Making Education Accessible for All (1)

Recently in Jakarta, a viral case emerged involving a street vendor named Sudrajat, an elderly seller of “es gabus” (a traditional ice snack), who was publicly accused by members of the Indonesian National Police (Polri) and the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI) of selling food purportedly made from sponge material. The interaction was captured in a video that circulated widely on social media and sparked significant public attention.

In the video, the uniformed personnel examined the vendor’s goods and suggested that the texture of the ice resembled a sponge — a claim some interpreted as implying the food was unsafe or made with harmful materials. This prompted concern among bystanders and on social media about the safety of traditional foods, leading to heightened scrutiny of the vendor.  

However, following laboratory analyses conducted by relevant authorities, including the Dokpol Food Safety Team and forensic laboratories, it was established that the frozen snack was made from conventional ingredients, safe to eat, and did not contain sponge or any hazardous material. Police later clarified that the initial impression was based on a rapid response to public concern rather than verified scientific evidence.

In response to the widespread reaction and the misinformation that resulted, both Polri and TNI personnel involved issued formal apologies to the vendor and the public for the confusion and distress caused by the incident. Some of the military personnel involved also received disciplinary action as part of internal evaluations.

The episode has drawn attention to the risks of rapid, unverified public accusations, especially when amplified online, and underscored the importance of evidence-based procedures in official actions — particularly those involving community members and small business operators. It became a notable cultural moment in Indonesia, demonstrating how quickly a misunderstanding can escalate and the responsibility that institutions have to handle such matters with care and professionalism.  

The incident indicates limitations in scientific literacy, public communication skills, or social sensitivity on the part of the officers involved, particularly because the accusation was made before any evidence-based verification took place. In this sense, the issue is not simply one of formal educational attainment, but of critical thinking, professional restraint, and an awareness of the social consequences of one’s actions. Genuine education does not merely produce certificates; it cultivates the capacity to avoid premature conclusions, to respect the dignity of citizens, and to prioritise fair procedures.

However, it would be unjust to generalise from this case and treat it as a reflection of the quality of all personnel or institutions. It is more accurate to view it as symptomatic of broader systemic pressures, including demanding field conditions, a culture of rapid response that sometimes bypasses adequate verification, limited training in evidence-based communication, and insufficient emphasis on humane engagement with vulnerable communities. In such circumstances, even formally educated individuals may act hastily.

At the same time, the episode highlights gaps in the development and supervision of state personnel. Security officers require not only technical training, but also stronger foundations in basic scientific literacy, public service ethics, social empathy, and an understanding of citizens’ rights. Without these elements, extensive authority risks being exercised disproportionately, particularly against those in precarious positions.

Rather than concluding simply that certain individuals lack education, it is more constructive to interpret this incident as a signal for systemic improvement: the need to enhance training quality, to strengthen a professional culture grounded in evidence, and to reinforce the principle that state officers exist to protect and serve, not to pass judgement prematurely. In this respect, the case is not merely about one ice-snack vendor, but about how the state shapes the character and conduct of its public servants in everyday civic life.

Beyond limitations in scientific literacy, the case may also reflect a form of individual power arrogance, namely a tendency to assume moral and social superiority over ordinary citizens. This kind of arrogance does not always manifest as overt aggression; more often it appears as condescension, unilateral judgement, or a sense of entitlement to accuse in public without proper verification. When officers immediately suspected a small street vendor without scientific evidence, it exposed an imbalance of power: one side spoke from a position of uniform authority, while the other stood in a vulnerable social position.

It is important to recognise, however, that such attitudes rarely arise solely from personal character. They are frequently shaped by institutional cultures that place strong emphasis on hierarchy, obedience, and rapid response, while giving insufficient attention to critical reflection, social empathy, and public accountability. Within such environments, personnel may become accustomed to issuing assessments or directives without fully considering the psychological, social, and economic consequences for marginalised citizens.

At the same time, operational pressures, habits of quick decision-making in the field, and limited training in humane communication can further reinforce this pattern. As a result, actions that may have been intended as routine oversight can turn into public displays of authority that undermine personal dignity, especially when recorded and circulated widely.

It is therefore more accurate to interpret this incident as the convergence of weak scientific literacy, inadequate social sensitivity, and a culture of power that has not yet fully evolved into a culture of service. This is not merely about isolated individuals, but about a broader institutional challenge: how state officers are shaped to become not only structurally disciplined, but also ethically mature.

