In the final days of September 1965, Indonesia witnessed one of the darkest episodes in its modern history, when the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) orchestrated a brutal attempt to seize power. The night of 30 September became synonymous with treachery and bloodshed, as several senior military generals were kidnapped and murdered in cold blood. These acts, carried out under the banner of revolutionary struggle, shocked the nation to its core and set in motion a chain of violence that would leave deep scars on the national psyche.The tragedy of G30S-PKI was not simply a political coup gone wrong; it was a calculated assault on the very foundations of the state. By targeting the leadership of the Indonesian Armed Forces, the perpetrators sought to destabilise the country and open the way for Communist domination. In the chaos that followed, the Indonesian people were confronted with the grim reality of an ideology that disregarded faith, morality, and human life in pursuit of absolute power.Since that time, every year at the end of September, Indonesians have been called to remember those days of horror. The commemoration is not just about revisiting a painful history, but about reinforcing national unity against any ideology that seeks to undermine Pancasila. The collective memory of the slain generals and the existential threat posed by Communism continues to serve as a stark reminder that the nation’s independence and moral values must never be taken for granted.The events of G30S-PKI are therefore etched into Indonesia’s calendar as both a warning and a lesson. They symbolise the dangers of extremism in any form, but especially the cruelty that can emerge when political ambition is cloaked in ideological fanaticism. For Indonesians today, remembering late September is less about dwelling in fear and more about affirming resilience: that despite attempts to divide and destroy, the nation stands united under the banner of Pancasila.Before delving into the history and dangers of Communism, it is essential to pause and take a sober look at the present condition of Indonesia. The nation today stands at a crossroads, facing challenges of economic disparity, political polarisation, and the growing influence of global ideologies that compete for the hearts and minds of its people. While Indonesia has enjoyed decades of peace and progress since the turmoil of the mid-twentieth century, the stability of its democracy and the resilience of its national values are not guaranteed. To understand why vigilance remains necessary, and why certain ideologies must be carefully scrutinised, we must first reflect upon the realities of our current time.
The August 2025 unrest did not spring from a vacuum; it was the combustible end-point of grievances that had been simmering for years and then ignited by a single, searing incident. Public fury over lavish parliamentary perks—especially a housing allowance wildly out of step with ordinary wages—collided with an austerity backdrop that many perceived as squeezing schools, health services, and local infrastructure. When a 21-year-old delivery rider, Affan Kurniawan, was fatally struck by an armoured police vehicle outside the national parliament, the moral equation changed: what had been anger at inequality became outrage about dignity, justice, and state restraint. The footage and eyewitness accounts spread at digital speed, reframing protests as a defence of everyday humanity rather than a dispute about line-items and allowances.
Economically, the protests were a rebuke to a political economy that appeared to reward the elite while asking everyone else to tighten belts. The symbolism was devastating: a monthly perk for lawmakers reportedly approaching ten times the minimum wage in Jakarta, juxtaposed with rising living costs and patchy public services. Such optics produced a classic “fairness shock”—the sense that the social contract had been bent out of shape by privilege. Even as authorities pledged to roll back some of the benefits once the streets exploded, many read the U-turn as proof that accountability only arrives when the pavement burns.
Socially, a cross-class coalition materialised almost overnight: students, labour unions, gig-economy riders, and urban poor communities converged not only around purchasing-power pain but around respect and recognition. The death of a young worker doing a delivery run, amplified by smartphones and street reporting, gave the movement a relatable face and a rallying cry. Digital networks lowered coordination costs and raised moral temperature; anger travelled faster than official statements, and neighbourhood solidarities filled logistical gaps with food, motorbikes, and safe routes. In that atmosphere, small provocations escalated quickly, and isolated scuffles tipped into wider disorder.
Culturally, the clashes exposed a widening etiquette gap between rulers and ruled. Indonesia’s civic ethos of gotong royong—mutual aid, humility, and togetherness—jarred with the spectacle of luxury benefits and a security posture that many read as dismissive, even contemptuous. In a society where leaders are expected to show tepo seliro—empathetic self-restraint—tone-deaf defensiveness became kerosene. Each image of armoured vehicles and tear gas stood not just for force, but for a perceived breach of respect. That cultural breach explains why the unrest travelled across islands and into local parliaments: people weren’t merely protesting numbers; they were contesting narratives about who matters.
