Bondage Hidden Beyond Sumba’s Tourist Beaches
Only a short flight and boat journey from Bali’s famous beaches, the Indonesian island of Sumba carries a darker social legacy. In parts of East Sumba, people are still born into bondage, work without wages and remain tied to noble families through a caste structure that has survived for generations.
Those held as ata, the local term for slaves or servants, may work from dawn until dusk in fields and homes. Some are transferred through marriage, while women and girls have faced sexual abuse by men from the noble class. Physical violence is also reported, especially when workers fail to meet the demands of their masters.
Indonesia has prohibited slavery for more than 160 years, and the country’s 1945 Constitution bans it. In Sumba, however, customary authority, land ownership, poverty and isolation have allowed forms of hereditary servitude to continue beneath the language of tradition.
The practice is difficult for outsiders to see. Masters and atas may sleep under the same roof, eat similar food and appear to share household tasks. The difference often becomes visible through unpaid labor, control of land, inherited status and the fear that prevents an ata from leaving.
Sumba’s turquoise waterfalls and traditional villages have attracted visitors seeking a remote tropical destination. Reaching Tanggedu village in East Sumba requires travel along rocky roads between dry hills and the coast. There is no reliable mobile phone signal in some areas, and residents cook over wood fires while cattle, goats and wild horses move through the landscape.
What Does the Caste System Mean?
Sumba’s social order is linked to marapu, an older belief system that combines ancestor worship, animist traditions and ritual obligations. About eight in 10 people on the island are Christian, yet marapu continues to shape ceremonies, family authority and social rank across many communities.
Rights activist Martha Hebi, who has studied the subject and founded the Solidarity for the Women and Children of Sumba group, described three broad social categories: the maramba, or nobles; the kabihu, or ordinary people; and the atas, who occupy the lowest position.
Many maramba families own large areas of land and hold influence in local communities. The atas traditionally work for them, care for animals, prepare food, cultivate fields and perform domestic duties. Their position is usually inherited from their parents, which means children can be assigned the same status before they are old enough to understand what it means.
Marapu priest Umbu Remi Deta said the belief system forms the basis of the island’s social ranking. A traditional legend holds that the maramba acquired atas when they first arrived in Sumba. For families who accept this story, the relationship is treated as an ancestral obligation rather than a form of exploitation.
That interpretation conflicts with Indonesian law. A custom cannot legally remove a person’s right to freedom, bodily safety, education or paid work. The persistence of the practice shows the gap between national rules and local power, especially where people have little access to courts, police, schools or independent income.
A Master and His Ata in Tanggedu
Kanisius Kanyali Hambarita lives in Tanggedu with Umbu Ana Rara, a 31 year old maramba who is three years younger than him. Kanisius prepares drinks, carries out household work and helps care for animals. The two men have been photographed sitting together in the heat, chewing betel nuts while chickens and geese wander around their feet.
Umbu Ana says he treats Kanisius like a member of the family. He allows him to earn a small income as a motorcycle taxi driver and to grow food on a plot of land. Both men sleep on mats on the floor of a tall traditional house, built with a roof shaped like buffalo horns.
Kanisius describes his status with a resignation that reflects how deeply the social order has been absorbed. He has said that being an ata is not a burden for him and that the status is a symbol of a tradition inherited from ancestors. He also said that it cannot simply be wiped away.
Such accounts show why the practice can be difficult to classify from a distance. Some masters provide food, housing or limited access to land, while the ata performs unpaid work and remains socially subordinate. Dependence can look like family life when the person involved has no realistic alternative.
The arrangement also survives because many atas have no land of their own, limited schooling and little money to pay for transport or legal help. Leaving may mean losing a home, food supplies and access to farmland. In remote villages, a person who breaks away can remain economically tied to the same noble family.
Violence Behind the Tradition
Other atas describe a much harsher reality. A man from the nearby village of Napu, now in his 40s, said he was beaten as a child when he did not work hard enough. He was forced to work in fields after school, feed pigs and cook for his master. He recalled being hit and having water thrown at him.
He raised his own family outside the noble household and managed to send two of his four children to university with government grants and money from livestock. Even so, the land where he grows corn, cassava and vegetables still belongs to his former master.
He says that when the family needs his labor, he goes. If they do not call, he works for himself. He has avoided directly confronting his former master, choosing instead to build a separate life while remaining linked to the old household through land ownership.
Sexual violence is another part of the system. Pastor Marlin Lomi, head of the influential Protestant synod in East Sumba, said some masters consider themselves entitled to use female servants. Andy Yentriyani, a former head of Indonesia’s National Commission on Violence Against Women, said girls in the ata class can be treated as the property of their masters.
That belief can make abuse disappear from official records. Victims may fear retaliation, lack money or believe that police will not challenge a noble family. Martha Hebi said violence frequently goes unpunished because victims do not dare to testify.
One young woman reported that she had been raped by her master and his son from the age of 13. She went to police in Waingapu in 2024 after giving birth. Two years later, the investigation had not been completed, according to Dian Sasmita of the Indonesian Child Protection Commission. The woman, who was initially helped by a rights group, now lives under protection in her village.
Why Has the Practice Survived?
