AFP PHOTO / ADEK BERRY
IN the palm oil sustainability debate, contradictions sprout like weeds after rain. Chief among them is the stubborn West-East divide. The irony is pungent: the Global North, which cleared its forests long ago in the march of empire and industry, now steps forward as high priest of ecological morality, wagging fingers at the South for using what little land it still has.
It’s a bit like the guest who emptied the buffet at lunch, then lectures the host at dinner about portion control. Or the neighbour who felled his orchard to build a mansion and pool, then scolds you for planting durians in your yard.
A Western non-governmental organisation (NGO) member once admitted, almost guiltily: “Who are we in the West to lecture the East for eking a living from deforestation, when we stripped our own lands bare long before ‘sustainability’ was a word?”
A rare flicker of honesty – too often drowned out by PowerPoint slides and pious hashtags.
Of craft beer and cold peanuts
The contrasts are stark. Western sustainability executives sip craft beer while deciding the fate of communities thousands of miles away. Meanwhile, in Kalimantan, I’ve met families unsure not just of their next meal, but of their dignity. For them, palm oil isn’t “controversial.” It’s survival.
One top planter, eyes bloodshot, once roared at a conference: “Crop apartheid!” Another muttered: “Neo-colonialism.”
Their words may sound dramatic, but who can dismiss the anger? For many, the so-called “level playing field” feels more like a tilted stage – where palm must juggle flaming torches blindfolded, while other oils stroll past to polite applause.
Then there’s the perversity of NGO brass gliding into Africa on business-class tickets while senior planters they audit are wedged into economy. Both fly to the same plantations – but clearly not on the same journey.
One lands to champagne and hot towels, the other to cramped knees and cold peanuts. And somehow, it’s the latter who gets lectured about privilege.
Theatre of the green
Call it “sustainability standards” or “traceability requirements,” but for much of the South, it feels like protectionism draped in green robes.
Their frustration isn’t theatre; it’s lived reality. They feed families, pay taxes, and battle floods, pests, diseases and rules that shift faster than monsoon winds.
All actors in this grand sustainability stage play their parts –some for pay-cheques, some for careers, a rare few out of conviction. Scripts differ, costumes vary, but at day’s end, many still queue at the same canteen for supper.
Plantation folklore captures the absurdities best: The VIP’s white sneakers ruined within minutes of a walkabout; the mechanisation guru proposing a 20-tonne harvester for muddy paths; the academic demanding tablets in areas with no WiFi; the donor’s “biodiversity corridor” turned rubbish dump; the bureaucrat insisting drains be covered, only to hear the manager’s dry retort: “Sir, they’re for water, not pedestrians.”
When eloquence outshouts insight
In global debates, success often favours those who speak with confidence rather than depth. Eloquence has become the new measure of authority.
Cultures that value reflection over rhetoric can appear hesitant beside those fluent in persuasion. Yet fluency isn’t the same as wisdom, and silence isn’t ignorance. The challenge is not to out-talk one another, but to ensure every voice is heard.
Not saints, not villains
In this sustainability saga, growers too often get cast as pantomime villains. Yes, some have cut corners – like any sector – and they should be held accountable. But don’t tar the entire industry.
They’re not saints, but neither are they the cartoon villains splashed across NGO brochures. They are ordinary people – surviving, innovating, sometimes leading in sustainability.
Scrutiny is fair, but recognition must follow. Otherwise, we punish the very hands that harvest fruit, keep the industry alive and help feed the world.
Where does this leave us? Honour the sincere across the chain – growers, NGOs, traders, bureaucrats, financiers – for they keep the system credible.
But unmask the opportunists who thrive on spin and seasoning headlines with exaggeration. Ground new voices: welcome the bright-eyed, but let them wade through mud before handing them the microphone.
And simplify the Babel: turn acronyms into real action, not alphabet soup.
Business of being green
Opportunists appear in every corner of the sustainability arena – in boardrooms, where some nod through meetings instead of exercising stewardship; in NGOs chasing grants faster than impact; in trading houses perfecting dashboards while neglecting the supply chains behind them; and on conference stages, where volume sometimes outweighs substance.
Sustainability is too vital to become performance art. A touch of humour and humility may serve the planet better than posturing ever could.
Perhaps the real test of “green” lies not in slogans or spotlights, but in the quiet work done after the applause fades.
Green double standard
The contradictions deepen with soy. As Brazil gears up for yet another record harvest, bulldozers continue their slow march through the Amazon and Cerrado. Yet global outrage remains muted.
Palm oil endures relentless audits, certifications and criticism, while soy glides comfortably under the banner of “feeding the world with protein”. A narrative reinforced by its powerful lobbies and political goodwill.