Politically, the crisis crystallised long-running anxieties about corruption, impunity, and the blurred lines between civilian and security power. The rapid deployment of police and military, mass arrests, and talk of criminalising protest hardened positions; international calls for restraint and investigations only heightened the sense that Indonesia’s democratic musculature was being stress-tested. When the presidency later announced cuts to perks while warning of heavy consequences for disorder, the mixed signalling soothed some tempers but also entrenched a view that pressure, not process, moves policy. In short, the state won policy points yet lost trust capital.
On the ground, the anatomy of escalation followed a grimly familiar pattern: a legitimacy shock (the perks), a catalysing tragedy (Affan Kurniawan’s death), a cycle of protest-police confrontation, and then diffusion across cities with copycat targets—regional parliaments, police stations, and symbolic state buildings. As nights wore on, mixed crowds and opportunistic actors blurred the line between protest and riot, producing deaths, arson, looting, and hundreds of injuries, while families reported loved ones missing amid chaos. The government tightened security and checkpoints; some organisers paused rallies, but the argument had already spilt into every café, campus, and commuter queue.
The causes were layered: economic unfairness that felt visceral; social coalitions newly empowered by platforms; cultural expectations of humble leadership colliding with the theatre of privilege and force; and political distrust accumulated over the years. The policy reversal on perks may staunch the bleeding, but the deeper wound is about legitimacy—whether citizens believe that the system hears them before the streets make it impossible not to listen.
Besides Affan Kurniawan, students died, and many people were arrested without clear reasons during the August 2025 unrest? Yes—multiple credible sources show that Affan Kurniawan’s death (run over by a police armoured vehicle) was not the only tragic loss and that security forces detained large numbers of people, including students, in ways that human-rights groups describe as arbitrary or excessive.Amnesty International and other NGOs have reported at least one student fatality in Yogyakarta that local university authorities and witnesses link to clashes with police, and Amnesty explicitly urged independent investigations into multiple deaths following the crackdowns.News organisations and student bodies also documented police use of tear gas, rubber bullets, and other crowd-control measures around university campuses (for example in Bandung), with students injured and some describing heavy-handed treatment.Numbers for arrests vary by source, but the scale is large and troubling. Official police figures and national press reports show over a thousand arrests in Jakarta alone, while civil-society groups and monitoring organisations reported hundreds more student detentions across multiple cities (some NGO tallies referenced roughly 600 students arrested in various locations). These discrepancies reflect both rapid developments on the ground and divergent counting methodologies, but they converge on the same conclusion: mass detentions occurred.Human Rights Watch, the UN human-rights office and other international bodies have publicly called for restraint, independent inquiries, and transparency about missing persons — KontraS documented dozens of people reported missing in the immediate aftermath— reinforcing that allegations of excessive force and arbitrary detention are credible and require impartial examination.Taken together, the available evidence supports the statement you relayed: Affan’s death was a key flashpoint, but it was accompanied by at least one reported student fatality, numerous injuries among students, and large numbers of arrests—including claims that many were detained without clear legal reason. The pattern is documented by reputable media outlets and human-rights organisations and has prompted calls for independent, transparent investigations.Request official lists and charge sheets from police and prosecutors’ offices; obtain Komnas HAM / independent autopsy reports for each death; demand a published register of detainees and their legal status; and press for third-party monitoring (Komnas HAM, independent lawyers, and international observers) to verify accounts on the ground. Human-rights bodies and the UN have already urged such steps.In Yogyakarta, the protests of late August 2025 saw a tragic student casualty when 21-year-old Rheza Sendy Pratama, a vocational student from Amikom University, succumbed to his injuries shortly after being beaten by police during a demonstration in front of the Regional Police Headquarters in Sleman on the evening of 30 August; he was brought to Dr. Sardjito Hospital and pronounced dead at 19:06 WIB that same day.Meanwhile, in Jakarta on 28 August, the widely publicised death of delivery driver Affan Kurniawan—aged 21—occurred near the Indonesian Parliament in Central Jakarta when he was struck and fatally run over by a Brimob tactical vehicle during the protest, casting a national spotlight on the unrest.A series of mass arrests occurred during and after several demonstrations in late August 2025, with Jakarta Metropolitan Police confirming that around 1,240 individuals were apprehended for participation in violent and anarchic actions over the course of protests held between 25 and 29 August; detainees were reported to include participants from outside the capital, such as those travelling from West Java and Banten.In addition, Indonesia’s National Commission on Human Rights (Komnas HAM) disclosed that from protests occurring on 25, 28, 30, and 31 August, a total of 1,683 individuals had been detained, and they stressed the urgency of releasing these demonstrators and informing their families.Earlier in the same month—on 25 and 28 August—civil society monitoring groups such as KontraS documented 