[Part 6]In the wake of the 17+8 demands, the Indonesian police have been widely criticised for the way they dealt with protesters and activists, not merely for isolated incidents of violence but for a pattern of behaviour that reveals deeper institutional problems. Observers argue that the police response often blurred the line between lawful enforcement and excessive repression, with disproportionate use of force, arbitrary detentions, and a failure to follow their own Standard Operating Procedures. Such conduct, critics suggest, undermines the credibility of the police as a neutral guardian of public order, transforming them instead into a visible arm of state coercion. Furthermore, the reluctance to hold officers and commanding figures accountable has fuelled perceptions of impunity, reinforcing the sense that ordinary citizens are vulnerable while those in uniform remain shielded from justice. In this light, the central critique is that the police appear less as protectors of democratic rights and more as defenders of power, a stance that erodes trust between society and the institutions meant to serve it.One of the sharpest criticisms levelled against the police in Indonesia concerns their treatment of activists and ordinary citizens who voice dissent, whether on the streets or in the digital sphere. Human rights defenders have documented cases where activists were detained, intimidated, or criminalised merely for organising peaceful rallies or advocating for sensitive issues such as land rights, labour protections, or environmental justice. More alarmingly, in the era of social media, citizens have been arrested or questioned simply for uploading critical posts on Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter, suggesting that the threshold for repression has moved from physical protest to online expression. Such practices have been condemned as disproportionate, since they expand the scope of police power from managing public order into policing thought and opinion. International observers and local NGOs alike note that these actions do not merely silence individuals but cultivate a climate of fear, where people refrain from speaking truth to power lest they face legal consequences. In the broader democratic context, the criticism rests on the claim that by targeting dissenters, the police distort their constitutional role and transform themselves into a political actor rather than a neutral law enforcer.Several reports from international human rights organisations, alongside statements from the United Nations, have sharpened the criticism against Indonesia’s police conduct. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have repeatedly documented patterns of arbitrary arrests, unnecessary use of force, and intimidation against demonstrators, journalists, and activists, framing these actions as a systemic problem rather than isolated missteps. In 2020, for instance, during the protests against the Omnibus Law, both Amnesty and the UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) called on Indonesian authorities to respect the right to peaceful assembly and to stop criminalising dissent. The UN has also emphasised that detaining people for social media posts amounts to a violation of international human rights standards, particularly freedom of expression as enshrined in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, to which Indonesia is a party. These international interventions highlight the gravity of the issue, as they suggest that what is happening is not merely a matter of domestic law enforcement but part of a broader pattern of democratic backsliding. The heart of the critique is that when police act to silence voices rather than protect them, they weaken Indonesia’s commitment to its own constitutional promises and risk eroding its reputation on the global stage.
In October 2020, during the wave of protests against the Omnibus Law, Amnesty International Indonesia issued a strong statement condemning mass arrests and violence by security forces. They reported that at least 6,000 people were detained nationwide, many of them students, and accused the police of acting “like it was a war against citizens.” Amnesty’s Executive Director for Indonesia, Usman Hamid, specifically criticised the arbitrary arrests and excessive force, calling on the government to release detainees immediately and to investigate police violence rather than shield it.The United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) also weighed in, echoing Amnesty’s concerns. In a 2020 press briefing, UN spokespersons urged Indonesia to “ensure that those detained for peacefully expressing dissent are released without delay” and to respect international obligations under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. The UN further warned that criminalising criticism, including through arrests over social media posts, is incompatible with freedom of expression and risks creating a chilling effect on civil society.These interventions underscore that the criticisms are not just rhetorical but tied to Indonesia’s obligations under international treaties it has ratified. They also highlight the gap between the state’s constitutional promises of protecting free expression and the repressive conduct seen on the ground.Between 25 and 31 August 2025, over 3,000 people were detained nationwide during anti-DPR protests—this included a large number of unwarranted arrests, even of minors. Human rights organisations reported excessive use of tear gas, rubber bullets, and force, resulting in at least eight deaths, including that of a delivery rider killed by an armoured police vehicle, and many more injuries. International bodies—including the UN and NGOs like HRW and Amnesty—condemned Indonesia’s response as a breach of international human rights commitments, demanding transparent investigations and accountability.
