Oh, how we wish the haze choking South-East Asia was just fog

At last, over the weekend, the “haze” began to subside over Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, where I live. For nearly two months, the noxious air emanating from fires, mainly on the islands of Borneo and Sumatra, had caused about 300,000 to suffer respiratory illness in Indonesia and led to a 260 per cent surge in asthma cases in Malaysia.

As this blight on daily life lifted in parts of the region, two thoughts struck me: first, how unaware so many are in other parts of the world about what the haze actually is, and second, how little serious attention it has been given in most international news. Fellow tennis players returning to our club’s courts, after weeks of enforced absence, agreed: if the haze had enveloped countries in Western Europe, the whole world would know about it, just as they were fully informed about wildfires in Greece and California. But South-East Asia? Not so much.

“Is it like heavy fog?” This question, from an old friend from the UK, seems to typify perceptions further abroad. No, it isn’t, not at all. The fires burn forests and peatlands that can smoulder and reignite for months, producing such a thick, toxic smoke that the authorities have just sent a bus fitted out with oxygen tanks to one city in the Indonesian part of Borneo. Readers may have seen pictures of such vicinities: hellscapes where the very air appears to have turned orange, and where one resident was quoted as saying that just breathing in was like smoking a cigarette.

Show caption: People wearing face masks walk past a government public hous…

For those close to the fires, life must be unbearable. In Malaysia and Singapore, we get the aftereffects: the prevailing winds send heavily polluted air that blanketed the countries and caused “weeks of misery”, as The Straits Times newspaper put it succinctly. Photos don’t do it justice; they can make it look as though we’ve just had a few grey skies. It’s far more than that. The acrid smell hits you first, then you can taste it in your mouth, and your eyes may sting if you’re outside too long. Buildings that I can normally see clearly from my balcony, disappear. Schools close, all organised outdoor sport stops, and you’re advised to limit time outside as the haze contains large amounts of carbon monoxide and tiny particulates, both of which can enter the bloodstream.

It is also near inescapable. Staying inside only protects you if you are in sealed rooms with purified air. As it is, people generally use air conditioning less than they do in the Gulf, and so many buildings – especially if they’re a bit older – were never built to be airtight in the first place. So the filthy air is near bound to find you one way or another.

The fact that the haze is particularly bad this year, partly owing to what some have taken to calling a “Godzilla” El Nino, is why it has made the news, albeit in a slightly distanced way. When I read western reports about it, I can’t help but feel a sense – quite possibly unconscious – of “bad things happen in developing countries, and here’s another one”. There’s a lack of connection.

Show caption: A volunteer from the Central Kalimantan Forest and Land Fire…

It also doesn’t help that the haze is frequently described as being “seasonal”. It is, in that it is regular, coinciding with dry weather and northward winds around this time of year. But it is not a natural phenomenon. It is a man-made disaster, chiefly originating in the draining of peatlands in order to grow cash crops, and slash-and-burn agricultural practices on plantations in Indonesia. These are illegal, but attractive to farmers, especially smallholders, as this method is so much cheaper than the alternatives.

The Indonesian authorities have tried to take action – the operating licences of 26 companies linked to the wildfires have been suspended, while President Prabowo Subianto has described deliberate burning as “ecological terrorism” and ordered numerous agencies to investigate – but his is an enormous, and yes, still developing, country, and enforcement is challenging.

There is always a bit of bickering between the countries affected. When understandable frustration in Malaysia and Singapore boils over, sharp words are sometimes greeted by prickly comments from Indonesian officials. Earlier this month, one pushed back, saying: “We’re not just sending over the haze. When there’s no haze, we send oxygen. The oxygen in Singapore and Malaysia comes from our forests, right?”

It also doesn’t help that the haze is frequently described as being 'seasonal'. It is, in that it is regular. But it is not a natural phenomenon

So it is good that in recent days, Singaporean Foreign Minister Vivian Balakrishnan announced that a joint taskforce on forest fires with Indonesia would be set up, and the national disaster management agencies of Malaysia and Indonesia have stated that they are going to hold technical discussions on co-operation to fight the fires. Concurrently, the beginning of the north-east monsoon and heavy rain at the beginning of this week in affected parts of Borneo have helped clear the air considerably, although the haze and some hotspots remain on the island the two countries share.

But this is not just a regional issue. According to one estimate, up to 900,000 hectares may have been burned in Indonesia this year, and the peatland fires have released hundreds of millions of tonnes of carbon into the atmosphere that has been stored for thousands of years. This runs the risk of contributing to accelerating global warming, and a “doom loop” of hotter weather, drier conditions and even more fires in the future.

What happens with the haze and the blazes is not, then, just a matter for South-East Asia. It should provoke just as much urgency as a natural disaster in Europe would, with sufficient international awareness for everyone to know that, unfortunately, the haze is not a matter of a bit of fog. Oh, how we wish that it were.