Figure 1. Satellite map of the high school (yellow dot), its surroundings, and the private cement factory (magenta circle). Source: Apple Maps.

Within the school premises, there is a total of 16 classrooms catering to students from year 10 to year 12. The student population exceeds 500, and the school employs approximately 50 teachers. In the previous year, it was estimated that if a tsunami should occur, they would only have about 15 to 20 minutes to evacuate all teachers and students through an unused forest area with no established path to reach higher ground, located about 300 metres from the school’s back gate. When we were contacted by them, they expressed concern that they did not have any guidelines for tsunami evacuation nor had they been given training or drills.

Theoretical framework

There are four known phases in disaster management: (1) mitigation, (2) preparedness, (3) response, and (4) recovery. However, de Vet et al. (2019) reveal that disaster response and recovery are still prioritised over mitigation and disaster risk reduction (DRR) in many governments. This is contrary to the studies from disaster science that claim DRR to be effective due to its focus on creating more resilient communities, even though some studies suggest that current interventions are Western-centric and might be considered oppressive or culturally inappropriate (Dyregrov & Yule, 2008; Miller et al., 2018; Math et al., 2015). One key approach in disaster risk reduction effort is to mainstream social vulnerability to address underlying factors that exacerbate the impacts (Chmutina & von Meding, 2019; Schipper & Pelling, 2006), as resilient communities are characterised by their understanding of their own power to determine how they manage their vulnerability in both short- and long-term contexts (Le Tissier & Whyte, 2022). This resonates with the growing body of literature about the strong link between climate change, human rights, and social justice. In the Indonesian context, school-based DRR programmes often emphasise outdoor activities and environmental awareness, yet Amri et al. (2017) note that these connections are rarely theorised or explicitly developed. The physical setting of disaster preparation activities inherently connects to local environmental knowledge, though this connection is often overlooked in programme design. This gap suggests an opportunity to intentionally bridge disaster preparedness with nature-based approaches.

Bird (2022) discusses at length the intersection between art therapy for social justice and climate crisis. He follows the concept of collective and intergenerational trauma that stems from the disconnection from nature we all have experienced. He summarises that the shift towards art therapy for social action comes from the facts that (1) we do not live in a social vacuum (Kaplan, 2007), (2) we desire a just and peaceful community (Hocoy, 2007), (3) we share collective and historical trauma (Talwar, 2018), and we suffer from the impacts of capitalism and neoliberalism (Bird, 2022). While the climate crisis brings about melancholia, resistance, disavowal, and denial in the Western culture of the Global North (Bednarek, 2021; Lertzman, 2015; Weintrobe, 2013), the Global South communities are becoming more and more vulnerable to disasters in real life (van Loon et al., 2020; Winsemius et al., 2018).

The disconnection to nature that is experienced by communities in the Global South does not happen haphazardly, it is commonly institutional. Like many other developing countries, Indonesia is still dealing with the consequences of the central government’s market-led policies in the 1980s and 1990s of land speculation and uncontrolled issuance of development permits (Hudalah et al., 2016; Peters, 2013). For instance, in a 2019 official report of the Indonesian House of Representatives, it was mentioned that the Environmental Impact Assessment of the local cement factory was problematic, nonetheless the factory still operates (Komisi VII DPR RI, 2019). While we often see gentrification happening in the inner city, in Indonesia it happens in the peri-urban as well as remote areas that are deemed to be strategic for development by the central government, while important local contexts are neglected (Hidayat et al., 2020). For example, since the cement factory’s opening in 2015 there have been multiple protests due to environmental crises, such as air pollution, effects of mining explosions, and dewatered rice fields; on top of the company’s failure to fulfil their promise to recruit workers locally. Such top-down government interventions consistently disregard multiple interconnected factors: socio-economic conditions, cultural practices tied to the land, local political dynamics, and environmental sustainability.

The impact of land development policies creates profound psychological and cultural ruptures in local communities’ relationship with their environment. In South Lebak, for example, traditional knowledge about tsunami evacuation has long been disrupted. While folktales once preserved the wisdom of seeking refuge at Pasir Luhur during tsunamis, this Indigenous knowledge has faded – the precise location of this ancestral haven is now unknown, and modern asphalt roads have only added to the confusion about evacuation routes. If the impact of neoliberal culture in the Global North is the inception of ‘bubbles of disavowal’ that lead to uncaring or apathy (Weintrobe, 2020), communities in the Global South suffer from the systematic moral injury of uncaring because they do not have the privilege to care (van Loon et al., 2020). As an illustration, in coastal areas close to South Lebak, there are lands where mangrove forests were cleared for commercial aquaculture, and local fishermen who previously advocated for forest conservation now work for the same shrimp farms that destroyed their traditional fishing grounds, driven by immediate economic needs. Vulnerability to natural and man-made disasters can then be understood not merely as geographical susceptibility, but as a compounded result of forced disconnection from nature and systematic negligence towards disenfranchised communities.

