Reinterpreting Sasak Tuselak Mystical Heritage into Indigenous Pedagogy for Culturally Responsive Education

In the classrooms of the modern world, teachers often face a difficult choice when their students bring stories from home that clash with the rules of science or the strictures of organized religion. Should these stories be dismissed as old-fashioned superstition, or preserved exactly as they are, even if they contain claims that cannot be proven? This question sits at the heart of a growing field of study that looks at how local, traditional knowledge can be used to teach children. Instead of treating these traditions as static museum pieces or as facts that must be verified, researchers are beginning to see them as living systems of meaning. These systems carry lessons about how to behave, how to treat neighbors, and how to understand the world, even if the stories themselves involve spirits or supernatural powers. The challenge for educators is to find a way to honor the value of these stories without asking students to believe in the impossible, creating a space where cultural identity and critical thinking can grow together.

This tension is vividly present in Lombok, an island in Indonesia where the Sasak people have lived for centuries. Among them circulates a tradition known as Tuselak. For a long time, Tuselak has been a source of fear and religious anxiety. It is a narrative about individuals who seek supernatural power through forbidden spiritual practices, often described as gaining abilities to transform or move in impossible ways. In the past, these stories served as warnings against greed, envy, and the misuse of knowledge. However, as the community has become more deeply connected to modern religious teachings and formal education, the way people understand these stories has shifted. They are no longer just scary tales about magic; they have become moral lessons about responsibility and self-control. A team of researchers from two universities in Mataram set out to understand how this shift happens and whether such a contested tradition could ever be useful in a classroom. They wanted to know if the stories could be taught not as literal truths, but as tools for learning about culture and ethics.

To find the answer, the researchers did not rely on a single method. They spoke with nine cultural custodians—elders, traditional leaders, a historian, a religious leader, and a traditional healer—who have spent their lives guarding the memory of Tuselak. At the same time, they asked 167 university students, who are training to become social studies teachers, about their views on the tradition. The researchers listened carefully to the elders, recording how they explained the history of Tuselak and what lessons they believed it held. They then asked the students how they felt about bringing these stories into a school setting. The goal was to see if the two groups saw the tradition in the same way, or if there was a gap between the deep, lived experience of the elders and the cautious, analytical perspective of the future teachers.

The elders described a clear transformation in how Tuselak is understood. They explained that while the stories still speak of supernatural abilities, the community no longer focuses on the literal danger of the magic itself. Instead, they view the narratives as a framework for teaching moral behavior. The stories warn against the misuse of knowledge and the dangers of choosing the wrong teachers or friends. One elder noted that the tradition teaches people to be humble, to control their emotions, and to understand that their actions affect their entire community. The elders see these stories as a way to pass down values like honesty and solidarity, using the fear of supernatural consequences as a way to encourage good behavior. For them, the power of the story lies in its ability to shape character, regardless of whether the supernatural events actually happened.

When the researchers turned to the students, they found a different but related perspective. Almost all of the students, nearly 96 percent, were familiar with Tuselak, having heard the stories from their families and communities. However, when asked if these stories should be taught directly in the classroom as part of the official curriculum, the students were hesitant. Only about 20 percent agreed that Tuselak should be integrated into lessons. The majority of students were neutral, and many expressed concern that teaching the stories might lead to religious misunderstandings or that it would be inappropriate to present supernatural claims as fact. Yet, despite this caution, the students saw great value in the tradition. More than 70 percent believed that discussing Tuselak could help develop critical thinking skills and increase cultural awareness. They saw the stories as a way to learn about their own history and to understand the moral values of their people, but they wanted to approach these stories through discussion and inquiry rather than direct instruction.

The most important discovery of the study is not that the two groups agreed, but that their disagreement reveals a path forward. The elders hold the tradition as a living moral guide, while the students want to examine it critically. The researchers realized that the solution is not to force the students to believe the stories, nor to tell the elders that their stories are useless. Instead, the study suggests a new way of teaching called a cultural pedagogy framework. This approach treats the tradition as a subject for investigation. It allows teachers to bring the stories into the classroom, not to prove that magic exists, but to ask questions like: Why do people tell these stories? What values are they trying to protect? How has the meaning of the story changed over time? By focusing on the questions rather than the answers, students can engage with their heritage deeply without having to accept supernatural claims as scientific fact.

This method respects the complexity of the tradition. It acknowledges that the stories carry real weight for the community, as the elders described, while also honoring the students' need for a critical distance. The researchers found that when students are given the chance to discuss and analyze these narratives, they can appreciate the cultural and moral lessons without feeling that their religious beliefs are being challenged. The study suggests that this kind of critical engagement is essential for keeping cultural heritage alive in a modern world. It shows that traditions do not have to be frozen in time or discarded entirely to remain relevant. They can evolve, taking on new meanings that help young people navigate their identity and their responsibilities to their community.

The findings offer a practical guide for teachers and curriculum developers who work with contested cultural material. Rather than avoiding difficult topics or presenting them as simple facts, educators can use them as a springboard for deeper learning. By encouraging students to compare different viewpoints, to analyze the history of a story, and to reflect on its moral implications, schools can turn even the most controversial traditions into powerful learning tools. This approach does not require students to abandon their skepticism, nor does it ask them to abandon their culture. Instead, it creates a space where both can coexist, allowing the next generation to carry their heritage forward in a way that is thoughtful, respectful, and critically engaged. The study concludes that the future of cultural education lies not in choosing between tradition and modernity, but in finding a way to teach them together.