Storytellers for Change: Featuring Pinarsita Juliana

Becoming a resident and a new kind of hope

by Pinarsita Juliana

For most people, a residency is an opportunity for self-development. But for someone who is on the verge of giving up, it is a new kind of hope.

This is the first part of a blog series—Pinarsita and her experience in the Indonesia Residency program with If Not Us Then Who?.

Pinarsita Juliana, a Dayak Ngaju & Batak from Central Kalimantan, an environmental & Indigenous rights activist—part of Residency Indonesia by If Not Us Then Who?, an immersive program that offers advanced artists resources, mentorship, and platforms to amplify local narratives. I use documentary storytelling and my work with Save Our Borneo to amplify Indigenous voices. My work focuses on community resistance against deforestation and extractive industries, driving social and environmental change through ethical, community-centered media.

Beyond the rain, Bogor felt different. Even under a light drizzle, my arrival that night was greeted by the hustle and bustle of traffic. The weekend traffic jams seem to have become a tourist attraction there.

But I like the cold air of this city. Central Kalimantan is hot.

When I feel called to contribute to Central Kalimantan, there should be no need for anyone to question my identity, right?

I live in Palangka Raya. My name is Pinarsita Juliana, a blend of two ethnicities from two different islands—Batak and Dayak Ngaju. My parents said the name “Pinarsita” was given by my grandfather, meaning “the one who is hoped for” or “the one who is awaited.” In my family, I am the only daughter and the youngest of three siblings.

Growing up with mixed heritage made me feel insecure at times.
“You’re an imitation—how strange. Which Indigenous community are you representing?”

Some friends said this when I first started working at the grassroots level. Maybe it was meant as a joke, but it stayed with me. It made me question myself: Am I Indigenous at all?

But over time, I learned. I have the right to choose—to determine who and what I am. I was born on Kalimantan soil, half of my blood is Dayak Ngaju, and I am close to my mother’s culture. So when I feel called to contribute to Central Kalimantan, there should be no need for anyone to question my identity, right?

For most people, a residency is an opportunity for self-development. But for someone who is on the verge of giving up, it is a new kind of hope.

I went to Bogor to participate in the Residency Program by If Not Us Then Who?

Honestly, I didn’t even know what this was. One day, I received a message to apply for the program. They said I was recommended. I felt happy, but also worried at the same time.

I had been dealing with something for about a year before this opportunity came. I stopped making films. Maybe just a few videos for work purposes as part of my role as a campaigner.

There were many reasons. Mental exhaustion was one of them. Working in a local non-government organization (NGO), I had spent years seeing problems at the grassroots. Various efforts had been made—advocacy and campaigns—but living as an Indonesian citizen makes everything far from easy.

I saw how communities conflicted with large corporations and their own government. I saw how the law imprisoned people demanding justice, even leading to death while in prison. I saw deforested forests. I saw Indigenous women crying over their forests being replaced by oil palm plantations or mining pits. I saw a lot and voiced my opinions through documentation.

I held on to the hope that things could change. But more often than not, it ended in heartbreak and disappointment.

I began to question my ability to tell the stories I had witnessed. Was the message not coming through in my films? Was I a bad storyteller?

Maybe audiovisual media was not for me, or maybe my creativity had already died.

Because of that, I stepped away for a year.

For most people, a residency is an opportunity for self-development. But for someone who is on the verge of giving up, it is a new kind of hope.

More Than Just Technique: Learning to Build Stories

In Bogor, I met new people. One of the mentors, Nanang Sujana, I had only known by name before, but had never met in person. There was also another mentor, Fadli, whom I didn’t know either.

There were only ten participants. Each came from different regions and ethnic backgrounds—Lombok, East Kalimantan, Papua, Manado, North Sulawesi, Central Sulawesi, and East Nusa Tenggara. Their ethnicities included Sasak, Batak, Dayak, Toraja, Minahasa, and some others I can’t quite remember. It was a small group, but it felt like a small picture of Indonesia.

At first, it seemed like everyone already knew each other. I felt a little out of place. But the relaxed and open learning atmosphere slowly made everything easier.

I was happy that the residency classes did not only talk about technique, but also about the quality of storytelling. Storytelling was emphasized.

I remember we were told that there are at least four “C” elements that are important in building a story. First, Conflict—to show that the problem exists. Cause—to show who or what is responsible for the problem. Cure—how the problem can be solved. And finally, Consequence—to describe the positive results or other effects that come when the problem is addressed.

I was reminded of something from some time ago, when I was writing a book and my mentor challenged me with the same thing: “What solution are you offering?” It turns out, the same question is asked in film.

There was also one word I remember, something that lingered and unsettled me: hope. Nanang said there must be hope in a film. But how can someone who is close to losing hope give hope through their film?

In the end, this residency forced me to get back up, to become aware again, and to try once more. Cure and hope.

It seems that all this time my work has been trapped in empty hope. Maybe that’s not entirely wrong—sometimes that is the reality on the ground. But if we want to create impact, there should also be solutions within that hope. If we hope, then what exactly are we hoping for, and how can we actually make it happen?

To be honest, I felt nervous and afraid when I was asked to make a film again. But fear has to be faced, right?

Returning with Stories, Moving Forward with Hope

When I returned from Bogor, I told my colleagues at Save Our Borneo, the NGO where I work, that I am going to make a film. The title is “Rayah.” I received support, and we will work as a team on this film.

Even so, I don’t dare have any expectations about what our film will turn out like. Our equipment and skills aren’t professional. But we share the same stories and concerns as the communities we work with.

Next comes the production process.

My hopes are simple—hopefully the final result can truly become an extension of the voices and stories of Indigenous communities at the grassroots level.

Follow the journey of Pinarsita Juliana in protecting nature and amplifying the rights of Indigenous Peoples.