An Open Letter from Indonesia to The World

On the death of an Ojek driver and the violence we must no longer ignore.

To the international community, to Amnesty International, to Human Rights Watch, and to everyone committed to justice and human dignity.

In Indonesia, an ojek driver is more than just a motorbike taxi driver. He is the backbone of our daily lives, the man who takes children to school, delivers meals across the city, and helps people get home safely when public transport fails. He is the everyday worker, unseen yet indispensable.

And when Indonesians say DPR, we mean the Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat, the House of Representatives, the place where the voices of the people are supposed to be heard, where laws are made in our name. But too often, that building has become a symbol of distance, privilege, and decisions that betray public trust.

I barely slept last night. The news kept replaying in my head: an ojek driver lost his life after being struck by an armored vehicle during the unrest. I can’t stop thinking that it could have been my brother. It could have been my friend. It could have been my neighbor, the man who greets me every morning on his motorbike. That’s what makes this grief so heavy. It feels unbearably close.

For many of us in Indonesia, stories like this have become too familiar. Each time unrest breaks out, lives are disrupted, sometimes lives are lost. And yet, every time it happens, we tell ourselves it’s just another tragedy, and then life moves on. But I couldn’t move on. Not last night. I kept asking myself: why him? why now? and why do we let this keep happening?

Thursday, 28 August 2025. People gathered to protest what has become a symbol of distance between rulers and the ruled: a Rp50 million/ USD 3,300 per month housing allowance for MPs, nearly ten times Jakarta’s minimum wage, approved at a time when many are counting coins for rice and rent. Officials later clarified the perk runs only until October 2025, but by then the damage to public trust was done. The frustration was real, and it spilled into the streets.

What began as an ordinary day for most of us turned into sirens, and the sting of gas in the air. Videos ricocheted across our phones, people running, police lines advancing, the ground littered with stones and plastic shields. In that chaos, a tactical armored vehicle from Brimob (Mobile Brigade Corps, a paramilitary unit of the Indonesian police) struck and killed Affan Kurniawan, a 21-year-old motorcycle ride-sharing driver, near the Parliament complex in Jakarta.

The images are hard to forget: a dark, heavy vehicle pushing through a road that also belongs to ordinary people. Newsrooms and officials called it a “tactical vehicle” armored, built for high-risk situations. Some outlets even listed its specs: around 5.33 meters long, full armor plating, and NIJ Level III ballistic glass. None of those details soften the fact that a human life was under its path.

By night, statements began to arrive. The President expressed condolences and ordered a transparent investigation. Jakarta’s police chief apologized. Authorities said the Brimob crew, seven personnel, had been detained for questioning. Rights groups condemned the excessive use of force and demanded accountability. I read those lines and felt the same hollow chord I’ve felt too many times: the choreography after a tragedy is familiar, but accountability rarely is.

This is the part where I have to steady my hands to keep writing. Because beyond the numbers and the statements, a family is grieving a son. Drivers across Jakarta left flowers and headlights in vigil. And many of us lay awake, angry, afraid, and painfully clear about what it means when state power meets civilian life with armor first.

Indonesia’s history is marked by cycles of violence without accountability. We remember 1965, when mass killings took hundreds of thousands of lives, with survivors silenced for decades. We remember East Timor, where state-backed militias massacred civilians until international pressure forced intervention. We see it in Papua, where student protests are often met with brutality. We see it in labor protests, where police violence is used to silence workers.

Human rights organizations like KontraS (The Commission for the Disappeared and Victims of Violence) have documented these abuses year after year: deaths, injuries, and arbitrary arrests. Yet justice rarely follows. Police officers and military officials are almost never punished. Instead, they are protected by the very institutions that should hold them accountable.

This is the cycle: violence, silence, forgetfulness. And victims, like the ojek driver are reduced to statistics, their names erased by impunity.

Indonesia is often praised as one of the world’s largest democracies. But a democracy without accountability is fragile.

In moments like these, people should be able to turn to the law for truth, responsibility, and repair. But here, what follows is silence. Indonesia is not a party to the Rome Statute, the treaty that established the International Criminal Court. That means when our own courts fail us, as they have, again and again, victims cannot even seek justice beyond our borders. The ICC exists to step in when domestic systems are “unwilling or unable,” yet for Indonesians, that door is kept firmly shut. Reports pile up, promises are made, families mourn, and still nothing changes.

This is where I feel small. I am only one voice, but I am asking: where else can we turn, if not to you? To the international community, to human rights defenders everywhere, to people of conscience who believe that dignity should not stop at borders, I am writing to you.

We need your eyes on us. We need international monitoring that does not look away when force is used against civilians. We need pressure on our government to end impunity, to reform its security forces, to protect the right to speak and to protest. We need solidarity with the victims, so that their names are remembered and their stories become a reason for change, not just another statistic.

I know these words may sound like they come from far away, from a young graduate in Indonesia writing late at night. But believe me: for us here, the stakes are as close as the person who never came home yesterday.

The ojek driver who died yesterday should not be remembered as just another number in a yearly report. He was a man with a name, a family, a life that mattered. His death should haunt us not only as Indonesians, but as human beings.

I write this not just for him, but for every victim of state violence, past, present, and future. Their stories are warnings, reminders, and calls to action.

Peace is fragile, and it will remain fragile unless we choose to defend it. To the world, I say: do not look away. To my fellow Indonesians, I say: do not let silence bury justice.

The time for accountability is now. The time to honor the dead is now. The time to end this cycle of violence is now.

With grief and urgency,

Lulu Anggriani.

Bibliography

Ini Spesifikasi Rantis Brimob yang Lindas Driver Ojol: Body Full Lapis Baja, Detikcom: <https://oto.detik.com/mobil/d-8084891/ini-spesifikasi-rantis-brimob-yang-lindas-driver-ojol-body-full-lapis-baja.>

Protests erupt in Indonesia over privileges for parliament members and ‘corrupt elites’, The Guardian: <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/aug/26/indonesia-protests-austerity-parliament-member-privileges?>

Indonesian students vow more protests after one killed in Jakarta demonstration, Reuters :<https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/indonesian-students-vow-more-protests-after-one-killed-jakarta-demonstration-2025-08-29/>

Indonesian police clash with students protesting lawmakers’ salaries, Aljazeera: <https://aje.io/adgpfw>