In nature-based art therapy or expressive therapies, both reconnections to nature and communion are reinforced (Kopytin & Rugh, 2017). While these approaches commonly involve walking during a clinical session (A’Court, 2017), and the use of found objects (Whitaker, 2021), their application in Indonesian contexts requires careful consideration of local realities. Traditional practices such as gotong royong, in which communities collectively maintain local environments, could inform group-based therapeutic activities – shifting the focus from individual healing to communal environmental restoration and shared emotional processing. Found objects are appealing not only due to their emotional and symbolic qualities (Whiteley, 2011; Wong & Lay, 2021), but also because of their therapeutic qualities when being transformed creatively from rubbish into meaningful objects (Camic, 2010). However, in communities facing environmental degradation in the Global South, engagement with found objects often emerges from economic necessity, as seen in initiatives such as creating purses from used sachets. While Wong (2021) notes how working with found objects stimulates “free play of imagination, emotional arousal, and mental activity” (p. 25), these therapeutic benefits must be contextualised within communities where ‘found objects’ are predominantly associated with environmental degradation and economic hardship. In such contexts, the therapeutic goal of imaginative transformation competes with daily realities of waste management and survival. This suggests that while found objects push forward the experience of assembling rather than solely image creation (Whitaker, 2021), their therapeutic application in Indonesian contexts needs to acknowledge the complex relationship between communities and their changing environments.

Practice description

Group participants

The participants were high-school students who were involved in their school organisations, such as the School Executive Body, Youth Red Cross, and Scouts. They took part in the intra-school disaster preparedness network to work alongside teachers and other third parties to create tools for a tsunami-ready school environment. Most of them were 15 to 17 years old and had lived all their lives in the remote South Lebak Regency. Prior to the project’s commencement, all participants submitted through their teacher a consent to participate, which was signed by their parents. The parents agreed for their children to participate in a four-day workshop that aimed to create a tsunami-response plan, two-day simulations comprising a tsunami drill and immersive refugee-camp experience, and two-day group art-making sessions. They also consented for photographs of the artwork to be used in reports and articles written by the organisers.

Group facilitators

The project brought together a multidisciplinary team of an art therapist, geophysicists, disaster scientists, university students and volunteers from disaster-management NGOs from various institutions and organisations. This diverse expertise was essential in creating a comprehensive disaster preparedness programme. Through collaboration with the local NGO (GMLS) and the school teachers, the programme was anchored in the local context and community needs.

As the main facilitator, I am an art therapist who works full time as a lecturer in a university visual arts department. My dual role as both an academic and art therapist, trained in Western therapeutic approaches but practising in an Indonesian context, brings both advantages and limitations to the project. I have been involved in post-disaster interventions since 2018, and twice before becoming an art therapist – experiences that have highlighted the gaps between Western-based disaster intervention models and local community needs. In the project, I assigned two visual arts students to co-facilitate the group, to create a more balanced power between the professional presence and the group. I made this decision after recognising how professional credentials can sometimes create barriers in community work, particularly in contexts where formal education marks class distinctions. I designed the art-making process to run for two days after the workshops and simulations, a timeframe that reflected institutional constraints rather than community rhythms.

Materials and process

The choice to use found objects and conduct walks around the school grounds originated from my art therapy training, though I had to question whether this Western-derived methodology aligned with how local communities naturally process environmental concerns. While my familiarity with both contexts helped me navigate this implementation, I acknowledge that the approach itself came from an external framework rather than local practices. This awareness influenced our practical decisions: we used strictly locally available materials, from found objects to materials bought at local stores, such as wall paint and glue. All the found objects were collected from around the school grounds – including regular trash such as plastic bags and cups, as well as a large cabinet and other objects from an ongoing renovation. Though the sourcing of local materials supported the community economy, the underlying therapeutic framework remained predominantly Western.

I structured the art-making process specifically to address difficult emotions. This approach helped participants work through their feelings following an intensive workshop and tsunami evacuation simulation – an experience they encountered for the first time. The students were aware that they would only have two days to create an artwork. The intervention began with collecting found objects and experimenting with different materials, such as clay roof tiles and plastic bags. For the students, it was their first time using found objects to make art, so the objective of this first stage was to introduce them to this new medium. The next process was led by the participants, with guidance from the facilitators. They organised themselves and decided on the artwork. This stage encompassed the objective of the whole process, which was to contain and process their emotional responses to the tsunami threat following the intensive workshops and simulations.

Vignettes

We supported the team in four days of workshops to develop the school’s Tsunami Response Procedure, followed by two days of simulations involving tsunami evacuation drills and an immersive refugee-camp experience. Although we only used the last two days for the art-making, I created a containment for emotional processing with my university-student volunteers. Nightly group sessions were held to process each day’s experiences through art-making and group reflection, each one lasting for 45 minutes. Using a free-association approach, these sessions revealed emerging themes that reflected both our group dynamics and our understanding of the participants’ experiences. For the purposes of this paper, this part will not be elaborated on.

Day 1 of art-making

The participants decided to split into two groups, one making a three-dimensional artwork and the other one a performance. For this paper, I will focus on the three-dimensional artwork and its art-making process.

The first day of art-making began with exploring the school grounds to find interesting objects, rather than the drawing or painting session the participants had expected. The first stop was at a small collapsed building that was about to be renovated. There were pieces of clay roof-tiles that caught the participants’ attention around the ruins. They started to experiment with assemblage but did not seem confident, because they were unfamiliar with the technique and using found objects as materials (Figure 2).