Who Protects the Guardians of Our Cultural Heritage?
A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend who is building a restaurant business in Malaysia.
He said,
"It's easier to build a business in Indonesia because labor is cheaper."
He probably meant it as a business observation.
But that sentence stayed with me.
Why is a country with so many skilled people still known for cheap labor?
Is that really a competitive advantage?
Or have we simply become used to an economic system that keeps undervaluing the people who create some of our greatest treasures?
I understand why businesses look for efficiency.
Every business has to think about costs.
House of Diamonds does too.
But I hope we never reach a point where lower costs become more important than the people who make our work possible.
As someone who has spent years working alongside artisans in the textile industry, I cannot help but see this through the lens of craftsmanship.
Indonesia is home to batik, handwoven textiles, natural dyeing traditions, songket, ikat, and countless other textile practices that have been passed down from one generation to the next. Countries like India, Peru, Guatemala, and many others share the same richness in their own ways.
Different cultures.
Different histories.
Yet I keep seeing the same pattern.
These countries produce beautiful works that are admired all over the world.
Their textiles find homes in boutiques, luxury hotels, designer collections, and homes across continents.
And yet, the artisans behind these works do not always receive economic value that reflects the value they create.
Not because they lack skill.
Not because they lack dedication.
Many of them have spent decades mastering techniques that cannot be replaced by machines.
More often, the issue is how the system distributes value. In many global supply chains, the biggest financial rewards pile up downstream—in branding, marketing, distribution, and market access—while the people who actually make the work often receive the smallest share.
To me, this is one of the biggest paradoxes of our time.
In Indonesia, we often use the phrase warisan budaya—our cultural heritage.
But to me, warisan is not something we inherit once.
It is something we choose to carry forward.
We celebrate batik when it receives international recognition.
We speak up for our cultural heritage whenever questions of ownership arise.
Those conversations matter.
But there is another question that deserves just as much attention.
The world can debate who owns a cultural heritage. Yet far fewer people ask whether the people who preserve it can actually live with dignity.
Because cultural heritage is not preserved by museums alone.
Nor by legal recognition.
It is preserved by people.
By the woman who patiently draws wax onto cloth every single day.
By the weaver who spends weeks creating one textile.
By the artisans who carefully prepare colors from leaves, bark, roots, and nature itself.
The longer I work alongside artisans, the harder it becomes to see them simply as makers.
To me, they are the guardians of our cultural heritage.
If these people can no longer continue their craft, we lose far more than beautiful products.
We lose knowledge.
We lose techniques.
We lose stories.
We lose living traditions.
In Indonesia, we also have another phrase: melestarikan budaya—to preserve culture.
For a long time, I thought preserving culture meant protecting traditions.
Today, I see it differently.
Perhaps preserving culture also means protecting the people who carry it.
Because traditions cannot survive without people.
I don't believe Indonesia's future should be built on cheap labor.
I believe our strength has always been our people.
Our creativity.
Our craftsmanship.
Our ability to keep creating beauty through our hands, our hearts, and our communities.
Kekuatan Indonesia bukan pada murahnya tenaga kerja. Kekuatan Indonesia ada pada manusianya.
And I believe this is true not only for Indonesia, but for every country whose cultural heritage is kept alive by the hands of its artisans.
At House of Diamonds, we often say,
Craftsmanship is the medium. People are the purpose.
The truth is, I came into this work believing I would help artisans.
Over the years, I have realized they have shaped me just as much.
They have taught me patience. Resilience. Humility. And what craftsmanship really means.
It is about helping people grow.
In Indonesia, there is a word I deeply love: bertumbuh.
It simply means to grow.
But to me, bertumbuh is more than growth.
It’s abput becoming more fully who we are meant to be.
Not only economically.
To grow as a person.
As a family.
As a community.
As an artisan.
This is what we hope craftsmanship can make possible at House of Diamonds.
I hope this is what craftsmanship makes possible.
Craftsmanship is the medium.
People are the purpose.
