The endless greed of the elite and the devastation of the people and the land for profit leave class revolution as the only option, regardless of the fact that it is a new full member of BRICS
Over the past 12–18 months, Indonesia has erupted in a series of protests that are difficult to categorize as “ordinary discontent.” Workers, students, environmental activists, and Indigenous communities have taken to the streets over austerity measures, labor market “reforms,” land grabs, and the brutal destruction of the environment. For those who haven’t been following: this is a broad and persistent uprising against an oligarchic system in which politics, the military-security apparatus, and big capital share the spoils, while the majority are left with miserable wages and rising living costs.
The timeline is striking. First, the labor base woke up on May Day 2024, when hundreds of thousands in dozens of cities demanded the repeal of the “Omnibus Law on Job Creation” — a so-called investment-friendly package that brought workers easier layoffs, perpetual outsourcing, and lower minimum wages. The summer of 2024 was marked by student protests against attempts to change electoral laws to consolidate power. In October that same year, the Indigenous movement AMAN gathered thousands in Jakarta demanding accountability for a decade of projects that trampled their land rights.
In early 2025, things escalated: “Indonesia Gelap” – “Dark Indonesia” – a massive student movement emerged against government spending cuts. The slogan was symbolic: a response to President Prabowo’s promised “Golden Indonesia.” To fund a national school meal program, the government slashed budgets for education, healthcare, and infrastructure, while increasingly allowing the military into civilian roles. Thousands of students dressed in black marched not only in Jakarta and Yogyakarta, but also in Medan, Banda Aceh, and Makassar.
Local environmental resistance further inflamed the atmosphere. In May 2025, residents of West Sulawesi protested against sand mining tied to the construction of the new capital, Nusantara, warning of illegal permits and devastated coastlines. Earlier, on Rempang Island, a plan for mass evictions to make way for an “eco-city” and a glass factory ignited regional unrest. On Flores, farmers protested a geothermal project on their land. Underpinning it all is nickel – the “green” metal for batteries – whose boom in Sulawesi and the Maluku Islands has deforested the land and polluted the water. Profits flow into consortia and state coffers, while local communities bear the cost.
The final explosion came recently, in late August 2025, when news leaked that lawmakers would receive extravagant monthly housing allowances — nearly ten times the minimum wage in Jakarta. In a country where basic goods have become unaffordable, this felt like a collective slap in the face to the working people. Then, when police ran over and killed a motorcyclist during a chaotic crackdown, the flames of rage spread across several islands: local parliament buildings were set ablaze, the streets filled with massive crowds, and the number of casualties grew by the day. Protesters laid siege to the national parliament and briefly breached the complex.
At the root of these movements is a combination of austerity and inequality. Budget cuts, new tax burdens, and subsidy reductions come alongside rising food and fuel prices. In such a context, every elite privilege — from housing perks to official vehicles — feels like an insult. “Indonesia Gelap” has become a generational slogan: students have clearly expressed that austerity policies are destroying the social functions of the state and their future, while “efficiency” is just another word for redirecting public resources to private interests.
The labor issue, however, remains central. The dispute over the “Omnibus Law” is not a semantic debate but a battle over a model of accumulation: labor flexibility as a permanent state, endless outsourcing, infinitely renewable contracts, and minimum wages adjusted for “competitiveness,” not for a dignified life. Partial judicial corrections — such as the reinstatement of sectoral minimum wages or some outsourcing limits — have shown that pressure works, but without legislative overhaul, the system remains intact.
In Indonesia, everything ties back to the oligarchy. From dynastic ambitions in politics to symbiosis with conglomerates and generals, the system reproduces itself through privileges and patronage. That’s why the slogans of 2025 have reached the level of open class discourse: demands for the seizure of assets gained through corruption, tax reform targeting the wealthy, and the dissolution of a compromised parliament…
Another key element is militarization. New rules allowing active military officers to enter civilian functions — even in school meal logistics — recall the authoritarian days. Protests are routinely met with water cannons, tear gas, and arrests. Internet access is throttled, and “disinformation” laws are wielded as a club.
Who’s actually on the streets? On one side, large trade union federations and the new Labor Party mobilize factory and public sector workers. On the other, student executive bodies (BEM), ad-hoc coalitions like “Gejayan Calls,” and youth networks skilled in flooding social media. Standing with them are legal aid organizations, environmental movements, and more discreetly, leftist and anarchist groups that provide the ideological framework. In the provinces, local communities often lead the charge — women and elders defending their land, forests, and seas.
The anti-capitalist dimension of these protests doesn’t lie in flags, but in substance. The rebellion rejects the dogma that “development” means profit growth — especially when that profit devours labor, knowledge, and nature. Demands for higher wages, secure contracts, progressive taxation, the seizure of stolen wealth, and stronger environmental protections form a program directly opposed to the accumulation regime that shifts costs onto the poorest. The “green” transition, as currently implemented — with nickel and sand from Nusantara — is being revealed as a new version of old extractivism. It doesn’t matter whether investments come from the West or Asia: without control over capital, the result is the same.
Is this a revolution?
If by revolution we mean the immediate collapse of the system — not yet.
But if we see it as a process of building power from below, then Indonesia is already living its early phase. Movements have already achieved tangible wins — rolling back outrageous housing perks for MPs, stopping electoral manipulation, and partially correcting labor laws.
If the alliance between workers, students, and Indigenous communities deepens into a shared program — redirecting budget priorities toward public goods, demilitarizing governance, genuinely protecting land rights and ecosystems — then the anti-capitalist current could move from rhetoric to real political practice. Otherwise, repression and fatigue could send it all back to square one.
In geopolitical terms, Indonesia — which became a full member of BRICS in February this year, a bloc led by China and Russia — is a mirror of a broader global paradox: multipolarity without a change in the development model brings no justice, only more centers of power fighting over the same resources. What is emerging in Jakarta and Makassar is an alternative to that logic — a hard defense of social wealth against private accumulation.
Is Indonesia now more “interesting” to the world as it pivots toward a new alliance? Certainly.
But that does nothing to diminish the profoundly homegrown nature of this rebellion — one that has every reason, and every right, to exist.
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