The Sulfur Nightmare: Indonesia’s Geothermal Ambition Brings Poison Gas and Ruined Harvests to a Remote Island

BAJAWA, Indonesia — In the misty highlands of Ngada Regency on the island of Flores, the coffee groves that once sustained families have become a scarred landscape of steaming vents and acrid fumes. At night, the ground groans like a living thing. Children wheeze and snore in their sleep from irritated lungs. Rivers that once ran clear now sting the skin.

For Andi Nawa, a coffee farmer in Dusun Turetogo, Desa Wogo, the transformation has been devastating. His annual harvest has plummeted from 350 kilograms to barely 50. “We used to sell vegetables,” he said. “Now we buy them at the market.” Nearby, craters of boiling mud bubble in former garden plots, some just yards from homes.

Similar accounts come from neighbors Krispianus Lewa and San Due. Corroded metal roofs, skin rashes from contaminated water, and the constant rotten-egg smell of hydrogen sulfide have become part of daily life. Academic research documented damage to 1,579 homes across 11 villages linked to the project’s troubled history.

The Mataloko Geothermal Power Plant, operated by state utility PLN, was promoted as a cornerstone of Indonesia’s clean-energy transition and a path to electricity self-sufficiency for underdeveloped eastern regions. With roots in explorations dating back decades, the existing 2.5-megawatt unit has struggled with technical failures, including a major drilling mishap in 2002 that unleashed mud and gas. PLN is now advancing expansion plans for an additional 20 megawatts, with infrastructure nearly complete and drilling targeted soon.

Company officials insist they have followed environmental protocols, conducted monitoring, and compensated landowners. They describe the project as essential for reducing reliance on imported power and point to infrastructure improvements that benefit locals. Some residents in nearby areas also report economic gains from jobs and better roads.

Yet on the ground in Turetogo and Wogo, the promise of “green” power feels hollow. Farmers describe stunted corn, dying trees, and soil that no longer yields. The gas — invisible but corrosive — eats away at health and hope. “This is not life,” one resident told investigators. “This is suffering.”

The Mataloko case reflects broader tensions across Flores, where government ambitions for a “Geothermal Island” collide with indigenous communities’ defense of their ruang hidup — their living space. Similar resistance in Poco Leok, Wae Sano and other sites has led to project halts, court victories for locals, and interventions by Catholic Church groups citing human rights and ecological harm.

Indonesia’s national energy plans demand rapid geothermal growth to meet climate targets and power a growing economy. But critics, including local researchers and environmental monitors, warn that rushed development without genuine consent and rigorous safeguards risks turning “clean” energy into a new source of injustice — one measured in lost livelihoods, health crises, and eroded trust.

As winds carry the sulfur stench across the valleys, the question lingers in the highlands: Can a nation’s green future be built on ground that is literally and figuratively cracking beneath its people? []