After confronting the limits of reforestation at scale, Bumiterra’s co-founder explores a different question: what if climate action started from the ground up?
In the first part of our conversation, Tara reflected on the limits of restoration in an extractive economy, and the difficult question of whether small-scale efforts can truly make a difference.
But if awareness alone isn’t enough, the next question becomes: what do we actually do with it?
For Tara, the answer didn’t come from scaling faster, but from thinking differently.
We’ve been told climate action belongs to governments and corporations. Where do you see individuals fitting into climate action today?
Historically, the conversation has been dominated by governments and corporations.
And those actors are important beyond doubt, they have the scale, resources, and influence to create meaningful actions.
But at the end of the day, institutions are also made up of people.
That’s something we often forget.
If you look at moments like the 2004 Aceh tsunami, it wasn’t just institutions responding – it was individuals, communities, and private actors coming together.
And I think that spirit of gotong royong is something we already have culturally – and I want to bring that into what we do at Bumiterra.
Individual efforts can feel small, even insignificant. But I choose to believe that they create momentum. They create a chain reaction that eventually reaches the right people, at the right time, with the right influence to make change.
Is that what led to the creation of Bumiterra Collective?
Yes. Originally, Bumiterra focused on working with companies restoring land at the scale of hectares. And that’s still an important part of what we do.
But over time, we started receiving messages from individuals – people asking how they could be part of the movement.
And I realized that it doesn’t really matter if it’s 100 people or 1,000. The intention is already there. So instead of overthinking whether it was “big enough,” we decided to build it first and see where it goes.
The Collective, for us, is really an experiment – not just a product or a business model. It’s an attempt to create a ground-up movement, something that channels people’s aspirations into action, however small that action might seem.
What makes individual participation different from corporate-led restoration?
I think individuals are looking for something slightly different.
It’s not just about contributing money. It’s about feeling connected to what they’re supporting.
I remember, even before starting Bumiterra, I wanted to find a trustworthy program where I could “adopt” a tree. Not just planting a seedling and leaving it, but actually monitoring it over time so that these trees I support could eventually outlive me.
Because if you think about it, trees live much longer than we do. So the goal shouldn’t just be to plant them – but to ensure they continue growing, across generations.
You’ve spoken a lot about culture and storytelling. How does that connect to reforestation?
If you think about your own life, many of us have memories tied to trees.
It could be a mango tree at your grandparents’ house, or a jackfruit tree that’s been there for generations in the community. These trees become part of your personal history. They carry stories.
And when they bear fruit, you share it with your neighbors, your family. That act of sharing is deeply human. It’s how we’ve connected with each other for generations.
Even today, when we meet friends over food, we’re continuing that same tradition in a different form.
So when we talk about reforestation, it’s not just about carbon or biodiversity. It’s also about restoring those connections – between people, and between people and nature.
Culture and storytelling are powerful because they create a bridge. They allow people, whether from cities or villages, to relate to something shared. And that shared connection is what enables collective action.
How does the Collective actually work on the ground?
At a basic level, individuals can contribute to restoring smaller plots starting from 100 square meters within a larger one-hectare ecosystem.
But the important part is how that ecosystem is designed.
We don’t just plant a single type of tree. We plant a mix of endemic species such as durian, rambutan, jengkol, petai, so that the land becomes productive again. Not just ecologically, but also economically.
We don’t take ownership of the land. It stays with them. The trees, the future harvest – that also belongs to them. That ownership creates a strong incentive to care for the land over time.
What have you learned about working with communities over the years?
One of the biggest lessons is that trust isn’t built by only sharing good news.
It’s like any real relationship: you build it through both good and difficult moments.
Recently, we had to address an early misconception where some community members, we call them our Mitra Penghijauan, thought the restoration fee was a permanent salary. We had to clarify that it depends on active restoration and sponsorship, and that the goal was never for us to support them financially forever, but so that they can one day support themselves, independent of Bumiterra.
It wasn’t an easy conversation. But instead of shielding them from uncertainty, we chose to be transparent. To explain the realities of the situation, even the uncomfortable parts.
And that actually strengthened trust.
Because they felt included – not just as recipients or beneficiaries – but as partners in the process.
How do you maintain that connection with contributors, especially when everything happens remotely?
We try to balance both emotional connection and transparency.
On one side, we document everything – when trees are planted, where they are, who is taking care of them, and what stage of restoration they’re in.
On the other side, we share stories directly from the community members. They log their daily activities through a Twitter like feed digital journal where Mitra Penghijauans can update their progress on preparing seedlings, clearing land, planting trees.
Sometimes the entries are very simple, but very human. Like someone sharing that a tree they planted has started to bear fruit.
That combination matters.
People create the emotional connection. Data reinforces credibility. You need both.
For many people, this still lives behind a screen. How would you describe what a 100m² plot actually feels like?
It feels like sitting in a space that doesn’t need walls to make you feel safe.
You’re surrounded by life. There’s a tall tree on one side, shrubs on the other. You hear insects, birds. The soil beneath you feels alive.
It doesn’t feel just like a “plot of land.” It feels like a gift.
And I think that’s what we’ve forgotten – that we were all given this, and somewhere along the way, we left it behind. But when you return to it, even for a moment, there’s a kind of grounding that’s hard to explain.
It reminds you that this connection has always been there.
And that’s something we hope the Collective contributors can experience for themselves one day. We’ve already started doing this with corporate partners, and we’re now exploring ways to extend that experience to individual contributors so they can see, and feel, what they’ve supported.
Understanding that individual action matters, it’s important to also step back and look at the bigger picture: what needs to happen for reforestation to become more accessible and more accountable at a systems level?
Regulation plays a critical role in that.
In Indonesia, we already have environmental regulations in place, but enforcement remains inconsistent. That gap is significant. Without strong enforcement, even well-designed policies struggle to create real impact.
If we look at more advanced markets, companies are often pushed to go beyond baseline emissions. When they exceed limits, they face penalties. When they perform well, they receive incentives, whether through tax benefits, subsidies, or other forms of support. Over time, this begins to shift behavior.
The question then becomes: how do we create a system where sustainable practices are not just optional, but the more logical and economically viable choice?
At the same time, we also need to acknowledge that growth remains important. The challenge is not to stop growth entirely, but to rethink what growth looks like.
Because ultimately, it’s not just about living on Earth, but learning how to live with it.
And sometimes, that perspective becomes clearer in the simplest moments. If you sit in a 100-square-meter plot of restored forest I described earlier, there’s a quiet realization that you don’t feel hungry in your stomach and mind.
It reminds us that an alternative way of living already exists. And perhaps, it’s not as far out of reach as we think.
As climate challenges continue to scale, so does the question of participation.
Not everyone will restore hectares of land. But as Tara suggests, perhaps impact doesn’t begin with scale – it begins with connection, and the willingness to act, however small that action may seem.
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