How Non-Violent Protests Can Move the Nation Forward

In a democracy, public demonstrations serve as a vital expression of collective voice and civic participation. They provide ordinary citizens with a platform to make visible their concerns, grievances, and aspirations, particularly when they feel excluded from formal channels of decision-making. Demonstrations can function as a corrective force against the excesses of those in power, reminding governments that authority ultimately rests on the consent of the governed. They also foster solidarity, allowing individuals to recognise that their struggles are not isolated but part of a broader social demand for justice, equality, or reform. Furthermore, peaceful protests can generate national and international attention, thereby amplifying the urgency of issues that may otherwise be dismissed or ignored. In essence, the act of public demonstration embodies both the rights and the responsibilities of citizens within a democratic order, affirming the idea that democracy is not a gift bestowed from above but a living practice sustained from below.

The tradition of public demonstration has deep historical roots, reaching back to the very origins of popular resistance against authority. One of the earliest examples can be traced to ancient Rome, where the plebeians staged what became known as the Secessio Plebis—a mass withdrawal from the city in protest against the dominance of the patricians. This act was not merely symbolic but profoundly effective, as it compelled the ruling elite to recognise the political rights of the common people and to establish institutions that gave them a formal voice. Centuries later, the spirit of collective protest reappeared in Europe during the late Middle Ages, most famously with the Peasants’ Revolt in England in 1381, when thousands of labourers, driven by unfair taxation and social injustice, confronted the crown with demands for reform.

The modern understanding of protest as a democratic practice gained momentum during the Enlightenment and the revolutionary era of the eighteenth century. In France, the storming of the Bastille in 1789 became an unforgettable symbol of popular uprising, forever entwined with the birth of modern democracy. In America, the Boston Tea Party of 1773 signalled that mass defiance could change the course of history, eventually leading to independence from colonial rule. As the nineteenth and twentieth centuries unfolded, demonstrations became more organised and ideologically driven: workers marching for fair wages, suffragettes demanding the vote, and civil rights activists challenging systems of racial oppression.

In the post-colonial world, public demonstrations continued to shape political destinies. India’s independence movement, marked by Gandhi’s Salt March in 1930, demonstrated the extraordinary power of non-violent resistance. In Indonesia, the Reformasi movement of 1998 showed how collective protest could topple an entrenched authoritarian regime and pave the way for a democratic transition. From the anti-apartheid marches in South Africa to the Arab Spring uprisings in the early twenty-first century, unjuk rasa has consistently proven itself to be a universal language of democracy, capable of uniting voices across different nations, cultures, and generations.

The legacy of public demonstration in Indonesia remains very much alive, shaped by decades of struggle and reaffirmed each time the people feel their voices have been dismissed. After the dramatic Reformasi protests of 1998, which dismantled the authoritarian grip of the New Order, demonstrations became a recognised component of Indonesia’s democratic life. Students, labour unions, and civil society groups have continued to occupy the streets, whether in opposition to corruption, environmental destruction, or unpopular legislation. The act of gathering in public squares, chanting slogans, and carrying banners is not a disruption to democracy but one of its most visible affirmations, a reminder that sovereignty lies with the people rather than with the privileged few who sit in high office.

This tradition resurfaced with particular force on 25 August 2025, when thousands of Indonesians poured into the streets to protest against the increase in parliamentary salaries. At a time when ordinary citizens continued to struggle with rising living costs, stagnant wages, and a sense of economic insecurity, the decision of the legislature to enrich itself appeared to many as a profound betrayal. Protesters framed the issue not merely as one of financial inequality but as a moral failing, a sign that their representatives had grown deaf to the very people they claimed to serve. The demonstrations, marked by placards, chants, and the symbolic act of “mock pay slips” being torn in public, captured national attention and reignited debate about accountability, transparency, and the ethical obligations of elected officials.

In this sense, the protests of August 2025 can be read as a continuation of Indonesia’s long narrative of democratic expression. They reminded both the state and society that democracy cannot survive on elections alone, but must be sustained by active citizens willing to challenge injustice whenever it emerges. Just as past generations rose against colonialism and authoritarianism, the citizens of today stand ready to confront new forms of inequality and arrogance. Thus, the streets of Indonesia remain not merely a place of traffic and commerce, but a living stage where democracy is rehearsed, contested, and defended.