The episode reminds us that professional conduct cannot be measured solely by uniforms or authority, but by restraint, respect for citizens, and evidence-based action. Without these qualities, power can easily drift into arrogance, and the state may come to feel more like a threat than a form of protection for ordinary people.

In the world of education, The recent reports of teachers in Indonesia being taken to the police, despite their professed aim of educating young people, reflect a complex interplay of societal expectations, legal norms, generational dynamics, and pressures within the education system itself. At its core, education is a deeply relational activity; it depends on trust between teachers, students, parents, communities, and the state. When that trust is strained, conflicts are more likely to escalate into formal complaints or legal action. Such situations are not necessarily a sign that educators are fundamentally misguided, but they do signal that the social context around teaching and learning has become more contested and fraught.

One factor contributing to these developments is the increasing visibility and assertiveness of parents and students, who are more aware of their rights and less willing to accept poor treatment or perceived misconduct. This empowerment, while positive in many respects, can also lead to a lower threshold for reporting behaviour that, in earlier times, might have been handled within the school community. The proliferation of social media amplifies this dynamic, permitting individual grievances to be aired widely and quickly, sometimes without the mediating influence of professional norms or reflective dialogue.

At the same time, teachers in Indonesia—as in many countries—often work under conditions of limited support, heavy workloads, and insufficient professional development. These pressures can strain even the best-intentioned educators, making misunderstandings and miscommunications more likely. When situations escalate beyond the classroom, stakeholders may resort to formal channels, including the police, especially if there is a perception that internal school mechanisms for conflict resolution are weak or untrustworthy.

Another layer lies in broader societal changes and anxieties about youth behaviour, morality, and social norms. In contexts where there are heightened sensitivities around issues such as discipline, gender interactions, or religious values, episodes that might once have been considered part of ordinary school life can instead be construed as inappropriate or criminal. This reflects a society in transition, in which norms about authority, respect, and personal autonomy are being renegotiated.

It is also important to consider the legal environment. Indonesia’s legal framework includes strict provisions regarding child protection, misconduct, and abuse, designed to safeguard students. However, the implementation of these laws sometimes lacks nuance, leading to situations where well-meaning educational actions are interpreted through a legalistic lens that prioritises formal sanctions over restorative understanding. This underscores a mismatch between legal expectations and the everyday realities of teaching and learning.

Finally, what these reports suggest about the state of education among Indonesia’s youth is not that the entire generation is in crisis, but that the relationship between young people, educators, and society is undergoing significant stress. Young people today are growing up in a rapidly changing world, shaped by technology, global cultures, and shifting economic landscapes. These forces affect their behaviour, aspirations, and interactions, and they also shape how communities interpret and respond to challenges in schools.

The increase in reports against teachers should prompt reflection on multiple fronts: the need for stronger support systems for educators, clearer mechanisms for conflict resolution within schools, more informed public discourse about the role and limits of legal intervention, and ongoing societal conversations about the shared goals of education. Rather than viewing these incidents as isolated aberrations, they should be understood as symptomatic of deeper transformations in Indonesian society and education that call for thoughtful, collective responses.

When we discuss access to education in a country, the starting point should not be school buildings, curricula, or international rankings, but rights. We begin by recognising education as a fundamental human right, not merely a public service or an economic commodity. From this foundation, we may then ask how far the state genuinely guarantees this right in practice, rather than simply proclaiming it in constitutional texts.

Education must be viewed as a fundamental human right because it lies at the very foundation of human dignity, freedom, and equality. Without education, individuals are deprived of the basic tools needed to understand their world, to express themselves, and to participate meaningfully in social, economic, and political life. Treating education as a right affirms that every person, regardless of birth or circumstance, deserves the opportunity to develop their capacities and to pursue a life of purpose.

From a moral perspective, education enables people to exercise their autonomy. It equips them with critical thinking, literacy, and knowledge, allowing them to make informed choices rather than being governed solely by necessity, tradition, or manipulation. When access to education is uneven or restricted, freedom itself becomes unequal, because only some are empowered to shape their own futures. Recognising education as a human right therefore protects individuals from being trapped by ignorance or structural disadvantage.

Education is also inseparable from social justice. Societies inherit inequalities across generations, and education is one of the few institutions capable of interrupting this cycle. When it is treated as a right rather than a privilege, education becomes a mechanism for widening opportunity, reducing poverty, and fostering social mobility. If it is left to market forces or private capacity alone, existing disparities are reinforced, and learning becomes another commodity reserved for those who can afford it.

