Greetings from KARAJA #2

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CURRENT LOCATION: Sumba, Indonesia

LOCAL TIME: 22h15

LOCAL TEMPERATURE: 24 degrees

CURRENTLY READING: A woman is a school by Céline Seaman

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Hi there,

The second time this newsletter travels to Karaja, it comes with a focus on natural dyes. In the first edition (you can read it [here] if you haven’t already), I reflected on an interesting report by Fashion Revolution India, exploring how craft can be a climate-positive solution. In line with that approach, I wanted to dive deeper into the power of natural dyes, especially in an age where chemical ones have become the norm.

This week we are celebrating Fashion Revolution Week, which each year happens around the 24th of April. Why? In 2013 on that exact date Rana Plaza, a garment factory in Bangladesh, collapsed and 1134 garment workers died. The NGO was founded after the incident to transform the fashion industry for the better. The theme this year is “Think Globally, Act Locally”, perfectly in line with what we are trying to do with the local upcycling hubs, hopefully one day creating a global network.

Natural dyes in Sumba | An ancient tradition kept alive through generations

I had heard of natural dyeing before coming to Sumba and even tried my hand at it with beetroot and onion skins (hi fellow fashion students, haven’t we all been there?). But I had never witnessed the process the way it’s meant to be: in real life, rooted in tradition. One of the core missions of Kaka Asty, the founder of Karaja Sumba, is to keep the knowledge of natural dyeing alive. Why? Because these are skills passed down from generation to generation, unwritten, taught by touch, feeling, and intuition.

The risk is: when the younger generation loses interest or access to this knowledge, it slowly fades away. Just as naturally dyed garments do. Asty saw this knowledge slipping, and decided to act. Today, all Karaja ikat is dyed using natural materials. So how does that actually work?

Sourcing natural dyes | Thank you, Ibu Bumi

When I first met Asty, I remember how passionately she spoke about not pushing Mother Earth. I told her my favourite colour is blue and that I loved her indigo-dyed ikats. She explained how indigo is one of the most difficult, and therefore expensive, colours to produce. It’s seasonal and can’t be harvested year-round.

The same goes for many other colours, which are extracted from tree bark, wood, leaves, or a mix of various sources. Since reviving these practices, the range of colours has grown more vibrant and diverse. Most recently, the weavers added a stunning green, widely agreed to be the most difficult colour to achieve, requiring a blend of several different plants.

It’s a time-intensive process: materials must be foraged from the forest, prepared, boiled, dyed, and then fixed. At Karaja, they use a powder made from corals to fix the colours. Who would’ve thought? This ensures the colours don’t fade when the fabric is washed.

Redyeing as a way to make garments last | My work in action

Beyond dyeing yarns, the Karaja community also offers to dye old textiles and garments, a perfect example of garment durability in action. By changing the colour, garments can be given a second life. A white shirt turned greyish? A stained favourite you still want to wear? Dye it.

Since moving to Sumba, I’ve re-dyed a dozen of my garments. I’m always so happy with the results. They get a new chance, increase personal attachment and show that nature has all the answers we are looking for. Essentially, my work on finding ways to make garments last in action.

Water Pollution | Also a Harsh Reality in Indonesia

“I can see what will be the trending colour of next season by the colour of the river.”

This quote, commonly heard near garment factories, says a lot. For many years local communities in the Global South have witnessed multi-coloured rivers, as a result of effluent from the dyeing and processing of clothes for global clothing brands1. Rivers running red, blue, or neon pink are a visible result of unchecked chemical dyeing. In many places, factories either don’t follow water treatment protocols or there are no standards in place at all, resulting in widespread pollution.

Greenpeace has published dozens of reports on the negative impacts the fashion and textile industry have on the many communities in the Global South (of which Indonesia is one). Their work is vital in ensuring these injustices are brought to light, holding companies and governments accountable. And ourselves, because we can also choose to buy less new garments, be more critical of what brands we buy them from, influence brands and question governments.

Pollution is colonialism | Why should we tolerate pollution?

Today, you can buy the threads to weave Ikat in every colour imaginable. It’s easy, affordable, and offers colour ranges that natural dyes can’t always achieve. This convenience has led weavers in Sumba to switch to synthetic, ready-made dyes.

But the difference is striking. Naturally-dyed ikat carries a subtle, earthy aroma. This benefits our skin, which is our body’s largest organ, and is constantly in contact with what we wear. If our clothes are dyed with chemicals, that’s what our pores absorb. While research is still evolving, some studies suggest chemical dyes can harm our health, causing skin issues, and even impacting fertility.

And of course, the environmental impact is immense. Fashion Revolution2reports that over 8,000 chemicals are used in the fashion manufacturing process. Many companies don’t disclose which ones, or how they manage the resulting waste. So who decides what’s a “safe” level of pollution?

That’s what Max Liboiron questions in their book Pollution is Colonialism. Why is “10 particles per litre” deemed safe, and “11” not? These thresholds can be used to justify permissible pollution. In other words, giving organizations the right to pollute. It’s rooted in the colonial view that land is a resource, something humans can control, extract from, or “manage.” Liboiron writes: “Resources refer to unidirectional relations where aspects of land are useful to particular, colonial ends.” We take and take, and forget to give.

A reminder to be mindful of how I approach my work, especially within research frameworks shaped by colonial history, where the default is to “observe the other.” Rather than getting caught up in graphs and methodologies that don’t consider the specific context I live in, I want to embrace the natural rhythms of Mother Earth. To deeply learn from the Sumbanese people who have been practicing these traditions for centuries.

What I keep coming back to is this: in order to move forward, we may need to look back. Learning from our ancestors might just be the most powerful way to safeguard our future.

Lots of love,

Hestie -x-