Public demonstrations should never be reduced merely to scenes of chaos or disruption, for at their core they embody one of the most essential rights of citizens in a democracy: the right to speak truth to power. It is true that some protests in the past have descended into violence or anarchism, which has left a bitter memory in the minds of many. Yet, this should not blind us to the reality that peaceful demonstrations can serve as a noble instrument for collective good. A protest without anarchism is not an obstacle to society but rather a bridge between the governed and the governing, a living dialogue played out in public space. Instead of seeing it as an inconvenience, we should understand it as an investment in accountability, a necessary inconvenience to ensure that our children and grandchildren live under a government that listens and responds.

The concern that protests cause traffic jams or disrupt daily routines is understandable, but it is important to place this inconvenience in its rightful perspective. A few hours of congestion cannot be compared to years of injustice, corruption, or irresponsible governance that remain unchallenged. When citizens march peacefully, they are sacrificing their own comfort to defend values that benefit the nation as a whole—fairness, transparency, and justice. Supporting non-violent protest does not mean enjoying disruption; it means recognising that democracy requires active participation, and that silence in the face of wrongs carries a far heavier cost than temporary traffic delays.

It is therefore vital for all of us, as members of a democratic society, to change the way we view public demonstrations. Instead of branding them as troublemakers, we should celebrate those who choose to protest peacefully as guardians of the democratic spirit. They remind us that the nation belongs to its people, not to a small circle of elites who enrich themselves behind closed doors. By supporting demonstrations free from anarchism, we are not only safeguarding our rights today but also securing a legacy of courage and accountability for tomorrow.

Think of a peaceful demonstration as being rather like a traffic jam caused by a popular music concert in the city centre. Nobody enjoys the congestion, yet many accept it because they know that the event brings joy, culture, and even a sense of unity. In much the same way, when citizens gather to protest without violence, they momentarily disturb the flow of daily life, but they do so to defend principles far more lasting than a single night of entertainment. The noise of the crowd may irritate, but behind that sound lies a deeper harmony, the collective insistence that democracy must remain accountable to its people. It is a temporary interruption that serves a permanent purpose.

If we compare the inconvenience of a demonstration with the disruption caused by a sudden flood or blackout, the difference becomes clear. A flood leaves damage and despair, while a blackout produces frustration and helplessness. Yet a protest without anarchism creates possibility: it allows grievances to be aired, governments to be corrected, and societies to evolve. Rather than cursing the traffic, one might imagine it as the nation briefly holding its breath while its people speak. And when the voices subside, what returns is not only traffic flow but a refreshed sense of civic responsibility.

In that sense, supporting peaceful protest is much like accepting the temporary noise of renovation work in one’s neighbourhood. Nobody likes the hammering or dust, but everyone appreciates the new and improved structure that follows. Democracy, too, requires this occasional noise, for without it the house of the nation would eventually crumble under the weight of neglect.

Several books written by scholars of politics and history provide strong support for the arguments surrounding the democratic value of peaceful demonstrations. One of the most widely cited is Charles Tilly’s Social Movements, 1768–2004 (Paradigm Publishers, 2004), which demonstrates how collective protest has shaped modern politics from its earliest beginnings in Europe to the present day. Tilly shows that demonstrations, far from being marginal disruptions, are in fact a central component of how citizens make their voices heard in democratic and semi-democratic societies alike.

Charles Tilly’s Social Movements, 1768–2004 presents a sweeping narrative in which collective protest emerges not merely as a marginal phenomenon but as one of the central forces shaping modern politics. He argues that the very notion of social movements as we recognise them today was born in Europe at the close of the eighteenth century, when popular contention shifted from scattered riots and episodic uprisings to sustained campaigns organised around shared demands, public performances, and the pursuit of political influence. According to Tilly, the rise of national states, expanding markets, and the spread of democratic ideals provided fertile ground for these new forms of mobilisation, transforming protest into a recognisable repertoire of contention that involved petitions, demonstrations, and the cultivation of solidarity across class and regional divides.

Throughout the nineteenth century, Tilly shows how protest became intertwined with the consolidation of modern citizenship, as movements for suffrage, workers’ rights, and national self-determination pressed against entrenched elites and forced governments to recognise new claims. Far from being temporary outbursts, these mobilisations institutionalised the practice of citizens engaging directly with political authority, thereby weaving contentious politics into the very fabric of governance. Tilly insists that the political reforms and expansions of rights achieved during this period cannot be understood without recognising the disruptive and persistent power of collective protest.

In the twentieth century, Tilly demonstrates that social movements became both more global and more professionalised, adapting to mass media, bureaucratic institutions, and the Cold War world order. Movements for decolonisation, civil rights, feminism, and environmental protection did not simply echo European precedents but expanded the repertoire to new terrains, affirming that protest was no longer confined to narrow constituencies but had become a universal language of political action. Even in an era of heightened surveillance and repression, collective protest proved remarkably resilient, continually forcing states and markets to confront demands for justice, redistribution, and recognition.