Sumba lies about 2,000 kilometres east of Jakarta. Its distance from the national capital, difficult roads and uneven public services have helped preserve local authority structures. National laws reach the island, yet enforcement is much weaker when victims live far from government offices and depend on the people they may need to report.
Political power is also concentrated among the noble class. Gidion Mbilijora, who led East Sumba district for 13 years, said the caste structure is deeply rooted. He also acknowledged owning two atas himself. When local leaders, landowners and influential families belong to the maramba class, challenging the system can carry a high personal cost.
Large funerals display the continuing authority of noble families. Thousands of guests may attend, including atas, while horses are sacrificed in marapu ceremonies. Anthropologist Janet Hoskins has documented how police watched some such funerals until the early 1990s because of fears that human sacrifice might occur. In an earlier period, marapu ritual was said to require a slave to be buried with his master.
Modern slavery can take different forms. In Sumba, it is hereditary and closely connected to caste. Historian Bondan Kanumoyoso of the University of Indonesia said temporary debt bondage has also existed elsewhere, including among some Dayak communities in Kalimantan. He described Sumba’s system as distinct because the relationship can pass from one generation to the next, with masters and slaves living together.
Education and Escape
Some members of the noble class have tried to reduce the control they hold over atas. Norlina Rambu Jola Kalunga, a 54 year old noblewoman and pastor, inherited five atas when she married into a royal family. She supports emancipation and has argued that reform should begin inside noble households.
She has said that freeing her own atas would violate local custom, even though her grandfather once granted freedom to all the atas under his leadership of a Protestant community in neighbouring Central Sumba. Her position reflects the conflict between personal convictions and the social obligations attached to noble status.
Another noblewoman, Tamu Rambu Margaretha, widely known as Mama Margaretha, has campaigned for better conditions in Prailiu and travelled to Jakarta to advocate emancipation. She sent her atas to school with her children, arguing that people who cannot read or write are less able to understand their rights.
Her son, Umbu Remi, runs a gallery where local women sell ikat textiles. The cloth can take months to weave and dye, and the income gives several women, including atas, a way to earn money outside direct household labor.
Mama Margaretha says she would not prevent her atas from leaving. None has done so, however, because they lack the resources to live independently. Freedom requires more than permission. It also requires land, income, education, housing and protection from retaliation.
The man from Napu believes education has already helped his children see possibilities that were closed to him. He says he is still considered a slave, yet hopes his children will be free from the maramba. For him, knowledge is closely connected to freedom because it makes people more able to understand and use the laws that protect them.
What Is the Government Doing?
Rights groups, including Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, have urged Jakarta to enforce its constitutional ban and its commitments under international anti discrimination agreements. Amnesty Indonesia representative Haeril Halim said the government knows about the situation in Sumba but has not taken measures capable of ending it.
Andreas Harsono of Human Rights Watch Indonesia has called on the government to declare all atas free from their maramba masters. That approach would treat inherited status as a rights violation rather than as a cultural practice that can be changed gradually.
Human Rights Minister Yusril Ihza Mahendra said Indonesia is a highly diverse country and that social development differs among ethnic groups. He said the government does not want to impose sudden change, preferring to respond to each community step by step. He also said education will change the situation.
Gidion Mbilijora expressed a similar view, saying that greater knowledge would help people in lower classes understand that the social bond is no longer acceptable. The gradual approach has supporters among some local leaders, yet rights advocates warn that waiting can leave people exposed to violence and forced labor for years.
Effective action would require more than public statements. Authorities would need to investigate abuse, protect witnesses, register land rights, support children’s education and create safe routes for atas who want to leave. Police and courts would also need to treat sexual violence and forced labor as crimes, regardless of the offender’s social rank.
A Legal Ban Versus a Living Custom
The Sumba case illustrates how a legal prohibition can coexist with a powerful local institution. The Constitution grants freedom, yet customary authority determines who owns land, who performs labor and who can speak with influence in many villages.
Calling the relationship a tradition does not remove its coercive features. A person who inherits a status, cannot leave without losing access to food or land, works without pay and fears punishment does not have the same freedom as the person who controls the household.
At the same time, many people within the system describe their relationships in family terms. That language should be understood in the context of dependence. A master may provide shelter and food while still controlling the worker’s labor, movement, marriage prospects and children.
Changing the practice will require local participation, especially from churches, customary leaders, women’s groups, teachers and former atas. Religious institutions already assist some victims when they speak out. Community based support could help people report abuse without losing their homes or exposing their children to retaliation.
Tourism may bring new income to Sumba, yet visitors are unlikely to see the full structure behind village life. A traditional house, a textile gallery or a waterfall does not show who owns the land or who worked without pay to maintain it. Public attention can help, provided it leads to protection and accountability rather than treating suffering as a cultural curiosity.
The Bottom Line
- Hereditary slavery continues in parts of East Sumba despite Indonesia’s constitutional ban.
- Atas are placed at the bottom of a three level caste structure linked to marapu traditions.
- Many work without wages and remain dependent on noble families for land, housing and food.
- Former atas and rights groups report beatings, forced labor and sexual violence.
- Estimates range from about 1,700 atas in East Sumba to several thousand across the island.
- Government officials support gradual social change, while rights groups seek immediate enforcement of the law.
- Education, independent income, land access and legal protection are central to helping families leave bondage.