Unlike palm, most soy production operates with minimal traceability or mandatory sustainability commitments. The scrutiny on palm is forensic; the spotlight on soy, forgiving.
This imbalance isn’t just unfair – it’s counterproductive.
Palm oil is the world’s most efficient oilseed, producing two versatile, nutritious oils with a fraction of the land footprint.
As a perennial crop, it protects soil structure and reduces carbon loss from repeated tillage. Yet it carries the heaviest stigma, often painted as the villain of deforestation even when most growers operate under certified, transparent regimes.
If sustainability is to mean anything, it must be universal – guided by evidence, not emotion. Otherwise, what we call global justice is merely global theatre, and the applause echoes only for those with better scripts.
An honest harvest
The contradictions are endless – hypocrisies baked into the crust of the debate, as if sustainability were a pie everyone wants to eat, but no one wants to bake.
One man’s palm oil is another man’s ecological sin, yet who decides redemption? And who crowned themselves priesthood, handing out indulgences, carbon absolutions, and certificates of sainthood – conveniently priced and neatly logoed?
Alliances and coalitions mushroom endlessly. Some endure, others fade, new ones sprout overnight.
Credit to those who step up – but is it truly for sustainability or just another round of fees and glossy PR? Today, every organisation must be on the guest list or risk pariah status at green banquets.
Perhaps the East-West divide is best explained by Maslow’s Hierarchy. The West, perched near the top, chases identity and ideals. Much of the South still clings to the middle rungs – job security, survival, dignity. When you stand on different steps of the ladder, it’s little wonder you don’t see eye to eye.
How hard is it to embrace the United Nation’s call for “common but differentiated responsibility”? In plain English: everyone should help clean the house, but those who made the biggest mess shouldn’t scold the rest for holding the broom wrong.
The poor, who only dirtied a corner of the rug, can’t be expected to scrub the whole floor while the rich polish their silverware.
Without fairness and empathy, sustainability risks becoming less about justice and more about theatre. And let’s be honest – who are the world’s biggest carbon emitters anyway?
One tree, many lives
Few crops serve humanity as broadly as the oil palm. Often described through the “4Fs” – food, feed, fibre, and fuel – this single tree sustains kitchens, industries, and communities across the world.
Per hectare, it is unmatched in productivity, supplying over 80% of the world’s edible oils used in everything from infant formula to household cooking. Beyond the kitchen, its derivatives support bioenergy, bioplastics and personal care products.
A truly versatile crop – adaptable, efficient, and indispensable when managed responsibly.
And its potential grows. Top plantations hit six to eight tonnes per hectare, with science pushing higher. More yield from less land means less pressure on forests, stronger livelihood and real climate gains.
At day’s end, scrutiny must be balanced. Palm oil cannot forever wear the villain’s mask while other oils waltz unchallenged. Before pointing the holier-than-thou finger, remember the other four point back.
A reminder that blame, like sustainability, is best shared. And perhaps most of all, we must sit together with equal voice and shared burden.
Stubborn hope
Friends may call me naive. I call it stubborn hope – the quiet conviction that amid the noise of boardrooms, policies and polished campaigns, there are still those who truly care: not for quarterly profits or the theatre of pseudo “with-heart” advocacy, but for the real future of an industry that feeds millions, for the care of the planet and the dignity of those who work its soil.
Without such conviction, sustainability risks becoming theatre, a performance scripted for checklists and glossy reports, where conscience is reduced to a line item. Real sustainability cannot be staged; it must be lived and led.
What the world needs is not another sermon of slogans, but a renewed covenant – one that unites growth with stewardship, inclusivity with innovation and objectivity with honesty. Palm oil, done right, remains the most efficient, equitable and scalable tropical edible oil to feed and nourish a growing world. But it will take courage – the courage to balance ideals with pragmatism and to ensure that sustainability is not merely a moral claim, but a measurable legacy.
When the spotlight fades
In the end, sustainability is not a slogan but a mirror reflecting who we are when the campaigns end and the cameras stop rolling. The real test of conviction begins when no one is watching.
Because when the spotlight fades and the applause dies down, what remains is character.
Will you still stand for what is right, or were you merely performing for the crowd? When the stage empties and the banners are folded away, will you live the truth?
Sustainability, after all, is not a role to be acted. It is a responsibility to be lived – quietly, steadfastly, and with courage. For integrity, unlike applause, must echo long after the curtain falls.
Joseph Tek Choon Yee has over 30 years experience in the plantation industry, with a strong background in oil palm research and development, C-suite leadership and industry advocacy. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