By the dawn of the twenty-first century, Tilly contends that social movements had become indispensable to modern politics, not because they always succeed but because they reshape the terrain on which politics takes place. He underlines that governments, parties, and corporations alike now anticipate, negotiate with, or attempt to suppress collective mobilisation, demonstrating how protest has become a permanent feature of political life. In his analysis, the history of modern politics cannot be disentangled from the history of people taking to the streets, linking arms, raising banners, and insisting that power listen.

According to Charles Tilly, collective protest has shaped modern politics by transforming it from a closed conversation among elites into a dynamic and contested arena where ordinary people could press their claims and alter the rules of the game. He argues that in late eighteenth-century Europe, protest evolved from spontaneous food riots and localised uprisings into what he calls a “repertoire of contention,” marked by sustained campaigns, public demonstrations, and coordinated demands. This transformation was deeply tied to the rise of modern nation-states, expanding markets, and new democratic ideals, which together provided both the opportunity and the urgency for people to act collectively. Protest thus ceased to be an irregular disturbance and became a central mechanism by which citizens defined themselves and their relationship to power.

As the nineteenth century unfolded, Tilly shows that social movements helped shape the expansion of citizenship itself. Struggles for suffrage, workers’ rights, and national independence did not merely confront governments but forced them to adjust their institutions, creating durable political change. Protest was not a supplement to formal politics but a force that carved new spaces for participation, ensuring that rights were not granted from above but won through collective mobilisation.

In the twentieth century, Tilly highlights how protest became both more global and more sophisticated, as movements responded to mass media, bureaucratic states, and international systems. Campaigns for decolonisation, civil rights, feminism, and the environment illustrate how collective protest not only carried forward older repertoires but extended them into new domains, creating global solidarities and compelling even powerful states to take notice. He stresses that although repression was constant, movements showed extraordinary resilience, continually reshaping political agendas and public debate.

By the early twenty-first century, Tilly concludes that collective protest had become a permanent feature of politics, so ingrained that no government, party, or corporation could ignore it. Even when movements do not achieve their immediate goals, they alter expectations, recalibrate the boundaries of legitimate debate, and remind rulers that power is never beyond challenge. In this way, Tilly presents protest not as an occasional eruption but as one of the fundamental engines of modern political life.

Tilly makes it clear that demonstrations are far from being mere interruptions to political order; rather, they are central to the very way citizens communicate their demands, assert their presence, and influence decision-making in democratic and semi-democratic societies alike. He explains that demonstrations crystallise a repertoire of contention that allows groups without direct access to institutional channels to display numbers, unity, and resolve in a highly visible and symbolic form. Instead of being treated as aberrations, these public gatherings are essential performances in which ordinary people enact their role as political actors, reminding rulers that legitimacy rests not only on formal authority but also on the capacity to respond to collective claims. In both consolidated democracies and fragile semi-democracies, demonstrations thus become a recurring test of political responsiveness, shaping agendas, creating solidarity, and embedding contention into the normal life of politics itself.

Equally significant is Sidney Tarrow’s Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics (Cambridge University Press, 2011). Tarrow explains how public demonstrations create networks of solidarity and act as catalysts for broader political change. He insists that protest is not simply a symptom of discontent but an organised strategy through which ordinary citizens exert influence on the powerful. This perspective directly counters the stereotype that demonstrations are nothing more than traffic-blocking nuisances.

According to Tarrow, public demonstrations serve as more than moments of protest; they are powerful engines for building networks of solidarity and generating momentum for wider political change. He argues that when individuals come together in visible, collective action, they transform private grievances into shared causes, creating bonds of trust, identity, and mutual recognition. Demonstrations act as what Tarrow calls “modular forms of collective action,” meaning they can be adapted and replicated across contexts, allowing different groups to learn from one another and link their struggles into larger coalitions. By staging their dissent in public, demonstrators both dramatise injustice and inspire others to join, producing a cycle in which participation spreads and movements gather strength. In this way, demonstrations are catalytic: they connect isolated actors into durable networks, amplify their voices, and generate the political leverage needed to press for reform or even structural transformation.