The fact that the 17+8 demands placed the police front and centre was no coincidence, but rather a response to years of accumulated grievances. For demonstrators, arbitrary arrests, the beating of students, the silencing of activists, and even the targeting of social media users were not separate incidents but symptoms of a structural rot within law enforcement. By including points such as the immediate release of detainees, the end of violence, the enforcement of proper operational standards, and the prosecution of abusive officers, the movement was making a broader statement: the problem was not just “a few bad apples,” but a system that tolerated, and in some cases encouraged, impunity. The 17+8 demands framed police reform not as a technical issue but as a fundamental democratic one, arguing that unless law enforcement is accountable to the people, all other reforms risk being hollow. In this way, the demands captured a larger anxiety—that the very institutions tasked with protecting rights had become the most visible violators of them.By situating police accountability at the heart of the 17+8 demands, activists implicitly linked their struggle to a broader global conversation about human rights and state violence. Across the world, from Hong Kong to Minneapolis, similar protests were raising the same question: what happens when those who are supposed to protect citizens become the agents of their fear? In Indonesia, the calls for police reform were therefore not an isolated domestic concern. Still, they resonated with an international chorus demanding an end to impunity and the affirmation of basic freedoms. International human rights bodies like the United Nations had already warned that Indonesia’s record on freedom of expression and assembly was under scrutiny, and the inclusion of these points in the 17+8 platform underscored that civil society understood this global spotlight. The demand was not only for national justice but also for Indonesia to live up to the standards it has promised to uphold in the international arena, so that democracy at home would not be at odds with the country’s image abroad.President Prabowo Subianto is scheduled to address the 80th United Nations General Assembly during the General Debate on September 23, 2025. He will speak on the opening day as the third speaker, following Brazil's President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva and U.S. President Donald Trump.When President Prabowo takes the stage at the United Nations later this month, the last thing he will want is for his message to be drowned out by questions about Indonesia’s own record on human rights and policing. The challenge lies in the fact that global audiences are increasingly alert to inconsistencies: they listen not only to what a leader says but also to what is happening on the ground back home. Thus, the recent criticisms of Indonesia’s police—whether for detaining demonstrators, using disproportionate force, or punishing online dissent—risk providing a counterpoint to any narrative of progress or stability that the President seeks to project. The wisest strategy, therefore, is not to ignore these issues but to show that the government acknowledges the problem and is taking steps to address it. By signalling commitments to police reform, accountability, and the protection of civil liberties, President Prabowo can shift the story from one of denial to one of responsibility. In doing so, he protects his international image, reassures domestic audiences that justice is not being neglected, and prevents the police’s heavy-handedness from overshadowing his own diplomatic moment.Now, back again to our topic about Socialism.
In his book Communism and Socialism, published in New York in 1932 by the American League for Democratic Socialism, Karl Kautsky sets out to distinguish carefully between the concepts of communism and socialism, terms that in public debates were often confused or used interchangeably. He explains that socialism, as understood in Marxist tradition, is primarily concerned with the collective ownership and democratic control of production, to establish social equality through parliamentary and legal means. Communism, on the other hand, is presented as a more radical notion associated with immediate revolution, centralised economic control, and the abolition of private property without gradual reform.Kautsky argues that conflating socialism with communism is misleading because socialism represents a realistic and organised political movement aimed at broad social reforms, while communism reflects utopian and often authoritarian tendencies. He uses historical examples, from early Christian communal experiments to the Paris Commune, to highlight how different interpretations of collective life emerged. For him, socialism was not about abstract idealism but a movement rooted in industrial development, class struggle, and democratic institutions.Essentially, the text functions both as a defence of socialism against its critics and as a warning against equating it with communism, which he considered impractical and potentially dangerous. In doing so, Kautsky reaffirms his reputation as one of the leading Marxist theorists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, emphasising clarity, gradual progress, and democratic legitimacy.The opening section of the book functions as an introduction, where Kautsky sets the tone by declaring that the terms communism and socialism have been repeatedly misused and conflated. He insists