The volunteers risking their lives to defuse Indonesia's wildfire 'carbon bombs'

Thick, amber‑hued smog blankets Borneo, drifting across national borders to reach Singapore, Manila and Kuala Lumpur. On the ground, smoke rises from the soil like tear gas, a sensation described by volunteer firefighter Dwi Sujatmoko: “It hits your chemoreceptor consecutive away, your eyes pain – that’s much or little what it’s like,” he says. “People accidental these fires are bonzer due to the fact that of the flames and the smoke. And they’re right.” The 35‑year‑old has spent weeks amid the haze, inhaling millennia‑old carbon particles while battling a blaze that shows no sign of abating. Using hand tools, carts and portable pumps, Sujatmoko and thousands of other volunteers – many of them Indigenous Dayak or Banjar – confront a fire that has scorched more than 200,000 hectares of forest and farmland in Indonesian Borneo since early July. Beneath the surface, subterranean peat fires continue to smoulder, flooding the air with toxic fumes. “Once a fire becomes uncontrolled, it harms many people. Not just humans, but also animals and plants,” Sujatmoko warns. “If underground fire spreads and can no longer be controlled, the losses are enormous.” The disaster stems from a “Super El Niño” that has intensified drought, igniting thousands of hotspots nationwide and creating the region’s worst haze in over a decade. What makes Borneo’s blazes especially alarming is their location within one of the planet’s largest tropical peatland complexes – a 4.5‑million‑hectare swathe of forest and swamp that, under normal conditions, locks away vast stores of ancient carbon. When peat ignites, it risks releasing millions of tonnes of carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide and methane – a “pulse” of greenhouse‑gas emissions that has earned the nickname “carbon bomb.” Dr Nisa Novita, a peatland researcher with Yayasan Konservasi Alam Nusantara (YKAN), explains: “Peatlands are incredibly effective carbon stores because their waterlogged conditions slow decomposition, allowing carbon to accumulate underground for thousands of years.” She adds: “But this also means they can become a ‘carbon bomb’ when they are drained or burned, because that carbon can be rapidly released into the atmosphere.” “Tropical peatlands in Indonesia are among the world’s most effective natural carbon stores. The deeper the peat, the greater the carbon stock – and in Kalimantan, we have found peat deposits that can exceed 20 metres in depth.” “A peatland that deep has been known to harbour more than 6,000 tonnes of carbon – roughly equivalent to the yearly CO₂ emissions of 4,800 cars – per hectare. And when it burns, says Dr Nisa, that fossilised carbon can be released into the atmosphere ‘very rapidly’.” The resulting pollution is being felt across Southeast Asia. In Indonesia, Brunei, Malaysia, Singapore and the Philippines, air‑quality indexes have soared to “unhealthy” levels – in some places roughly 75 times the World Health Organization’s guideline – driving a surge in hospital admissions. Between July and August, Indonesia’s Health Ministry logged over 50,000 respiratory‑infection cases linked to land and forest fires, more than 12,000 of them involving children under five. “Everybody who’s living within that haze reality is breathing in the products of those smouldering peat fires,” says Susan Page, professor of geology and environment at the University of Leicester, who has studied Asian peatlands for three decades. “They’re breathing in carbon monoxide, which is toxic, and they’re breathing in the very finely divided particulate matter… [which] can pass through the alveoli in the lungs into the bloodstream and cause further problems elsewhere in the body, including issues with the heart.” “Living in this kind of haze reality is extremely unhealthy.” At the fire line, volunteers risk their lives and lungs to extinguish peat fires that are notoriously difficult to put out. Two volunteers in Central Kalimantan have died in recent days after their health deteriorated from firefighting efforts. Cloaked in toxic haze that can shave years off a lifespan, crews have dug ponds, canals and borewells through bone‑dry peat to keep hoses supplied, laid makeshift irrigation pipes to attack underground flames, and slept within striking distance of the