Imagine the air thick with the scent of jasmine and incense, the rhythmic thunder of kendang drums vibrating in your chest, and a kaleidoscope of traditional kebaya and pangsi flowing through the streets of West Java. This is the Milangkala Tatar Sunda—a vibrant, sensory explosion celebrating the soul of the Sundanese people. It is meant to be a complete tapestry of identity, a homecoming for every corner of the highlands and coasts. But this year, there is a glaring, silent hole in the fabric: Sukabumi is missing.
For the casual observer, a missing city in a regional parade might seem like a bureaucratic hiccup or a scheduling conflict. But for those of us who track the intersection of heritage and power, this absence is a loud alarm. When a region as culturally pivotal as Sukabumi is left out of the anniversary of the Sundanese land, we aren’t just talking about a missed party; we are witnessing a fracture in the narrative of regional identity.
The frustration boiling over among cultural activists in Sukabumi isn’t merely about vanity. It is about the systemic erasure of a region that serves as a critical bridge between the mountainous interior and the coastal plains of West Java. By failing to integrate Sukabumi into the Milangkala celebrations, the organizers have inadvertently signaled that some parts of the “Tatar Sunda” are more central—and therefore more valuable—than others.
The Silent Gap in the Sundanese Symphony
To understand why this omission stings, one must understand the geography of Sundanese pride. The Sundanese people are not a monolith; they are a collection of diverse regional expressions. Sukabumi, with its unique blend of agrarian traditions and colonial-era architectural remnants, provides a specific flavor of Sundanese identity that differs from the royal echoes of Bogor or the industrial grit of Karawang.
When the Kirab Budaya (cultural parade) rolls through Cirebon or Bogor, it is designed to be a “compass of identity,” as seen in the Binokasih processions. These events are intended to remind the youth that their identity is anchored in something deeper than modern urbanity. However, when a major administrative and cultural hub like Sukabumi is absent, the “compass” stops pointing true north. The celebration becomes a curated exhibition rather than a genuine reflection of the people.
The tension here lies in the gap between organic cultural passion and rigid governmental administration. In many cases, these festivals are managed by committees that prioritize logistical ease over cultural inclusivity. If the coordination between the local government of Sukabumi and the provincial organizers falters, the result is a cultural blackout. The activists are rightly asking: is our heritage subject to the whims of a calendar or the efficiency of a memo?
“Culture is not a commodity that can be switched on and off based on administrative convenience. When we exclude a region from its own ancestral celebration, we are not just missing a parade; we are eroding the collective memory of the people.”
The High Cost of Cultural Erasure
Beyond the emotional toll, there is a cold, hard economic reality to this exclusion. We are seeing a trend where cultural heritage is being repositioned as a driver for UMKM (Micro, Small, and Medium Enterprises) and Regional Original Income (PAD). In Bogor, the cultural parades are no longer just about prayer and pride; they are strategic economic engines that flood the streets with tourists and fuel local vendors.
By being absent from the Milangkala Tatar Sunda, Sukabumi is essentially opting out of a massive marketing opportunity. The “cultural currency” generated by these events translates directly into hotel bookings, handicraft sales, and culinary tourism. When the world looks at the Milangkala festivities, they see the vibrant energy of Karawang and the heritage of Cirebon, but Sukabumi remains a blank space on the map.
This creates a dangerous cycle of marginalization. Regions that are seen as “active” in the cultural scene receive more provincial attention and funding, while those that are absent—regardless of the reason—are viewed as stagnant. The economic ripple effect is profound: fewer tourists, less investment in local artisans, and a gradual decline in the visibility of Sukabumi’s specific traditional arts.
Navigating the Friction of Heritage and Policy
The situation in Sukabumi highlights a broader struggle within West Java: the conflict between the “official” culture promoted by the state and the “lived” culture practiced by the people. The West Java Provincial Government often views these events as milestones of governance—check-boxes of successful regional coordination. But for the Pegiat Budaya (cultural activists), the event is a sacred ritual of belonging.
The friction arises when the state attempts to “manage” culture through a top-down approach. When the logistics of traffic engineering—such as those implemented by the Cirebon City Police to secure the heritage routes—take precedence over the inclusivity of the participants, the soul of the event is compromised. We see a shift from a community-led celebration to a state-managed spectacle.
To fix this, the framework of the Milangkala Tatar Sunda must shift. It cannot be a centralized event that regions “join” by invitation. Instead, it should be a decentralized movement where the provincial government acts as a facilitator rather than a gatekeeper. The goal should be a seamless integration of all Sundanese territories, ensuring that the narrative of the “Tatar Sunda” is inclusive of every valley and village.
Reclaiming the Narrative Beyond the Parade
The outcry from Sukabumi’s cultural guardians is a healthy sign. It proves that the desire for representation is still stronger than the apathy of bureaucracy. The absence of Sukabumi in the formal parade is a failure of administration, but the protest against that absence is a victory for cultural consciousness.
Moving forward, the challenge for West Java is to decouple cultural identity from political synchronization. Heritage should not depend on whether a local mayor and a provincial governor are in sync. The traditions of the Sundanese people exist independently of the government’s ability to organize a parade. The real “Milangkala” happens every day in the workshops of the weavers, the practice rooms of the degung players, and the kitchens of the traditional cooks in Sukabumi.
The lesson here is simple: if you build a house of identity but leave out one of the foundation stones, the whole structure feels unstable. Sukabumi is not just another city on a list; it is a vital organ in the body of Sundanese culture. It is time the organizers stopped treating culture as a logistics problem and started treating it as a living, breathing entity that demands wholeness.
Does a government-led festival truly define a region’s culture, or is the real heritage found in the protests of those who feel forgotten? I’d love to hear your thoughts on whether state-sponsored “culture” helps or hinders authentic tradition.