From a civic standpoint, education sustains democratic life. Informed citizens are better able to engage critically with information, to participate responsibly in public affairs, and to hold power to account. Without broad access to education, democracy risks becoming hollow, dominated by narrow elites while large segments of the population remain marginalised. Viewing education as a fundamental right thus safeguards not only individuals, but the health of society itself.

There is also a collective responsibility embedded in this principle. Education shapes the character of future generations, transmits cultural knowledge, and prepares societies to face shared challenges. By recognising education as a human right, states acknowledge that learning is not merely a private benefit, but a public good essential to peace, development, and social cohesion.

Ultimately, to regard education as a fundamental human right is to affirm that human potential should never be determined by poverty, geography, or social status. It expresses a commitment to equality of worth and opportunity, and it signals that societies choose to invest in people, not merely in economies. In this sense, education as a human right is not an abstract ideal, but a practical foundation for a more just and humane world.

Human Rights and Equality in Education: Comparative Perspectives on the Right to Education for Minorities and Disadvantaged Groups (2018, Policy Press), edited by Sandra Fredman, Meghan Campbell and Helen Taylor, explores education from a human rights perspective, focusing on legal and policy frameworks that affect access for minorities and disadvantaged groups. This supports the argument that education is a basic human right and highlights the state’s accountability in ensuring equal access.

Using the lens of Human Rights and Equality in Education: Comparative Perspectives on the Right to Education for Minorities and Disadvantaged Groups, education must be seen as a fundamental human right because it is intrinsically tied to human dignity, equal citizenship, and the capacity of individuals to participate meaningfully in society. From this perspective, education is not simply an instrument for economic productivity or workforce preparation, but a foundational condition for personal autonomy, social inclusion, and democratic life. Treating education as a right affirms that every person, regardless of background, ethnicity, gender, disability, or socio-economic status, is entitled to develop their potential and exercise their freedoms on an equal footing with others.

The book’s comparative approach makes clear that educational inequalities are rarely the result of individual failure; rather, they emerge from structural disadvantages embedded in law, policy, and institutional practice. Viewing education as a fundamental human right therefore places a direct obligation on the state to address these systemic barriers, rather than leaving outcomes to market forces or personal circumstance. It reframes learners, especially those from minority and disadvantaged groups, not as passive recipients of charity or services, but as rights-holders whose claims carry legal and moral weight. In this sense, access to schooling alone is insufficient; governments are also responsible for ensuring quality, cultural relevance, safety, and inclusivity, so that education genuinely enables equal participation.

Moreover, understanding education as a human right challenges the commodification of learning, where educational opportunities are increasingly shaped by ability to pay rather than by need or justice. When education is treated primarily as an economic good, inequalities tend to deepen, as privileged groups accumulate advantages while marginalised communities fall further behind. A rights-based lens resists this logic by insisting that education serves broader social purposes: fostering critical thinking, nurturing mutual respect, and sustaining social cohesion. It emphasises that societies have a collective responsibility to invest in those who have been historically excluded, not as an act of benevolence, but as a requirement of substantive equality.

The book’s framework shows that recognising education as a fundamental human right is essential because education shapes life chances, power relations, and the distribution of opportunity across generations. It is through education that individuals gain the tools to understand their rights, challenge injustice, and contribute to public life. Seen in this way, education becomes a cornerstone of social justice and democratic integrity, and a measure of how seriously a society takes the principle that all human beings are equal in worth.

Using the lens of Human Rights and Equality in Education: Comparative Perspectives on the Right to Education for Minorities and Disadvantaged Groups means approaching education first and foremost as a fundamental human right that is inherent to every person, rather than as a discretionary public service or a market-driven commodity. From this perspective, education is understood as a legal and moral entitlement grounded in international human rights frameworks, such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, which oblige states to ensure availability, accessibility, acceptability, and adaptability of education for all learners, especially those who have historically been marginalised.

Through this lens, the role of the state shifts from being a mere provider of schooling to being a primary duty-bearer responsible for guaranteeing equal educational opportunities, actively removing structural barriers, and addressing systemic discrimination faced by minorities and disadvantaged groups. Education is not treated as something citizens must earn through economic capacity or social status, but as a shared social good that enables human dignity, personal development, democratic participation, and social cohesion. Comparative perspectives within this framework reveal that inequalities in education are rarely accidental; they are often the result of policy choices, institutional biases, and unequal resource distribution, which means that governments are accountable not only for access to schools but also for the quality and inclusiveness of learning environments.