that before any meaningful political debate can take place, one must disentangle the two concepts. Here, Kautsky lays the groundwork by warning that careless language hides real political distinctions: “It is a mistake to use the words communism and socialism as if they meant the same thing. They have different histories, different methods, and different goals.”Kautsky begins by stressing that communism and socialism should never be treated as interchangeable. For him, communism historically refers to radical experiments in communal living, often based on moral zeal, religious enthusiasm, or revolutionary fervour. Its purpose was to abolish private property immediately and to establish a form of collective life in which everyone’s needs would be met without the mediation of markets. Its function, however, was more symbolic than practical, because such experiments rarely endured. Kautsky repeatedly emphasises that communism’s goal is utopian: it seeks a sudden transformation of society, but without the necessary economic and institutional groundwork, it collapses or leads to authoritarianism.By contrast, socialism, in Kautsky’s definition, emerges directly from modern industrial capitalism and the struggles of the working class. Its meaning is collective ownership of the means of production, but realised through democracy and law rather than through violent rupture. Its function is to organise the labour movement, to build political institutions that can gradually replace capitalist exploitation with social equality. Its goal is not a utopian paradise overnight but a rational and democratic restructuring of society, ensuring equality, solidarity, and security for all citizens.Kautsky insists that confusing the two is not merely a linguistic mistake but a political danger: if socialism is equated with communism, then socialism will be discredited as reckless, utopian, or dictatorial. That is why he dedicates much of the book to showing that socialism represents a practical, democratic, and legitimate path, while communism is a relic of idealism that often degenerates into authoritarianism when forced upon society.According to Kautsky, communism’s purpose is equality through the instant removal of private property, but he stresses that it has failed to function as a lasting system: “Communism means the immediate abolition of private property and the creation of a community in which all share alike. It appeals to the imagination, but it has never yet provided a stable foundation for society.”Kautsky says, “Socialism does not mean the sudden destruction of property. It means the social ownership of the means of production, achieved through law and democracy, so that the labour of all may benefit all.” This defines socialism’s meaning and function: not rash upheaval, but collective control realised through democratic means.“The function of communism has been to awaken enthusiasm and to inspire sacrifice, but it has never yet organised society. The function of socialism is precisely to organise the working class and to build institutions that can endure.” Here, Kautsky contrasts communism as inspirational but chaotic, versus socialism as constructive and institutional.“The goal of socialism is not to conjure paradise in a day, but to replace exploitation with justice, insecurity with security, and privilege with equality.” This captures socialism’s pragmatic and democratic aspiration.The second section of his book deals with “primitive communism,” where Kautsky looks at historical experiments in collective living, ranging from early Christianity to small medieval sects. He argues that these movements were morally admirable but economically unsustainable, driven more by enthusiasm than by structural necessity. “The communistic experiments of the past, whether in early Christianity or among sects of the Middle Ages, were built upon enthusiasm but lacked any lasting economic foundation.” He stresses that past communal attempts were admirable but structurally fragile.
The third section shifts to the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, which he treats as moments where communist ideas were articulated with renewed force. He acknowledges their energy but underlines that these were largely utopian dreams disconnected from the realities of industrial production.
The fourth section analyses the Paris Commune of 1871, which he presents as a heroic but doomed attempt at building a communist society. Kautsky praises the courage of the Communards but concludes that their lack of durable institutions meant collapse was inevitable.The fifth section engages directly with the rise of Marxist socialism, which he describes as fundamentally different from communism. Socialism, in his account, is rooted in the development of capitalism and industrial labour, and it builds its programme around democratic institutions and gradual reform.
The sixth section then critiques Bolshevism. Kautsky argues that Lenin and his followers deliberately blurred the line between socialism and communism, imposing dictatorship in the name of the working class. He maintains that this was a betrayal of true socialist principles.
The final section concludes by reaffirming socialism’s status as the legitimate heir to industrial progress and democratic aspiration, while communism is dismissed as a utopian and authoritarian detour. Kautsky leaves his readers with a plea for clarity: the workers’ movement must not be undermined by confusing revolutionary fervour with sustainable political action.
