A Japanese anime has unexpectedly become a symbol of resistance in Indonesia, as young people lean into popular culture to speak out against corruption and ineffective governance. The viral protests come as space for dissent in the world’s third-largest democracy shrinks.
Young Indonesians are using the nation’s 80th independence anniversary today to mark their dissatisfaction with Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto’s government. Elected last year, he still enjoys enviable approval ratings, but disenchantment with his administration is growing in the archipelago once heralded as the poster child of democratic transformation in Southeast Asia. In the last decade though, that progress has stalled.
Frustration with the system gave rise to nationwide demonstrations in February, known as Indonesia Gelap, or Dark Indonesia. Students marched against a variety of issues, such as the role of the military in government, corruption, nepotism and Prabowo’s well-intentioned but heavily criticized free-meal program.
Illustration: Louise Ting
However, on a recent trip to Jakarta I observed an interesting phenomenon — black flags with a symbol from the popular Japanese anime One Piece. The Jolly Roger, the fictional skull and crossbones with a straw hat, first started popping up on the back of trucks and vehicles, and then on doorways and flagpoles across Indonesia. The trend began after Prabowo called for citizens to fly the national red-and-white flag ahead of this weekend’s independence celebrations, according to some social media observers.
The choice of One Piece’s Jolly Roger is not accidental. It is a classic tale of good versus evil, following the travels of Monkey D. Luffy and fellow Straw Hat Pirates who are fighting a draconian regime. The parallels are not lost on young Indonesians.
Compared with their peers in the region, they are among the most concerned about a widening income gap, job prospects and graft, according to a recent survey by the Singapore-based ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute.
Freedom House ranks Indonesia as only party free, citing systemic corruption and the politicized use of defamation and blasphemy laws.
This is not the future students and activists fought for during the country’s painful transition to democracy from military rule in 1998. At the time, they took to the streets, demanding the end of former president and dictator Suharto’s three-decade rule. I spent my formative years in autocratic Indonesia, witnessing that transformation. Suharto eventually stepped down, and the nation became a democracy, with an active civil society and media. Losing these hard-won freedoms would mean those struggles were fought in vain.
Optimists about Indonesia’s post-authoritarian era have many successes to point to. It has enjoyed relatively smooth handovers of power, regular election cycles and a flourishing of public debate. It is Southeast Asia’s largest economy, and occupies a strategic position in the Indo-Pacific region. Home to rich natural resources, it is a pivotal player in the rivalry between the US and China. The democratic backsliding now threatens its international reputation.
The erosion of rights did not start with Prabowo, but it has intensified. Former Indonesian president Joko Widodo’s tenure was marked by a declining civil rights landscape and diminishing press freedoms, even though he was initially viewed as a champion of democracy.
There have been more setbacks in the past two years. Controversial rulings by the Indonesian Constitutional Court in favor of the political elite, revisions to the military law expanding the role of the armed forces, and a weak opposition have meant that accountability is almost non-existent. Public criticism is dismissed rather than addressed, as Hangga Fathana, a lecturer at the Universitas Islam Indonesia, noted for the Australian Institute of International Affairs.
Rather than acknowledging concerns, the Indonesian president mocked his critics, alleging the rallies were politically motivated and unrooted in reality. This represents a new form of crushing protests — not with violent repression, but with narrative control and strategic indifference, making it difficult for activists to push for change, Hangga said.
Dissent now feels futile or dangerous, young people have told me, a reason the movement behind the One Piece anime resonates. The art of using symbols to get political messages across is not new. From Winnie the Pooh, who social media users deemed had a likeness to Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平), to the Hunger Games’ three-finger salute in Thailand and Myanmar, to the use of Pepe the Frog in Hong Kong protests, popular culture has always seeped into Asian political life.
Memetic imagery is a language of rebellion for the digital age. It is difficult to suppress and visually sticky. When authorities try to crack down claiming that holding the One Piece flag carries criminal repercussions, this only makes them more appealing.
However, symbolism can only go so far. Rights groups and opposition parties must continue to push for legal safeguards on freedom of expression, peaceful assembly and student activism. As public demonstrations are increasingly being met with arbitrary arrests, civil society groups would need to be creative to raise awareness about the erosion of rights.
When the space for dissent is disappearing, even a cryptic cartoon flag can feel revolutionary. It is a telling state of affairs in a nation that has fought for its democracy so fiercely.
Karishma Vaswani is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering Asia politics with a special focus on China. Previously, she was the BBC’s lead Asia presenter and worked for the BBC across Asia and South Asia for two decades. This column reflects the personal views of the author and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editorial board or Bloomberg LP and its owners.
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