Seen in this way, recognising education as a basic right requires moving beyond narrow metrics of efficiency, productivity, or return on investment. Instead, it demands an ethical commitment to equity, where targeted measures such as affirmative policies, inclusive curricula, culturally responsive teaching, and adequate funding for underserved communities are viewed not as special favours but as necessary steps to realise substantive equality. Education becomes a means of empowerment rather than stratification, aiming to break intergenerational cycles of poverty and exclusion rather than reproducing them.

Ultimately, applying this lens reframes education as a cornerstone of social justice. It insists that societies are judged not by how well education serves economic growth alone, but by how effectively it uplifts the most vulnerable and affirms the equal worth of every learner. In this conception, education stands as a collective responsibility and a foundational pillar of human rights, shaping not only individual life chances but also the moral character and democratic health of a nation.

The next step is to examine who is being left behind. Access to education is never evenly distributed; disparities persist between urban and rural areas, between rich and poor communities, between centres of power and peripheral regions, and between majority and minority groups. Any honest discussion must therefore begin with the most vulnerable: children from low-income families, those living in remote areas, persons with disabilities, and communities that have been historically marginalised. The way a nation treats these groups reflects the true quality of its educational system.

After this, attention must turn to structural barriers. Are direct and indirect costs still preventing participation? What about distance to schools, the availability and quality of teachers, infrastructure, internet access, and zoning policies? Access does not merely mean being permitted to attend school; it means being genuinely able to do so without sacrificing dignity, health, or family survival.

Only then should we address questions of quality and relevance. Access without quality produces statistics, not empowerment. Education ought to cultivate critical thinking, practical life skills, and self-confidence, rather than merely providing certificates. At this stage, we assess whether the education system prepares citizens for real life, or simply funnels them into a narrow labour market.

Finally, all of this must be situated within the context of political will. Budget allocations, policy priorities, transparency, and state commitment are decisive. Access to education is never neutral; it always reflects choices made by those in power. A government that truly values education demonstrates this through consistent action, not slogans.

In short, discussions of educational access should begin with rights, move through inequality and structural barriers, proceed to quality, and conclude with political commitment. For ultimately, education is not merely about schooling; it is about social justice and our shared future.

At the same time, teachers in Indonesia — as in many countries — often work under conditions of limited support, heavy workloads, and insufficient professional development. These pressures can strain even the best-intentioned educators, making misunderstandings and miscommunication more likely. When situations escalate beyond the classroom, stakeholders may resort to formal channels, including the police, especially if there is a perception that internal school mechanisms for conflict resolution are weak or untrustworthy.

Another layer lies in broader societal changes and anxieties about youth behaviour, morality, and social norms. In contexts where there are heightened sensitivities around issues such as discipline, gender interactions, or religious values, episodes that might once have been considered part of ordinary school life can instead be construed as inappropriate or criminal. This reflects a society in transition, in which norms about authority, respect, and personal autonomy are being renegotiated.

It is also important to consider the legal environment. Indonesia’s legal framework includes strict provisions regarding child protection, misconduct, and abuse, designed to safeguard students. However, the implementation of these laws sometimes lacks nuance, leading to situations where well-meaning educational actions are interpreted through a legalistic lens that prioritises formal sanctions over restorative understanding. This underscores a mismatch between legal expectations and the everyday realities of teaching and learning.

Finally, what these reports suggest about the state of education among Indonesia’s youth is not that the entire generation is in crisis, but that the relationship between young people, educators, and society is undergoing significant stress. Young people today are growing up in a rapidly changing world, shaped by technology, global cultures, and shifting economic landscapes. These forces affect their behaviour, aspirations, and interactions, and they also shape how communities interpret and respond to challenges in schools.

In sum, the increase in reports against teachers should prompt reflection on multiple fronts: the need for stronger support systems for educators, clearer mechanisms for conflict resolution within schools, more informed public discourse about the role and limits of legal intervention, and ongoing societal conversations about the shared goals of education. Rather than viewing these incidents as isolated aberrations, they should be understood as symptomatic of deeper transformations in Indonesian society and education that call for thoughtful, collective responses.

[Part 2]

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