351 arbitrarily detained civilians on the 25th (including 196 minors), while over the days that followed, up to 734 persons were arrested amid reports of excessive force including live bullet shots, beatings, water-cannon use, and tear gas deployment, resulting in 113 severe injuries and three deaths.The previous “regime” under Joko Widodo – for many simply referred to as "the prior administration" – bequeathed a complicated inheritance that continues to vex many Indonesians. Despite being celebrated for his infrastructure achievements and populist appeal, President Widodo’s term was also marked by persistent democratic erosion, fiscal strains, and social discontent that remain unresolved.One of the most pressing legacies is democratic backsliding. Critics charge that Jokowi weakened key oversight institutions, notably the Corruption Eradication Commission, or KPK, through legislative changes that diluted its independence. Moreover, the creeping triumph of elite patronage, nepotistic patterns – such as the elevation of his own children into high political office – and the manipulation of constitutional norms all signal that the reformasi ideals were compromised. Such shifts have left a democratic deficit that still troubles civic-minded groups.Economically, the era left significant fiscal vulnerabilities. Jokowi’s ambitious infrastructure programme undeniably improved transport and connectivity, but it came hand-in-hand with soaring national debt, ballooning budget deficits, and restrained tax revenue. The result is a tight fiscal tightrope for the current government. Extant mega-projects, including the new capital Nusantara and the Jakarta–Bandung high-speed rail, remain expensive undertakings with ongoing budgetary and feasibility concerns.Relatedly, Jokowi’s new capital project, Nusantara, remains a contentious symbol. Beyond its staggering cost, it involved limited consultation with local and Indigenous communities, raising concerns about displacement, land rights, and authoritarian-engineered planning.Environmental and Indigenous rights remain another unresolved fault line. The administration failed to pass landmark legislation recognising Indigenous land rights, and many of its supposedly progressive forestry and social forestry schemes, meant to protect customary land, were criticised for sidelining those very communities. Meanwhile, the government’s downstreaming of natural resources, such as nickel and palm oil development, though pitched as a sovereign economic strategy, often resulted in deforestation and land conflicts.Lastly, Jokowi’s handling of corruption and the judicial system continues to generate frustration. Despite the initial promise of reform, corruption scandals involving numerous ministers persisted, and public perception suggests that overall corruption worsened during his tenure.In sum, Jokowi’s prior term has left behind a mixed inheritance: more infrastructure, yet burdened by fiscal constraints, democratic vulnerabilities, unresolved land and environmental justice, and lingering corruption. These unfinished challenges remain urgent tasks for the current administration.Is it true that the Indonesian people are demanding President Prabowo’s resignation? This question has echoed through the public sphere since the wave of protests that erupted in August 2025. Yet, upon closer inspection, the reality proves far less straightforward. What appears on the streets as a resounding cry from the populace is, in truth, a reflection of widespread discontent—towards policy decisions, economic disparity, and the unresolved legacy of the previous administration. Some are angry, others disillusioned, and many simply swept along by the momentum of protest, absent any coherent political direction. To interpret this as a unified call for Prabowo to step down would be a misreading of the national mood.The public is acutely aware that should President Prabowo exit prematurely, the consequences could extend well beyond a fleeting political crisis. The nation risks losing its fragile stability, elite conflicts could spiral, and the ensuing power vacuum might plunge the economy into deeper turmoil. It is within this context that many Indonesians choose to endure—with grievances and criticism in tow—rather than gamble on the uncertainties of a sudden leadership change. For ordinary citizens, grappling daily with rising food prices, precarious employment, and the cost of living, the prospect of political disorientation is deeply unsettling. They may be angry, but they are not naïve: they understand that removing a president is no panacea, and may well usher in a greater catastrophe.Thus, the demonstrations and unrest are better characterised as social pressure and expressions of unease, rather than a collective demand for regime change. Many still regard Prabowo’s leadership as the final bulwark against systemic collapse. And so, while their voices ring loud in the streets, there remains a quiet, internal reckoning: let not upheaval descend into ruin.Moreover, critics were swift to denounce the meeting between Vice President Gibran and individuals claiming to be online motorcycle taxi (ojol) drivers on Sunday, 31 August 2025, characterising it as largely superficial and politically staged. Many netizens mocked the gathering, highlighting the overly pristine appearance of the supposed ojol representatives, with glowing jackets and Air Jordan sneakers that seemed wildly out of step with the everyday reality of most drivers. The collective view was that the meeting appeared staged rather than spontaneous or representative, prompting accusations of political image-making. Adding to the controversy, the head of the legitimate Ojol Drivers Association explicitly stated that none of the attendees belonged to any authorised association, calling the event a misstep by the Vice President, and reinforcing the perception that it was a credibility-sapping "set-up." Not to mention his brother-in-law in North Sumatra, who distributed basic necessities to ojol drivers.
