[Part 1]"It is quite reasonable to argue that the deeper layers of unemployment and absolute poverty—those that extend beyond the narrowed definitions used by BPS—are, to a significant extent, the legacy of the previous administrations. This is not merely a matter of political blame, but of structural realities: policies over the past decade have often prioritised macroeconomic stability, infrastructure showpieces, and digital slogans, while leaving behind millions in precarious, informal, and underreported conditions. The façade of statistical improvement cannot conceal the stagnation in job creation, the underemployment epidemic, and the widening inequality in rural and urban areas," Limbuk went on."Absolute poverty, if measured using international standards (like $2.15/day by World Bank), reveals a larger number of Indonesians surviving on crumbs. Meanwhile, unemployment, when broadened beyond BPS’s “actively seeking work” model, includes discouraged workers, unpaid family labourers, and the informally employed who remain vulnerable. These systemic issues have snowballed across administrations that focused more on optics than fundamental economic justice.Within this context, it would be premature and perhaps even unfair to conclude that President Prabowo’s leadership is inherently poor. Structural unemployment and absolute poverty are not overnight phenomena; they are the cumulative result of long-standing policy neglect, global economic pressures, and systemic inefficiencies that span multiple administrations. To assess Prabowo’s leadership fairly, one must distinguish between inherited burdens and newly initiated reforms. If his government acknowledges the deeper realities beyond polished statistics and implements inclusive, transformative policies—particularly in job creation, social safety nets, and rural development—then his leadership may in fact prove to be corrective rather than culpable.What matters most now is not the numbers he inherited but the political will and courage he demonstrates in confronting uncomfortable truths. If he avoids denial and instead embraces accountability, transparency, and grassroots-oriented solutions, then the narrative can shift from blame to breakthrough.The emergence of hashtags like #IndonesiaGelap should not be interpreted as a harbinger of national doom, but rather as a democratic pulse-check—a sign that segments of the public are voicing concern, frustration, and expectation. Instead of seeing it as a threat, President Prabowo and his Cabinet should view it as a challenge, or even an invitation, to reorient governance toward greater transparency, equity, and responsiveness. Hashtags are not hurricanes; they are headlines of the people’s unresolved anxieties. And in a functioning democracy, such expressions are not to be silenced, but heard and addressed.In that sense, #IndonesiaGelap is not the end—it’s a spotlight. It reveals where the cracks lie, so leaders can repair them before they widen. Whether it leads to despair or to reform depends not on the people who tweet it, but on those in power who read it.Until now, there has been no publicly verifiable evidence to support President Prabowo’s claim that demonstrations such as those associated with the hashtag #IndonesiaGelap are funded by corrupt actors. While it is not uncommon for governments to suspect or even allege foreign or domestic interference in protest movements, such statements—if not backed by clear proof—can serve more as political rhetoric than objective truth. In any democratic society, protest is a legitimate form of expression, and discrediting it by suggesting it is financed by shadowy elites without concrete evidence risks delegitimising public dissent and undermining civil liberties.
Moreover, using sweeping accusations against protest movements can backfire by appearing dismissive or authoritarian. If certain individuals or groups are indeed misusing demonstrations for ulterior motives, then it is the role of law enforcement to investigate discreetly and present evidence transparently. Generalising all protests as tools of corruption is a dangerous oversimplification that may ignore genuine public grievances, especially regarding issues such as poverty, education, environment, or governance.
In a healthy democracy, public criticism—even if uncomfortable for those in power—must be met with dialogue and accountability, not suspicion and vilification. Truth, if it is to be upheld, must be proven—not just proclaimed.
Protest: A Cultural Introduction to Social Movements by James M. Jasper (2014, Polity Press) offers a concise and accessible journey into the cultural dimensions of protest, zeroing in on the subjective meanings, emotional currents, and strategic choices that animate social movements around the world.Jasper’s central claim is that to truly understand social movements, one must move beyond resource mobilisation or structural opportunity frameworks and recognise the critical role of culture—specifically the moral, emotional, and cognitive layers through which protesters interpret the world and choose their tactics. Through vivid examples ranging from Occupy Wall Street to Egypt’s uprisings or the Dalit movement in India, Jasper reveals how protest is shaped by shared meanings and dilemmas faced by activists—such as whether to adopt confrontational tactics or seek allies—what he calls the “naughty-or-nice” dilemma and other strategic tensions.Moreover, Jasper introduces an engaging structure marked by sidebars highlighting dilemmas activists must navigate—such as recruitment, sustaining campaigns, deciding tactics, and persuasion—and the interplay with numerous strategic players including media, police, and political actors. It’s both an excellent primer for newcomers and a thoughtful framework for scholars or policymakers intrigued by the emotional and moral dynamics that drive protest behaviour.Jasper employs the phrase “doing protest” to emphasise protest as an active, cultural performance—not just a catalogue of grievances, but a lived, meaningful practice. He portrays it as the moment when activists perform identity, emotion, and moral meaning in public—when protest becomes an embodied act of persuasion, dialogue, and symbolic expression toward audiences, fellow protesters, and adversaries alike.According to Jasper, “doing protest” involves crafting and enacting symbolic performances: chants, banners, public speeches, street theatre, marches—each chosen not merely as tactics, but as conveyors of shared understanding and moral urgency. It is through these acts that protesters try to shape public opinion, mobilise networks, and provoke emotional responses that go beyond rational calculation.James Jasper explains that behind every protest lies a cultural performance:
“Once thought to be a source of irrationality, emotions can also aid us in making decisions and pursuing our goals. Indignation, an emotion that combines anger with moral outrage, is the heart of protest, the first signal that we feel there is something wrong in the world that must be fixed.”