In a more contemporary frame, Donatella della Porta and Mario Diani’s Social Movements: An Introduction (Wiley-Blackwell, 2020) provides a thorough account of how protests are embedded in democratic life. They argue that demonstrations are not only a form of resistance but also a way to build civic culture, where citizens learn to debate, negotiate, and demand accountability. Their analysis highlights how even the inconvenience of a street protest is outweighed by the democratic habits it fosters in society at large.

Donatella della Porta and Mario Diani argue that demonstrations are not merely expressions of anger but vital arenas in which citizens learn and practise the skills essential to democratic life. They emphasise that through collective action, people acquire the capacity to debate, to negotiate with opponents and allies alike, and to demand transparency from those in power. Demonstrations function as public classrooms where ordinary individuals, often excluded from formal political spaces, experience deliberation, persuasion, and accountability in practice rather than in theory. In this sense, contentious politics becomes a form of civic education: by marching, speaking, and engaging in collective claim-making, citizens cultivate the democratic competencies needed to challenge authority and to hold institutions to higher standards of openness and responsiveness.

There are indeed books that provide concrete guidance on how to make demonstrations more effective, without falling into chaos or futility. One of the most influential is Gene Sharp’s The Politics of Nonviolent Action (2020, The Albert Einstein Institution), a monumental work that outlines 198 methods of peaceful protest. Sharp carefully details how demonstrations can be planned with discipline, symbolism, and persistence so that they influence public opinion and weaken the moral legitimacy of those in power. His work is often described as a “manual for revolution without bloodshed,” and it has inspired movements from Eastern Europe to Southeast Asia.

Sharp underlines that the effectiveness of protest lies not in sudden outbursts of passion but in the disciplined, strategic, and organised withdrawal of consent from those in power. He explains that rulers depend on the obedience, cooperation, and passivity of the people; once these are systematically withheld, authority begins to crumble. For Sharp, nonviolent action works when it transforms scattered discontent into coordinated pressure, using methods such as strikes, boycotts, and demonstrations to undermine the pillars that sustain regimes. Success does not rest on moral appeals alone but on the careful planning of tactics that erode the opponent’s capacity to govern. Ultimately, the core of effective protest is the recognition that power is not monolithic but relational, and when people collectively refuse to comply, they can compel even the strongest authorities to yield.

Another highly practical book is Mark and Paul Engler’s This Is an Uprising: How Nonviolent Revolt Is Shaping the Twenty-First Century (Nation Books, 2016). The Engler brothers draw lessons from historical protests such as the American civil rights movement and the Philippines’ People Power Revolution, showing how carefully organised nonviolent resistance can transform society. They stress the importance of strategy over spontaneity, emphasising that successful demonstrations are not random explosions of anger but carefully constructed campaigns with clear objectives.

Mark and Paul Engler argue that effective demonstrations must never be mistaken for eruptions of fleeting emotion; rather, they are best understood as carefully orchestrated campaigns with coherent strategies and clearly defined goals. The Englers insist that while passion and outrage can ignite participation, what sustains a movement and compels real change is the ability to channel that energy into disciplined organising. Demonstrations, in their view, operate as part of a larger choreography in which each action—whether a march, a sit-in, or an act of civil disobedience—fits into a broader narrative designed to escalate pressure, attract allies, and win concessions. They stress that spontaneity without strategy risks dissipating momentum, while strategy without moral force fails to inspire. Thus, successful uprisings weave emotion into structure: they transform outrage into campaigns that are sequenced, communicative, and relentless until power is forced to respond.

For activists in the digital era, Zeynep Tufekci’s Twitter and Tear Gas: The Power and Fragility of Networked Protest (Yale University Press, 2017) is particularly insightful. Tufekci explains how social media can mobilise massive crowds in record time, but also warns that without structure and planning, such protests risk burning out quickly. She advises balancing the speed of online mobilisation with the endurance of traditional organising, so that protests can deliver not only visibility but also tangible results.

Taken together, these works provide a kind of roadmap for anyone who wishes to see protest as more than just a street event. They transform the idea of a demonstration from a mere disruption into a carefully orchestrated civic performance, one that can bend the arc of history without resorting to destruction or violence.

When one distils the wisdom of writers such as Gene Sharp, the Engler brothers, and Zeynep Tufekci, a set of guiding principles emerges that can make public demonstrations far more effective. First, there is the matter of discipline: protests that remain peaceful, orderly, and non-violent gain moral authority and attract wider public sympathy. The image of citizens standing calmly with banners speaks louder than chaos ever could. Second, clarity of purpose is essential. Demonstrations must be anchored to clear demands that can be communicated in simple, memorable language, so that both the government and the public understand exactly what is being asked. Third, symbolism matters. Effective protests use creativity—whether through costumes, performances, or symbolic objects—to capture attention and ensure that the message lingers in the collective memory.