The central message Kautsky wants to deliver is that socialism and communism are not identical, and treating them as if they were the same is both intellectually careless and politically dangerous. He insists that socialism, properly understood, is a democratic and reformist project rooted in the industrial development of capitalism and the struggles of the working class. It seeks to achieve social ownership of production through legal and parliamentary means, aiming for equality, justice, and security.In contrast, communism represents a utopian impulse: it seeks the immediate abolition of private property and the sudden creation of a classless society, but without economic or institutional foundations, it cannot endure. Worse, when it is forced upon society—as in the case of Bolshevik Russia—it degenerates into authoritarianism and dictatorship, betraying the democratic essence of socialism.Thus, the book functions both as a defence of socialism and as a warning against confusing it with communism. Kautsky’s core message is that the workers’ movement must pursue clarity, gradual progress, and democratic legitimacy, rather than being seduced by utopian dreams or revolutionary slogans. Only through socialism, not communism, can a just and enduring society be built.If we apply Kautsky’s message to the present day, China provides a striking example. Officially, the Chinese Communist Party claims that its system is “socialism with Chinese characteristics,” yet in practice it embodies some of the very dangers Kautsky warned about. Instead of socialism as he defined it—democratic, reformist, and rooted in popular participation—China has combined state ownership and centralised planning with a one-party authoritarian regime. This resembles what Kautsky would have labelled communism: the imposition of collective structures from above, enforced by dictatorship, and justified by revolutionary slogans.At the same time, China’s rapid industrial development and integration into global capitalism illustrate another irony. While the Communist Party maintains its rhetoric, the actual functioning of the Chinese economy relies heavily on market mechanisms, private entrepreneurship, and inequality between classes and regions. For Kautsky, this would confirm his warning that confusing socialism with communism only leads to contradiction: instead of building a democratic and just order, the system risks becoming authoritarian capitalism masked as socialism.Thus, China today exemplifies the core of Kautsky’s message. When socialism is equated with communism, democracy is sacrificed, inequality persists, and the workers’ movement is sidelined. His insistence on clarity and democratic legitimacy remains as relevant now as in 1932, showing that without those foundations, the promise of socialism is hollow.Imagine that socialism, as Kautsky defines it, is like a carefully cooked homemade meal: it takes time, it relies on the right ingredients, and its goal is to nourish everyone equally. Communism, on the other hand, is like trying to throw all the ingredients into a microwave at once, hoping that a perfect dish will come out instantly. The result is often uneven, burnt in places, and ultimately disappointing.Now think of China today. What it presents to the world is something like a global fast-food franchise branded as “socialism.” The sign outside says “socialism with Chinese characteristics,” but the menu inside is a strange mix: a little state control, a heavy dose of capitalism, a sprinkle of revolutionary rhetoric, and a side order of authoritarianism. It looks attractive, it is quick to deliver results, and it feeds millions, but it does not really match the recipe Kautsky imagined. For him, this would be a counterfeit product—an imitation that sacrifices quality and long-term nourishment for speed, spectacle, and control.In this analogy, Kautsky’s message remains simple: if you want the genuine flavour of socialism, you need patience, democracy, and authentic ingredients. Fast-food communism, even if it calls itself socialism, may fill the stomach for a while, but it will never provide the true sustenance of justice, equality, and freedom.Officially, China still identifies itself as a communist state, ruled by the Communist Party of China (CPC). However, in practice, its rise to economic power has less to do with orthodox communism and more to do with its selective embrace of capitalism under the banner of “socialism with Chinese characteristics.” Deng Xiaoping’s famous phrase—“It doesn’t matter whether a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice”—captures this pragmatism: ideology was bent in the service of economic growth.As for whether prosperity is truly shared, the picture is mixed. On the one hand, China has undeniably lifted more than 800 million people out of absolute poverty, a feat no other country has matched in such a short time. Infrastructure, urbanisation, and access to consumer goods have transformed daily life for many citizens.But is the figure of 800 million truly accurate? On the ground, there are several critical observations that warrant a more discerning lens. The central government has set stringent targets for poverty alleviation, which in turn creates strong incentives for local officials to “polish” their reports—such as declaring a village to have escaped poverty, even when living conditions remain dire.The World Bank’s benchmark for “extreme poverty” (US$1.90 PPP per day) may be a global standard, but it doesn’t always reflect the actual quality of life. One may be classified as “not extremely poor” yet still struggle to access healthcare, education, or adequate housing.Although