He also introduced the concept of moral shock as a catalyst for action:
A moral shock is “an unexpected event or piece of information [which] raises such a sense of outrage in a person that she becomes inclined toward political action, with or without the network of personal contacts …”
Additionally, Jasper emphasises how protestors engage in strategic dilemmas, balancing identity, tactics, persuasion, and alliances—what he refers to as the Janus dilemma and the naughty‑or‑nice dilemma. Protest is thus understood as a carefully navigated cultural and moral negotiation, not just a spontaneous outburst.When protesters in Indonesia shout chants of “lawan!”, flash raised fists, or echo national slogans, they are doing more than expressing anger—they are enacting a shared moral identity. According to Jasper, such acts embody the culture of resistance, using emotion-laden language and symbolism to frame the protest as morally urgent and legitimate.Many Indonesian movements also rely on social media hashtags—such as #GejayanMemanggil or #IndonesiaGelap—which serve as digital triggers or moral shocks, sparking outrage and mobilising thousands virtually overnight. These moments exemplify Jasper’s idea: people are propelled into action not only through networks but also by a felt moral disturbance that demands a response.Moreover, groups like Taring Padi in Yogyakarta combine street art, puppetry, theatre, and punk music to make protest visually and emotionally potent. Their creative repertoires align with Jasper’s view that protest is also a cultural act of persuasion, seeking public resonance rather than merely confrontation.Jasper’s notion of “doing protest” is not about crowds or grievances alone, but about embodied symbolic action—chanting, banners, performances—that communicate moral outrage and seek cultural influence. In the Indonesian context, protest culture mirrors this perfectly through emotionally charged slogans, digitally amplified hashtags, and artistic expressions that mobilise not just bodies, but beliefs and collective identity.Jasper redefines the term “social movement” not merely as a political structure or a reaction to injustice, but as a deeply cultural phenomenon—an unfolding drama filled with meaning, emotion, identity, and moral purpose. For Jasper, social movements are not just vehicles for political change; they are expressions of moral visions, collective emotions, and cultural creativity. He argues that protest movements are not born solely from material deprivation, but from a sense of moral outrage and shared identity. A social movement, then, is what happens when people come together to dramatise their values, construct narratives of right and wrong, and perform these beliefs in public arenas through protests, art, songs, rituals, and symbols.
Jasper insists that movements are “carriers of culture”, meaning they don’t just respond to society, they help shape it—through the way they talk, the emotions they ignite, the heroes they create, and the futures they imagine. He writes:
“Movements are important sources of values, styles, and even identities in contemporary societies.”They are, in a sense, cultural laboratories where new ways of being human are tested out loud, in front of the world.Let’s continue by applying James M. Jasper’s cultural understanding of social movements to some emblematic Indonesian protest movements. Jasper’s framework allows us to look beyond the logistics of demonstrations or the slogans chanted in the streets. Instead, it invites us to examine the emotional performances, moral meanings, and symbolic creativity that make these movements powerful—even when they don’t lead to immediate policy changes.
Take for instance the 1998 Indonesian Student Movement that led to the fall of Suharto. Under Jasper’s lens, this was not only a political upheaval, but a cultural reckoning. The students who occupied the Parliament were not merely making demands—they were performing a new Indonesia, one that valued democracy, accountability, and dignity. The very act of climbing the gates, sleeping in the building, and singing together became rituals of defiance. These were not strategic calculations—they were moral performances filled with emotional intensity. Their protest songs, banners, and gestures were not only messages, but symbols of resistance, shared pain, and collective identity.
Similarly, the Aksi Kamisan—a quiet, weekly protest by families of human rights victims dressed in black, standing in silence in front of the Presidential Palace—can be seen as a ritualised act of cultural memory. They are not trying to out-shout the government. Instead, they embody grief. According to Jasper’s theory, this is protest as emotional endurance. Their silence is louder than slogans. By showing up week after week, they insist on remembering what society tries to forget, and that act in itself reshapes the cultural narrative of the nation.
And then there’s the women-led anti-mining protests in places like Kendeng, where mothers literally cemented their feet into the ground as a protest. Jasper would argue that such acts are forms of “moral shock theatre”—visceral displays that compel attention not by violence, but by sacrificial symbolism. The image of a mother trapped in cement is not only a protest—it’s a cultural metaphor: the earth as mother, violated and crying for justice.
In Jasper’s words:
“Protest is not only strategic; it is expressive. Movements express the deepest feelings and moral visions of their participants.”
This understanding invites us to rethink activism not merely as action, but as a form of cultural authorship. Protesters are not just fighting—they are writing stories, staging dramas, and shaping the soul of the nation.
In a democratic society, the government must treat public demonstrations not as threats, but as essential expressions of civic engagement. According to "Democracy and Its Critics" by Robert A. Dahl (1989, Yale University Press), legitimate governments are those that allow, respect, and respond to public dissent as part of the democratic process. Rather than suppressing protests, democratic leadership should view them as feedback mechanisms—signals of discontent that require reflection, dialogue, and, where justified, policy adjustment.Furthermore, in "The Responsive City" by Stephen Goldsmith and Susan Crawford (2014, Jossey-Bass), the authors argue that governments should adopt open, listening-oriented approaches when addressing public criticism. Protesters are often messengers, not enemies. Shutting them down or discrediting them not only erodes public trust but may also escalate social tensions. Transparent communication, inclusive public forums, and empathetic leadership are more effective tools than coercion in addressing unrest.Therefore, when people take to the streets with banners and chants, the wise government does not reach for tear gas or insults—it reaches for understanding, and asks: what are we missing, and how can we do better?