Organisation is equally crucial. Spontaneous crowds can draw headlines, but without structure, they quickly fade away. Strong leadership, coordinated logistics, and long-term planning transform a one-day march into a sustained movement. Alongside organisation, inclusivity must be cultivated: protests that welcome students, workers, mothers, and pensioners together demonstrate that the cause is not the property of one group but the demand of an entire nation. Furthermore, adaptability ensures longevity; successful demonstrations adjust their tactics as governments attempt to dismiss, repress, or distract.

Finally, in the modern age, effective demonstrations blend the digital with the physical. Social media is a megaphone that can mobilise thousands in hours, but it must be complemented by old-fashioned face-to-face organising to maintain endurance. By combining discipline, clarity, symbolism, organisation, inclusivity, adaptability, and digital strategy, demonstrations become more than temporary interruptions: they become living lessons in democracy.

One of the most striking examples of symbolic protest comes from India’s Salt March of 1930, led by Mahatma Gandhi. Instead of storming palaces or clashing with soldiers, Gandhi and his followers walked 240 miles to the sea to make salt with their own hands. This simple act of producing salt—something so ordinary—became a thunderous symbol of resistance against British colonial rule, which had imposed a monopoly and tax on salt. The march was not violent, yet it shook an empire, proving that creativity and moral force could wield more power than weapons.

Another unforgettable example is the “flower power” movement during the 1960s in the United States. Anti-war demonstrators placed flowers in the barrels of soldiers’ rifles, turning instruments of death into surreal bouquets of peace. The image was so powerful that it travelled the world, becoming a symbol of the futility of war and the resilience of the human spirit. By using beauty to confront violence, the protesters transformed a potentially explosive moment into one of history’s most iconic photographs.

In more recent years, Hong Kong’s pro-democracy movement used umbrellas as its central symbol, giving birth to what became known as the “Umbrella Revolution.” Originally used to shield against pepper spray and tear gas, the umbrella became a metaphor for protection, resilience, and solidarity. The image of colourful umbrellas filling the streets conveyed a message that was both gentle and defiant, a perfect example of how everyday objects can be transformed into emblems of political struggle.

These examples remind us that protest is not simply about numbers or noise, but about imagination. A powerful symbol captures attention, stays in memory, and communicates a message across languages and cultures without a single word spoken.

Protest, when stripped of chaos and reckless destruction, becomes a noble art of civic participation. It is not merely an act of resistance but rather a way of giving voice to those who are often unheard. A protest without anarchism channels the frustration of the people into a disciplined force, one that commands respect rather than fear. By embracing organisation, dignity, and solidarity, citizens demonstrate that their struggle is not a riot but a demand for justice. Such protests, when conducted with care, can even move the hearts of those in power, for they reveal the strength of unity without the stain of violence.

In this light, the streets become more than crowded lanes of blocked traffic. They are transformed into stages of democratic expression, where banners replace weapons and chants rise louder than chaos. When people protest with patience and principle, they are not obstructing the nation’s progress; rather, they are fuelling it. To gather peacefully, to stand shoulder to shoulder without sowing destruction, is to remind leaders that governance is not the privilege of the few but the responsibility to the many.

History itself proves that nonviolent demonstrations have left deeper marks than fiery confrontations. They resonate longer, travel further, and inspire more. The people of Indonesia, by rejecting anarchism in their protests, can redefine civic action as a moral force that protects both justice and order. The world does not remember broken windows; it remembers brave voices lifted above the noise.

When citizens take to the streets with discipline and determination, guided by thoughtful strategies rather than reckless anger, protest becomes not a nuisance but a form of civic education in itself. Books such as Rules for Radicals by Saul Alinsky (1971, Vintage Books) and This Is an Uprising by Mark and Paul Engler (2016, Nation Books) explain that effective demonstrations require planning, symbolism, and non-violent discipline to shift public opinion and create pressure on the political system without alienating the broader community. A protest that refuses to slip into chaos communicates moral authority, and in democratic settings, that authority often weighs more heavily than brute numbers or loud disruption. The Indonesian protest of 25 August 2025 against the salary hike for members of parliament provides a timely example: those who marched with calm persistence drew far more sympathy than those who sought to block every road or provoke unnecessary conflict. To sustain this spirit, people need to see protest as an organised dialogue with power, not as a carnival of frustration, and references that codify such wisdom can be invaluable manuals for turning raw emotion into enduring social change.

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