of old amber, thick and suffocating. Smoke rises not from visible flames but from the earth itself—peat burning underground, releasing carbon that has been locked in the soil for millennia. The air tastes like tear gas. It stings the eyes and claws at the throat. This is what Dwi Sujatmoko, a 35-year-old volunteer firefighter, has been breathing for more than a month as he and thousands of others fight a fire that refuses to die.
Since early July, peat fires across Indonesian Borneo have consumed roughly 200,000 hectares of forest and farmland. The volunteers—many of them indigenous Dayak and Banjar people—work with hand tools, portable pumps, and carts against an enemy that burns beneath the surface, invisible and relentless. Two volunteers have already died, their health destroyed by the work and the toxic air. Sujatmoko knows the stakes. "Once a fire becomes uncontrolled, it harms many people," he says. "Not just humans, but also animals and plants. If underground fire spreads and can no longer be controlled, the losses are enormous."
What makes these fires catastrophic is not just their scale but their location. Borneo sits atop one of the world's largest tropical peatland ecosystems—4.5 million hectares of waterlogged forest and swamp that serves as a vast carbon reservoir. Peat accumulates carbon for thousands of years because waterlogged conditions slow decomposition. A single hectare of deep peat in Kalimantan can hold more than 6,000 tonnes of carbon, roughly equivalent to the annual emissions of 4,800 cars. When peat burns, that ancient carbon does not seep slowly into the atmosphere. It explodes upward. Scientists call peatlands "carbon bombs" for this reason. Dr. Nisa Novita, a peatland researcher at the Indonesian conservation organization Yayasan Konservasi Alam Nusantara, explains that the carbon stored in these deposits can be released "very rapidly" once fire takes hold.
The toxic cloud spreading from these fires has crossed international borders. Singapore, Manila, Kuala Lumpur, and Brunei are all blanketed in smog. Air pollution indices have soared to nearly 75 times the World Health Organization's recommended level in some places. Between July and August, Indonesia's Health Ministry recorded over 50,000 cases of respiratory infections linked to the fires. More than 12,000 of those cases involved children under five. People are breathing in carbon monoxide and particulate matter so fine it passes through the lungs into the bloodstream, causing damage to the heart and other organs. Susan Page, a professor at the University of Leicester who has studied Asian peatlands for three decades, describes the reality plainly: "Living in this kind of pollution cloud is extremely unhealthy."
The volunteers on the fire line face conditions that seem designed to break human endurance. Peat fires are notoriously difficult to extinguish because the fuel burns both above and below ground. To fight them, firefighters must saturate the earth until it becomes "like porridge," as Sujatmoko describes it. They dig ponds and canals through bone-dry peat. They drive pipes into the ground to create makeshift irrigation systems. Some sleep near the fire line so they can work through the night. Even when a fire appears extinguished, it can reignite, fed by hidden fuel deep underground. Water is scarce. Fatigue is constant. Sujatmoko speaks of missing his family, his children, his wife. "We get exhausted," he says. "But for now, all of us are putting those things aside. We're doing everything we can to help deal with this haze disaster because it's our duty."
The crisis did not emerge from nowhere. Decades of industrial development have transformed Kalimantan into Indonesia's most deforested region. During the Suharto era and beyond, vast areas of rainforest and peatland were cleared for logging, plantations, and large-scale agriculture. The peatlands themselves were drained—a process that made them far more fire-prone. Drained peat does not just burn during fires; it emits carbon dioxide continuously, year-round, whether flames are visible or not. The fires are simply the most dramatic expression of damage that is happening all the time. Yet authorities have historically blamed indigenous communities for the blazes, pointing to traditional farming methods that use controlled burns. Tono, a representative of the Dayak Kanayatn people, pushes back against this narrative. Dayak communities practice uma bukit, or hill farming, rooted in maintaining balance with nature. Their methods are careful, planned, and guided by multi-generational custom. They are not the architects of this catastrophe. The industrial drainage of peatlands for plantations is. Kalimantan lost almost 160,000 hectares of forest in 2025 alone—more than one-third of Indonesia's total forest loss that year.
As drought persists and fires continue to spread, Sujatmoko and the volunteers face months ahead with no clear end in sight. Water remains scarce. Fatigue accumulates. The smog shows no sign of lifting. "We also hope rain comes soon," Sujatmoko says. "We've spent months away from home. May all the efforts of those on the front lines be a blessing for everyone." The question now is whether the rains will come before the fires consume what remains, and whether the world will reckon with the industrial decisions that made this catastrophe possible.
Notable Quotes
Peatlands are incredibly effective carbon stores because their waterlogged conditions slow decomposition, allowing carbon to accumulate underground for thousands of years. But this also means they can become a 'carbon bomb' when they are drained or burned.— Dr. Nisa Novita, peatland researcher at Yayasan Konservasi Alam Nusantara
Living in this kind of pollution cloud is extremely unhealthy. They're breathing in carbon monoxide, which is toxic, and very finely divided particulate matter that can pass through the lungs into the bloodstream and cause further problems elsewhere in the body, including issues with the heart.— Susan Page, professor at University of Leicester's school of geology and the environment
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