the World Bank is involved, the underlying data still originates from official Chinese institutions. Transparency remains limited, as household surveys, wage figures, and rural conditions are often difficult to verify independently. Many individuals may have exited the “extreme poverty” category, but remain “vulnerable”: in the event of an economic crisis, pandemic, or mass redundancies, they could easily fall back into poverty.So while absolute poverty may have declined, social vulnerability remains high. Research has shown that access to healthcare, housing, and education is still markedly unequal between major cities and rural areas. In terms of numbers, “income” may have risen, but the quality of life remains low in many regions. Reports suggest that in some villages, people have been lifted above the “poverty line” merely due to cash subsidies, rather than genuine economic independence.Lian Meng (2019) and other scholars have noted that local officials often have political incentives to demonstrate success, making poverty data susceptible to manipulation. There have been cases where villages were declared “poverty-free” despite residents continuing to live in hardship. In other words, we’re seeing instances of cosmetic poverty alleviation—attractive figures in official reports, but a reality on the ground that’s far less polished.To be clear, China’s data does reflect real progress. But that doesn’t mean it’s free from bias. The figure of 800 million is better understood as an indicator of trend—a broad trajectory of poverty reduction—rather than a neat and flawless factual account.On the other hand, inequality has grown sharply: a new billionaire class has emerged, rural areas often lag behind, and millions of workers endure long hours in harsh conditions with limited labour rights. In this sense, the wealth has not been evenly spread, but concentrated in booming cities and among politically connected elites.When it comes to freedom, China remains highly restrictive. Political dissent is tightly controlled, censorship is pervasive, and surveillance is woven into everyday life. Citizens enjoy more personal consumption choices than before, but not the kind of political liberty or freedom of speech found in democratic nations. In short, China’s rise owes more to its pragmatic fusion of state control with market forces than to classical socialism, and while it has created prosperity, that prosperity is uneven, and it has come at the cost of political freedom.If Kautsky were observing Indonesia over the last decade, he might use his same warning about confusing socialism and communism, but in a different register. In Indonesia, socialism has long been associated with democracy, welfare, and equality, while communism has become a taboo word, often invoked as a scarecrow in political debates. The irony is that many policies branded as “pro-people” or “socialist” in tone often end up being closer to crony capitalism: state-owned enterprises controlled by elites, welfare programmes used for political branding, and slogans of equality masking entrenched inequality.From Kautsky’s perspective, this would be another case of “fast-food socialism.” The label is used for quick political consumption, but the essence—democratic empowerment of the working class and genuine redistribution—is missing. Instead of building strong democratic institutions and long-term reforms, leaders often rely on populist gestures and state power concentrated in a few hands.Thus, Kautsky’s message resonates in Indonesia as well: socialism should not be reduced to slogans or authoritarian shortcuts. If the aim is truly equality and justice, then it must come through transparency, democracy, and durable institutions. Otherwise, what is served is not authentic socialism but a shallow copy that feeds votes for the moment but leaves society malnourished in the long run.Take, for instance, the rhetoric of “ekonomi kerakyatan” that frequently appears in Indonesian politics. Leaders present it as if it were socialism: a system meant to empower the people and reduce inequality. Yet in practice, much of what passes under this slogan is managed through elite networks, where state-owned enterprises (BUMN) are controlled by politically connected figures. Instead of workers or citizens benefiting directly, these institutions often serve as instruments of patronage. For Kautsky, this would be evidence of how socialism is being reduced to a label, while its democratic essence is missing.Similarly, social welfare programmes such as bansos (social assistance) are marketed as policies for equality. However, they are frequently distributed with a political agenda, timed around elections, and used as a tool of image-building. Kautsky would likely argue that this reflects not socialism in its true sense but “fast-food socialism”: policies that give immediate satisfaction and votes but fail to construct the democratic institutions and structural changes needed for lasting equality.Even the invocation of cooperatives (koperasi) as a national economic model follows this pattern. Though inspired by genuine socialist ideas of collective ownership, cooperatives in practice have often been mismanaged, politicised, or sidelined in favour of large conglomerates. Again, Kautsky’s warning applies: without democratic control and real empowerment of workers, the form remains socialist, but the content is hollow.In short, he would see these examples as confirming his message: socialism cannot survive as slogans or populist gestures. It must be rooted in institutions, democracy, and long-term reform; otherwise, it degenerates into empty branding or veiled capitalism.
[Part 4]