In the turbulent weeks of August 2025, when Indonesia found itself shaken by waves of public discontent, President Prabowo’s stance revealed a dimension of leadership that deserves recognition within the context of democratic resilience. Instead of reacting with unrestrained force or narrowing the space for dialogue, he appeared willing to acknowledge the legitimacy of grievances, thereby signalling that the people’s voices could not simply be silenced under the weight of authority. This acknowledgement did not mean weakness; rather, it was a calculated affirmation that democracy thrives when dissent is not erased but engaged with. In the midst of chaos, he allowed the protests to become an expression of the public sphere, demonstrating that democracy in Indonesia is not confined to ballot boxes but lives on in the streets where citizens articulate their frustrations and aspirations.His measured approach offered a stark contrast to the fear that many had held—that the state might collapse into authoritarian reflexes. By avoiding such a path, Prabowo provided reassurance that, even in the most volatile of times, Indonesia remained committed to democratic principles. While critics may rightly argue about the speed and depth of reforms, the willingness to withstand dissent and avoid suppressing it altogether must be acknowledged as a contribution to preserving the fragile balance of Indonesia’s democratic life.A careful review of credible sources suggests that there is indeed sufficient evidence to substantiate this claim. During the previous administration, protests were met at times with aggressive policing, including arbitrary arrests, physical intimidation, and restrictions on civic freedoms.Notably, during the heated demonstrations against the Omnibus Law on Job Creation in 2020, authorities arrested nearly six thousand individuals, citing prevention of chaos—even as many of the detainees were peaceful protesters. Human rights organisations documented a widespread pattern of excessive force—use of water cannon, tear gas, beatings, denial of access to legal counsel—all aimed at curbing dissent.Peaceful political expression also faced curtailment. Activists in regions such as Papua were charged with treason merely for symbolic acts of protest. In one egregious case, a Papuan activist was detained and labelled a criminal for advocating independence via a peaceful statement.Moreover, civil society groups and academics were intimidated through direct and indirect channels. The administration initiated a so-called “communication approach” involving police and intelligence agencies ostensibly to “engage” dissenters, but in practice these were seen as forms of surveillance and subtle coercion. Independent voices—including journalists and human rights defenders—faced digital attacks, doxing, hacked communications, and legal pressures, stifling space for critical discourse.While open protest was not prohibited outright, the previous regime cultivated an environment where civic space was constrained—by means both forceful and covert—effectively limiting dissent even when it was peaceful and constitutionally protected.Was economic inequality truly one of the underlying issues behind the wave of protests in August 2025? Yes, there is compelling evidence to affirm that economic inequality was indeed a significant catalyst for the August 2025 protests in Indonesia. Many Indonesians perceived the vast disparity between public representatives and average citizens as deeply unjust. Controversy erupted when reports revealed that Members of Parliament were receiving housing allowances of around 50 million rupiah per month—nearly ten times Jakarta’s minimum wage—while ordinary people were grappling with rising living costs, stagnant wages, and widespread layoffs.Economic analysts further confirmed that the protests were fueled by genuine hardship—massive job cuts, with over 42,000 manufacturing positions lost, inflation eroding incomes, and regular Indonesians feeling abandoned by populist policies that had gone awry. Social commentators also highlighted the deepening social inequality, linking it to the eruption of anger into the streets.Thus, economic inequality was not a peripheral grievance—it was a central theme that gave the protests both legitimacy and urgency.
Critics have indeed suggested that President Prabowo has been rather slow and restrained in responding to the people’s demands, particularly in the aftermath of the August 2025 unrest. His posture has been interpreted as one of deliberate caution, privileging stability and elite consensus over direct engagement with the grievances of ordinary citizens. To some, this resembles a “low profile in crisis” strategy, which might spare him from missteps yet risks projecting indifference. Observers note that he appears more concerned with maintaining ties to the political establishment and the security apparatus than with standing visibly alongside those who feel unheard. Supporters, however, contend that his restraint reflects a longer-term calculation, an effort to manage the situation systematically rather than react impulsively. Thus, whether his muted response is seen as detachment or prudence depends very much on the perspective one adopts.[Part 2]
